Don’t look now, but the number of catalytic converters being swiped from beneath local vehicles has just skyrocketed.

Sources are telling me that at least two dozen cases have occurred in Madison County in the past week or so.

Two of them occurred in the parking lot of ShowPlace Theater in Edwardsville in broad daylight on Friday, police said.

Apparently, these things must be good for scrap. And apparently the thieves must be good with cutting tools. And apparently there are no job openings at the local muffler shop.

Personally, I couldn’t find the converter with an instruction manual, but I know it’s part of the exhaust system and I know your car makes an awful noise when it’s not attached.

The Telegraph was the first to report the trend was underway, in a story in midweek by reporter Linda Weller, detailing three thefts out of Alton — all on the parking lots of big stores and in the middle of the day.

Stay tuned. If you know of anyone who’s been victimized, shoot me an email at dennis_grubaugh@thetelegraph.com

My wife, who works in a high school attendance department, sometimes gets tripped up when she recounts her various memories of the day.

“I saw three deer on the way to school today,” she’ll tell me.

“Oh?” I respond. “And why would three deer be going to school?”

That conversation has taken place multiple times across my kitchen table, to the point where it’s kind of an inside joke.

I bring it up only because astute reader Norm Stephenson managed to turn the tables by calling us to task on a photo caption that made its way into the newspaper. Several eagle-eye journalists missed it along the way.

The caption read:

“Curtis Washington baits a hook for another round of fishing next to the Grafton Ferry Landing recently. Washington said he enjoys his retirement by going to … different spots along the Mississippi River to see how many fish — especially big ones — he can catch with his faithful Shih Tzu, Lucky.”

“Lucky” was nowhere in the photo, and after reading that caption one could assume he might have met an unlucky end. Reader Stephenson picked up that theme in an email:

“Reading your paper today I had to ask myself some questions about your article, ‘Fishing at the Ferry.’

“1. Isn’t a $400 Shih Tzu, even if his name is Lucky, a little expensive to use as fish bait?

“2. What kind of big fish are biting on the Shih Tzu? Japanese carp?

“3. What does PETA say about all this?”

I recognize playfulness in a reader pretty quickly, so I sent him back my own tongue-in-cheek reply:

“As far as bait, I’d say we were trying to put on the dog, wouldn’t you? Good catch, Norm.”

The Telegraph’s best copy editors are its readers. That was true when we were founded, and it’s never been more true than it is today.

What great pride there is in a community like Alton, which so quietly and capably came up with a way to honor Vietnam War deceased. We shake our head in amazement at the marvelous accomplishment we experienced this past week.

A special salute is in order to those whose efforts led to the new granite bench outside the front door of Alton Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 1308. It is engraved with the names of almost three dozen Alton area servicemen killed in Vietnam.
The bench was dedicated last Friday, amid emotion that was appropriate for the moment. Many family members appeared. Some were overcome. Several veterans were on hand.

It only occurs to us now to ask, why did this take so long? The answer may hearken back to the war itself. As unpopular as it was at the time and as bereft as the nation felt, it took a long time before anyone was in a mood to recognize the heroism that went into the conflict.

That changed with time. In 1974, a bronze plaque with the names of the war dead was dedicated at Rock Spring Park in Alton, but as things sometimes occur, a thief walked off with it shortly after it was in place. Today, its whereabouts are unknown, but we hope the possessor wears a crown of guilt. This memorial belonged to the public and the names are a part of history.

Publicity is driving renewed attention to the locals who lost their lives. Since our initial stories we have heard of others who died in the war and we’re now researching to see if they, too, are in line for this special recognition.

It is amazing to see how this has developed. It began as a church conversation between Jo Lee, who lost her brother in the service, and military veteran Buck Hamer, who agreed to help find a way to honor veterans. Along the way, the idea of the bench surfaced.

Aided by the personal financial contributions of Alton’s two elected state leaders, Sen. William Haine, and Rep. Dan Beiser, the bench was completed, at a discount, with the able work of Fred Haney of Alton Memorial Sales.

This was an effort that involved many other individuals, all of whom deserve our thanks - but none deserve our thanks more than the names on this bench. Nothing holds us so rooted as the memories of loved ones we’ve lost. And nothing is as worth saluting as those who’ve lost their lives at war.

Jim White only came out at night.

But for the denizens of the dark, who cared about such things, we happily tuned him in on KMOX radio, “1120 on your dial.”

He was the bridge between the end of the Cardinals game and the rousing morning voices of Bob Hardy and Rex Davis. He was a man who took great comfort in quietly discussing the issues of the day with thousands of callers –  a man who took oddities and made them seem normal simply by talking about them.

White died Tuesday at the young age of 73 and news of his passing caused me to think back on all those great voices who were once a part of so many lives.

For me, the most memorable moment didn’t even come on the radio. Some years back, my wife and I and a party of people descended on the old Three Mile House restaurant outside of Edwardsville, and White was doing a remote broadcast, focusing on the supposedly haunted restaurant. I think he went there several times on one of his famous ghost searches, the kind of thing that made him refer to “things that go bump in the night,” and led to that famous nickname, The Big Bumper.

The Three Mile House, an old stagecoach stop along Illinois Route 159, is sadly gone. Now, so too is Mr. White. But with the likes of Jack Carney, Jack Buck, Davis, Hardy and now the Big Bumper, I’m sure there’s quite a broadcast going on overhead.

***

Here’s the official dispatch:

ST. LOUIS (AP) - Jim White, a retired KMOX radio personality who was a well-known fixture in St. Louis for three decades, has died at the age of 73.

White, known on air as The Big Bumper, died Wednesday morning of complications from surgery, KMOX said.

He joined KMOX as an assistant news director in 1969. He was number one in the 10 p.m. to 2 a.m. time slot for 20 years before he retired in 1999.

White was known for begin gruff and hanging up on his callers, but friends and colleagues say he was soft spoken in person.

Survivors include his wife, Pat, and two daughters. Funeral arrangements are pending.

I’m not sure when it happened. One day I was a seemingly intelligent adult, given to profound thoughts of life and living, and the next I was reduced to baby babble.

Suddenly I break out in nonsensical talk.

“Wheeeeeere’s my widdle giiiiirrl? Wheeeere’s my baaaby? Theeere she is! Grandpa’s gonna get you!”

And then I drop to all fours and charge after the little bundle in front of me, who is giggling and doing her best to stay in front as she scoots along the floor. In the end, I catch her — or she lets me — and it ends with a hug.

It always ends with a hug.

Today, Aug. 28, 2009, marks the end of the first year of what are certainly going to be the best years of my life. Grandchildren will do that to you, and first grandchildren do it better than all the others.

My wife and I used to live for our next vacation. Now we live for our next cross-town visit to see “you know who.” The heck with Hawaii, we’d rather see baby Kinley.

We love to see this perfect child break into laughs. We love to hear her say “Whaazzzaaatt??”  at least once a minute.

Oh, and dare I say her first word was “grandpa?” At least that’s what it sounded like to me. But then, my wife always told me I hear what I want to hear.

“Grandpa” used to be my dad’s dad. Then, it was my own dad. Today, it’s me. Never in a million years did I see it coming. I’ve been knocked completely senseless by a 22-pound  merrymaker.

Much time has been spent by Grandma and me finding the ultimate first-birthday gift. But what do you buy the baby who has everything?  What do you get for a child with two great parents, two strong sets of families, all the built-in babysitters than one could need and an endless supply of Puffs, Pampers and pampering?

I suppose what you give her is a little something of yourself, something more than the requisite DNA.

You give her a pledge, put it in writing, that you’ll do the best you can to make her life better than your own. That’s every parent’s promise – it might as well be a grandparent’s, too.

And so I say, happy birthday, Kinley.  August 28, 2008, may have been the beginning of your life, but it was the start of the best of mine.

Love, Grandpa

After weeks and months of urging an overhaul of the Illinois Freedom of Information Act, journalists now have their legislation. More importantly, the public in general has it.

Gov. Pat Quinn signed the measure on Monday.

I’ve personally written about the measure, about the need not to water down what the Illinois Press Association had weighed as a successful bill coming out of the General Assembly earlier this year, after a long period of negotiation. It appears the final result was pretty much what we news types had hoped.

A key provision makes official the Office of the Public Access Counselor, a legal body that can issue binding opinions to public bodies in both open meetings and Freedom of Information Act disputes.

There are other important passages, including some that clean up the exemptions under which public bodies can keep from disclosing information, based on the idea of confidentiality or privacy.

There is also an interesting provision, one I wasn’t aware of until a full reading this week, that specifies training regarding information access on the part of employees of public bodies (school districts, city halls, townships, park boards, etc.)

I would suggest a read of the new law, which is detailed in this link:

http://www.ilga.gov/legislation/fulltext.asp?DocName=09600SB0189enr&ga=96&sessionid=76&doctypeid=SB&legid=40663&docnum=189&gaid=10&session=

And here is the press release issued jointly by the governor and Attorney General Lisa Madigan upon the signing of the bill. Madigan deserves much of the credit for passage.

******

Governor Quinn Signs Major Legislation to Increase Transparency in State Government

Launches Web site to make state spending information accessible

CHICAGO — Gov. Pat Quinn joined with Attorney General Lisa Madigan and members of the Illinois Reform Commission to sign bills to increase transparency and accountability in state government. The legislation strengthens the Illinois Freedom of Information Act and ensures the state’s boards and commissions are open and accessible to the public.

“The people of Illinois deserve an open, ethical and transparent government,” said Governor Quinn. “This legislation provides greater oversight to ensure our government complies whenever possible with the Freedom of Information Act, protects the integrity of our boards and commissions and makes state government more accountable to the people we serve.”

The FOIA legislation (Senate Bill 189), sponsored by Sen. Kwame Raoul, D-Chicago, and House Speaker Michael Madigan, D-Chicago, rewrites the Illinois Freedom of Information Act to give the Attorney General’s Office authority to decide disputes between those requesting information and governmental bodies.

“Today, Illinois comes out of the Stone Age and into the modern era of transparency and openness,” said Attorney General Madigan. “By creating a public access counselor with binding opinion authority to fight for an open and accountable government, Illinois is now at the nation’s forefront. With this new law, the people of Illinois will now have a greater ability to know what their government is doing.”

In addition to creating a permanent public access counselor within the Attorney General’s Office to oversee enforcement of the act, it strengthens fines for noncompliance. The legislation also allows fewer exemptions to the act and shortens the time for a government to respond to a request.

Gov. Quinn also signed Senate Bill 1602, sponsored by Sen. Susan Garrett, D-Lake Forest, and Rep. Jack Franks, D-Woodstock. This bill establishes strict ethics requirements and restrictions for current and prospective members of state boards and commissions appointed by the governor and calls for the creation of a Web site that provides information about board and commission membership.

At a meeting of the Illinois Reform Commission in April, Gov. Quinn launched Appointments.Illinois.gov. The site allows Illinois citizens to access information about membership and vacancies in the state’s 300 boards and commissions and fill out online applications for those appointments that are made by the Governor. Thousands of applications have been filed since the site’s launch.

The legislation also requires each board and commission with a Web site and full-time information technology staff to make information regarding its meetings available online.

Today the governor also launched the Illinois Transparency and Accountability Portal to provide Illinoisans with access to state government spending information. The Web site makes the state’s expenditures and employee pay data available through a single, searchable portal: Accountability.Illinois.gov.

The tidy sum of $1,000 is being offered by a New Mexico company as the grand prize in what it calls the Michael Jackson Poetry Contest.

With the endless eulogies that have poured forth since his death on June 25 I’m sure somebody is going to muster the effort to salute him in sonnet.

But I have to tell you, as sick as I am of hearing Jacko tales, as a newsman I feel duty bound to give you details should you choose to enter.

Send one poem 21 lines or less to Free Poetry Contest, 1600 31^st St. SE, Rio Rancho, NM 87124. Your name and address must appear on the page with your poem. You may also enter online at www.rainbowpoets.com

For now, I invite readers to send in their own creations. Feel free to post them here or email me at dennis_grubaugh@thetelegraph.com . I’ll give you some inspiration by concluding with some of my own.

Michael Jackson’s short life is o’er,

‘Twas drugs that went and freed it.

The King of Pop, he could not stop,

Too “Bad” he could not “Beat It.”

A man few knew, a “Thriller” true,

“Why?” we’ve asked and queried.

Yes, gone, it’s so, and yet we know,

A long time till you’re buried.

Have you ever watched in amazement as somebody takes a cell-phone call in quiet surroundings and makes it into a public spectacle? I have, many times.

“Yes, I heard about Aunt Martha’s spleen!” they’ll exclaim. Or, “I told you not to bring the mower into the house!” Or, “What do you mean, you forgot to pay the cell-phone bill?!”

The worst of the offenders do it in the least-appropriate places — the movie theater, church, the library, the office. (Not my office, of course.)

You hear every word, at least on your end of the conversation, and you wonder just why someone would want to share their personal peccadilloes in such a discourteous manner.

Apparently other people have noticed all this, too. Recently, the good folks at The Hauser Group, a St. Louis-based public relations firm, called me to pitch an idea on a story about July being Cell Phone Courtesy Month. When company rep Susan Clark suggested it, I laughed out loud, which wasn’t courteous on my part, except that at the time I was thinking they have a month dedicated to just about every conceivable topic, and I thought I’d already heard them all.

Once I got to looking at her subsequent email, I was convinced the material was worth sharing.  And since I can’t rely on a cell phone to tell everyone, I’m going to use this column to get the point across.

Herewith, seven tips from U.S. Cellular on something that more than 270 million Americans should try to start practicing:

1.     No need to shout:  Despite the smaller handsets now available, people hear you just as well on a wireless phone as on a regular phone.  Keep your voice to a low, conversational tone. In some situations, texting may be the most polite way to stay in touch.

2.     Watch your tone: Downloading the latest ringtone has become extremely popular among wireless users, and you can still keep your personal style without distracting others.  Turn down the ring volume or place the handset on vibrate when in public settings.

3.     Put people in front, first: Put the people you’re with first – not the person calling you.  If you absolutely must take the call, be sure to let people know in advance that you’re expecting a call and excuse yourself for the conversation.

4.     Mind your multitasking: Wireless phones are great tools for living and working more efficiently.  However, it can also be discourteous to chat on your cell phone when people are assisting you in stores, banks, restaurants or other locations.

5.     Keep it private: Personal and business conversations are better off remaining private, especially when emotion is involved.  Don’t forget to pay attention to your surroundings and be discreet.

6.     Mind your manners: If you forget to turn your phone off or set it to vibrate in a quiet zone and it begins to ring, don’t be tempted to take the call.  Simply turn your ringer off, or let the call go to voice mail and apologize to those around you for the mistake.

7.     Watch your socializing: Social networking applications such as Twitter and Facebook are extremely popular ways to keep up with friends and family and available on many models of wireless phones. Remember, the information you’re sharing is being broadcast out across the Web and consider what you’re sending before it leads to an embarrassing situation for you or others.

Tucked away among my most prized possessions are a couple of mementoes from the 1966 All-Star Game.

They are so tucked away that I probably am going to have a hard time finding them. Thirty years of marriage has a tendency to take priority in storage and I’m sure the stuff’s still there, just buried.

One of the keepsakes is a scorecard containing the names of all the stars present on that scorcher of a day. The other is a red and white pennant that proves, eternally, that the game’s greatest athletes were all on the same field on the same day in history.

And what a caliber of players were in St. Louis, July 12, 1966. Grown men had tears looking out at the field:

Willie Mays, Hank Aaron, Harmon Killebrew, Willie McCovey, Roberto Clemente …

Everybody made a fuss of the heat that descended on Busch Stadium that afternoon. But me, I didn’t notice it. I was a 10 year old with stars in his eyes. It was 105 degrees at game time and people were keeling over like flies, but children are invincible in the presence of legends.

Brooks Robinson, Carl Yastrzemski, Juan Marichal, Sandy Koufax, Al Kaline …

I would wager there were more future Hall of Famers in that game than any All-Star Game in history. I’m not going to look it up, I’d sooner just think that, as I advance in age, I saw the single greatest assemblage ever.

Norm Cash, Willie Stargell, Maury Wills, Jim Fregosi, Dick Allen …

We sat in the nose-bleed section somewhere between first base and the right field foul pole, but I thought they were perfect seats. The public announcer ticked off the names and I screamed right along with the rest of St. Louis.

Frank Robinson, Catfish Hunter, Jim Kaat, Joe Morgan, Gaylord Perry …

I screamed the loudest, of course, for my hometown Cardinals, Curt Flood and Tim McCarver, and grieved no doubt that Bob Gibson, who’d been chosen to the game, couldn’t play and was replaced on the roster by some guy named Phil Regan – a Dodger! What an insult.

The game itself wasn’t as much of a kick as the stars that played it. It was a dramatic pitching duel with the scored locked at 1-1 in the bottom of the fourth and not another run scored until the one that ended it.

As the game broiled on, the fans were anxious for something big. It happened in the bottom of the 10^th, when McCarver singled against the Senators’ Pete Reichert and then advanced to second on a sacrifice by Ron Hunt. In stepped Maury Wills, who singled to right field, and McCarver flashed around the bases and into home, sliding under a tag. It took a St. Louis Cardinal to end what had become a thermic test of endurance.

All of Busch went bonkers, and if I had been a 75-year-old man I’d have died of heart failure. But I was 10 and managed to live through it, willing and able to carry on the memory of that great day in St. Louis.

From the day I got it, the pennant was a part of my life. I had it displayed for a while, then tucked it in a box for the first of many moves, made initially as a teenager and then as a married man. Today, it’s rolled up safe and protected, on hold to pass down to somebody else in my family — whoever, I suppose, that loves baseball as much as I did when I saw the game in ’66.

It’s hard to say when I fell in love with baseball.

It might have been that magic night in 1964, when I went to see my first game, Cardinals vs. the Giants, at old Sportsman’s Park in St. Louis. My parents told me that I ate all the popcorn and then converted the holder into a megaphone into which I screamed my 8-year-old lungs out. (Much to the annoyance of the guy in the next seat.)

That was a wonderful memory, but even that first game doesn’t match up to what became the greatest game I ever saw, the All-Star Game of 1966.

I was just days from being 10 years old, but I can tell you exactly what I was doing, down to the last detail, 43 years ago, on July 12, 1966. How I got there, though, is still a bit of a mystery. Read on.

Everyone knows the game was in St. Louis. This week’s All-Star Game in the Gateway City — the first since ’66 — is a constant reminder of the last.

My dad Harold, a lab technician at Olin Corp., was pretty much an average working stiff. He didn’t particularly have a lot of pull, but he told me that somehow he was going to get tickets to the game. I was eventually disappointed when he came home a few weeks before the event with a frown on his face.

“Couldn’t get ’em,” he said. He was a man of few words but I knew what he meant.

Days went past and I’d pretty much forgotten his promise. When you’re 10, there’s plenty to do during a long hot summer, and I filled the time pretty well.

Dad came home one afternoon in early July and stopped at the kitchen table, plunking down his old workman’s lunchbox.

“C’mere,” he said. “Take a look in there.” He was talking to me and pointing to the lunch pail.

I had no idea what he was up to. Tentatively I walked over and unclasped the lid. There at the bottom, staring back up at me, were four tickets to the game.

Christmas had come early!  We were in! I was going to see the greatest players in the greatest game on earth.

I’m sure my screams of glee were heard throughout town, and they likely drowned out any explanation Dad had for how he got the tickets. To this day, I’m still not sure how he did it. All I could think of was the money he spent. The tickets were $6 each — a lot of money to a kid in those days.

It was just days later that four of us — Dad, me, Mom and my brother Tom — set foot for the first time in “new” Busch Stadium. Or should I say “old” Busch Stadium, the Busch that replaced Sportsman’s Park in May of that year.

The big game was about to begin and a simple kid of 10 was about to experience the thrill of a lifetime.

My heroes awaited.

Next: ‘The stadium holds the heat well.’