Before they walled it off on Tuesday, I had the chance to drive up the Great River Road for a peek at flooding conditions. You had to meander around barricades, but you still could get through.

Let me tell you, the River Road without traffic is an eerie scene, a cluster of concrete and nature coming together in ways that most of us never get to see.

For one thing I was struck by the number of waterfowl all along the roadway. Normally they’re skittish around cars, but with virtually no engines to spook them, the birds perched along the guardrail and roadway as though they owned it.

As if to accent my point a large duck stood in the middle of the road at the intersection of Clifton Terrace. He wasn’t moving, so I drove around him.

Bicyclists had already caught on and I was following in their tracks. Many bikers, knowing there were no vehicles about, boldly rode the middle of the highway — not the shoulder and certainly not the nearby bike trail, which by that point had already taken on water. Except on special occasions I’ve never seen bikers with such free access.

The Mississippi River gently lapped along the side of the road. When I drove it (Saturday morning) the water had not yet crept onto the cement. And the water was so still that debris was not even moving — a result, I suppose, of absolutely no boaters.

Now that the Illinois Department of Transportation has shut down Illinois Route 100 from Alton to the far side of Jersey County, most drivers won’t get the chance to see the River Road in the same way I did. That’s a shame. It was a natural perspective that I won’t soon forget.

My colleague Sanford Schmidt this week reminded me of a couple of comments made by former Telegraph staff members during the flood of 1993.

One came from then-managing editor Walt Sharp, who likened the catastrophe to “Chinese water torture.” We lingered so long with floodwater that year that it felt like somebody was drip-dripping us to death.

And former Publisher Don Miller said he’d rather go through a tornado than another flood. At least they come and go in nothing flat, he reasoned.

At this writing, it appears that the Great Flood of ’08 is not as great as the Great Flood of ’93, and for that, this newsman is grateful. This year’s floodwater left far more damage and will be remembered by far more people in places like Cedar Rapids and Iowa City, Iowa, than it will be in Alton, Ill.

In 1993, the floodwaters hit their peak in August and stayed out of the banks for weeks. In Grafton, the period of flooding, before and after the crest, was an amazing 195 days.

Many of the circumstances in ’93 were the same as they were this year — lots of rain here, lots of rain to the north and harsh winters preceding both.

The big difference this year is the lesser flooding on the Illinois and Missouri rivers, both of which feed into and affect the levels on the Mississippi. In 1993, rains and snows were spread across a much wider area. A second big key was the number of levee breaks on the Missouri side, which gave overnight relief to the levels in places like Grafton and Alton.

I’m proud of our reporting staff and their handling of flood stories this year. They kept above water when they had to — just as the Telegraph staff did in 1993 (and 1995 and 1997).

We’re ready for whatever happens next.

One of my favorite “almost” headlines of all time was the one I spotted as an editor several years ago while working at a weekly paper. Thank God I caught it before we went to press:

“Senator seek funds for wild life support.”

The senator, of course, may have loved his “wild life” but he was (at least publicly) a supporter of “wildlife” — a distinction with a difference and a typo that would have given me untold ribbing had it seen the light of day.

In June 2008, wildlife has been making my own life pretty wild on the job. Multiple times in the past week animals have played major roles in interesting stories.

– There was the story of a kitten that climbed into the inner workings of a van and had to be rescued, not once but two days in a row — in the same parking lot in Alton. Twice, Alton animal control officers had to be called in to free the kitten and the second time captured it so it didn’t keep them on the run.

– The same day we heard the story of a goose shot with an arrow and later rescued by a wildlife sanctuary in St. Louis where it is being restored to health.

– A couple of days later we did a story on the plight of TreeHouse Wildlife Center in Brighton, which is desperately in need of a new home — and for the funds with which to pay for it. The coverage included a terrific picture of a fish being tossed into the mouth of a waiting pelican.

Most readers, fond as they are of animals, loved the stories. A few other readers were sent to howling. Some people, I guess, would rather read what “important” stories.

I cut readers a break. On the same day as the kitten story was developing we also heard that Alton officers were also called out: for a cat stuck under a car at Target; to rescue abandoned baby raccoons; and to find — unsuccessfully — a cow that was supposedly loose somewhere in city limits.

The latter stories you never saw, but I’m sure they would have made for good tales, had we had the energy, time and space to tell them.

It all made for an interesting week — and I’m not even going to get into the blacksnake that apparently crawled into a substation and triggered a brief power outage for several thousand people in Alton and Godfrey last Thursday night.

My first real job was as a busboy at Rusty’s Restaurant in Edwardsville. I was 16 and a fresh kid, and I was about to get my comeuppance.

A couple of days after I started, I was helping wait staff work a large party. Apparently I was a little too slow doing it. Owner Lew Badalamenti took exception and barked some orders at me. Sheepishly, I complied and hustled the rest of the night.

A couple of hours later, one of the diners at the party — who’d seen me get dressed down — came up and handed me a $10 bill. Back in 1972, a ten spot was a lot of money. It may as well have been $100 for how good it made me feel.

In a lot of ways I’m still that fresh kid, but I never forgot an important lesson: Even when you think he’s wrong, the boss is still the boss. Do what he tells you to do.

I lasted only two weeks as a busboy. Without a driver’s license I was at my dad’s mercy. He finally put the kibosh to the job after driving across town several times at 2 a.m. to haul me home.

Rusty’s played an important role in my life. I’ve been to the restaurant a hundred times through the years, for class reunions, bands, dinner and parties. When one of the reporters in the newsroom turned to me on Tuesday and said, “Did you know Rusty’s is closing?” my stomach sank. It was a story that I really knew I should write.

By the end of the day I had even talked to my old boss, Lew, who sold the business some 15 years ago and is living in relative solitude in Edwardsville.

We were first to break the news online, and within hours every media outlet picked up on it. A landmark that catered to marriages, anniversaries, celebrities, political power and college parties had closed its doors.

Every town has its “Rusty’s.” Collinsville, for instance, had Zeppetella’s. Alton had Midtown Restaurant and Lounge. Wood River had Nita’s Cafe.

And all of them, now, are gone. And the newer restaurants, while bright and shiny, just don’t have the same flavor.

It gives me no pleasure to write restaurant obits and certainly not one for a place that has meant so much to so many people. The place wasn’t perfect but customers felt a sense of ownership.

I speak for Rusty’s alumni everywhere when I say goodbye, old friend.