A friend of mine from time to time forwards me this link, as if to convince me of what I already know: This country is in a heaping hurt, with debt piling up at an unbelievable rate.

The interest on what we pay for such things as treasury notes, savings bonds and bond issues by local and state governments will hit around $467 trillion this fiscal year — more than two times what it was back in 1988.

Let the numbers speak for themselves.

I’ll let you take a look at this link. And I hope John McCain and Barack Obama do the same.

 http://www.treasurydirect.gov/govt/repor…

That’s what we found Tuesday in the 4900 block of Willow Lane outside Granite City, a nice neighborhood where authorities busted a methamphetamine operation run out of three neighboring homes. Six people were arrested, and one of the homes was proudly displaying the above-mentioned flags.

Ah, well, it’s not building rockets, it’s just mixing cough medicine, and criminals aren’t all that bright.

If they were trying to draw attention, they did a first-class job. I wonder what the first clue was for the rest of neighborhood? The increased traffic? The fumes rising from three separate chimneys? The homemade bomb found in a parked car? Or the Rebel and pirate flags?

My money’s on the flags.

Crushed Grapes, a wine, beer and spirits retailer at 1500 Troy Road next to Montclaire Shopping Center in Edwardsville, is playing host to its second annual Juvenile Diabetes Fund-raiser to help raise money for the Metro St. Louis/Greater Missouri Chapter of the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation.

At 4 p.m. Friday, Sept. 5, guests can enjoy wine from Charles Krug and I.A. Distributing, including French, Californian and Italian wines, beer and appetizers. Proceeds will help support the 2008 Walk to Cure Diabetes, which will take place Sept. 28 in Forest Park in St. Louis.

I’m sure my wife Sue and I will be at the event, along with many of the pals I’ve picked up through the years during Friday night wine tastings at the shop. One thing about the wine crowd: They’re not afraid to have fun.

Len and Arlene Scaturro, who run the shop, became involved in diabetes efforts after their oldest grandson was diagnosed with Type 1 Juvenile Diabetes in January 2007.

Len says 100 percent of the proceeds from the event along with 10 percent of store sales will go to the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. Last year’s events raised more than $3,000. He’s hoping to donate more this year, and if this little note helps his cause, I’m all for it.

The cost is $10 per person and is tax deductible. All money raised by the foundation stays in the area to support diabetes research and education.

For more information on the Second Annual Juvenile Diabetes Fund-raiser, contact Crushed Grapes at (618) 659-3530.

Cut your grass!

I know the state’s got its share of financial problems, but when you can’t see the opposite lanes of the highway because of the grass growing in the median, you’ve got a problem.

One of the worst examples is the median stretch along the Berm Highway between Wood River and Alton. On Tuesday, cattails were rising three feet off the ground.

Not only is it unsightly but it’s also a dangerous visibility impairment. Who knows what might pop out of the weeds?

Like a noxious neighbor who refuses to get off his butt to cut the yard, the state is setting a poor example. I’ve seen bad maintenance years, but 2008 is the worst.

If I knew where the door to IDOT was, I’d go post a note.

I have too many good memories to let the passing of the club go by without mention, and if I had a magic wand, I’d reverse the gears of company execs who have obviously lost sight of what a valuable asset it is.

Or have they? Perhaps the land’s value is in money and not in the worth to the thousands of people who have enjoyed it during the past 60 years.

The Telegraph’s story by Cynthia Ellis on Aug. 12 told of the plan to close the facility. Less known is what exactly Olin Corp. plans to do with the vast acreage, which is located generally along Illinois Route 140 and Powdermill Road in East Alton.

For me, the land will always be as it was — a wide open green space on which my brother Tom and I ran for what seemed like miles, while we accompanied my mom and dad to various Olin Brass Mill picnics.

Workers, of course, gave up part of their checks to pay for the operation of the facility, and the food was free back when I was a kid. I’d run up to the central concession stand and wait there for one of their chocolate-dipped ice cream bars, only to return a few minutes later looking for another.

There were rides, ponies, games for children to play and more food than one kid could stomach. In fact, if memory serves, I ate until I was sick more than once. Of course, all that was 40 years ago, so my memory’s a little foggy.

I can see things pretty clearly now, though, and I can see how Olin’s decision is one based on bottom line instead of employee benefit. There is no good reason to close the Westerner Club except to save or make money. And both are pretty lame reasons.

The club will officially be closed Sept. 1, but the writing has been on the wall for months, ever since the club stopped taking reservations for events.

Dad worked at Olin for 41 years and his last living memory was of the Westerner Club. He died of a heart attack at the company picnic in 1996.

I’m sure he’s looking down today, shaking his head, wondering just what is going through the minds of the muck-a-mucks at Olin.

Wondering, just like his son.

I don’t need any help getting confused.

So it’s no wonder I stumbled all over myself answering a query from a Kentucky woman this week who wrote to ask me about a death. I’m going to change the name so as not to embarrass anybody.

“I am looking for someone,” the lady wrote. “It is very important. It is about a death. Joe Smith is his name. Unknown age. I think maybe 65-70. He was owner of (a well-known area restaurant) at one time.”

Recognizing the man’s name, I immediately went to the obits to see how I could have missed such a newsworthy development. I found nothing.

I wrote the lady back.

“Ethel, as of this moment, we have received no word on such a death. I’m sure if this has happened that I will hear fairly quickly.”

After several hours, I got back a message, but not the one I expected.

It read: “I’m not saying Joe Smith is dead. I’m saying I need to tell him about someone who died that he knows. I wondered if you had a way of getting in touch with him.”

I wrote Ethel back and provided a phone number.

If you’re as confused as I was after that exchange, welcome to Alton, Ill., located in the state of confusion.

And people wonder why we make mistakes at The Telegraph.

When she retired this week, it was almost as if a piece of me went along with her on her merry way. She and I shared a lot of hard work and good times in years past, and I can only imagine what it must have been like for her to wake up Friday morning, roll back over and forget about work.

Back in the 1980s, Loretta was the publisher for the Suburban Journals in the Alton area, when I was managing editor for the same group of weeklies. A lot of people will remember the likes of the Alton Citizen, Bethalto American, Wood River Journal and Jersey County Journal. All of the papers were eventually closed and a fine group of journalists went various ways to seek fame and fortune.

At the time of the closings in the early 1990s, I was already gone, having made my way to The Telegraph in 1991.

Loretta tried selling advertising at the Belleville News Democrat for a short time and eventually realized she would be better off closer to her home in Godfrey. In 1992, she applied for and got an advertising sales job at WBGZ, Alton’s radio station. She did well for herself, performing as a top seller during most of her time there.

I’m guessing at the years, but I think she and I worked together in the newspaper business from 1981 to 1988. The years really don’t matter as much as the memories, and of those there are many. We were a part of almost every big local news event that happened during that time frame. Loretta was an active part of the community and still is. Several years ago, she received a well-deserved YWCA Woman of Achievement award.

During our newspaper heyday, we didn’t have much of a staff (what, Loretta, maybe about two dozen people for all phases of our operation?) But I can tell you there was a lot of unity in that group — everyone dedicated to the principle of beating our competition, which was, of course, primarily The Telegraph.

Ask Steve Cousley, the Telegraph’s former publisher, how many times our scoops made him wince through the years, until the Alton Journals and The Telegraph eventually consolidated operations in the mid-’80s.

My wife, Sue, and Loretta’s husband, Dick, well remember those days, too, since they rarely saw either of us, with the hours we put in. God bless both of our spouses — they are still with us.

Individually, our families managed to get our kids raised and all of them are gainfully employed, so we must have been doing something right. And each of us is now concentrating on grandchildren.

Loretta is one day shy of 10 years older than me. We never forget each other’s birthday and I never forget to remind her that she is the oldest. We had lunch this past week, and I paid — for once. She couldn’t believe it.

It was the least I could do to send such a terrific woman merrily on her way.

Good luck to Loretta and Dick as they enjoy their newfound retirement together.

My license had expired the day before and I put off the trip until it was absolutely necessary, knowing for sure that I was in for a long wait. I signed in at the counter at 8:33 a.m. and walked into an area that was already crammed full of people, despite the fact that the office had opened only 30 minutes before. If I hadn’t spent five minutes lost and circling the grounds at St. Louis Regional Airport, I might have beaten a few of my competitors.

It had been years since my license was actually replaced. The last time, I got a sticker to simply extend my expiration another four years without actually getting a new license. The photo and a bit of the biographical data were way out of date.

Everything I feared about the alleged inefficiencies of the bureau was dispelled pretty quickly, when they called me to the counter to begin the renewal process only minutes after my arrival.

The clerk asked me a list of check-off questions, all of which I responded to in the negative. Until he got to the height and weight part.

“Still 5-feet-11, 190?” he wanted to know.

I responded: “Uh, you might want to add a few pounds to that.”

“It happens,” he said, without glancing up.

I wanted to tell him it was because I was taller, but he’d never have bought it.

We comprised at 210 (all right, more than just a “few” pounds), and he then asked me to take the vision test. I walked over and craned my neck down to peer through a viewing device.

“Read Line 2,” he said.

“G-F-D, uh, C-D-O-Z,” I read off, not knowing for sure if I was getting them all right but satisfied when I was finished. I stood upright.

“Read the rest of it,” he said patiently.

Puzzled, I peered back in and spotted several more letters that I actually didn’t see the first time. This guy should see me on the road, I thought.

The clerk graciously accepted my effort.

“That will be $10 please, cash or check.”

“Should I write it to Secretary of State?” I asked.

“You can just use SOS,” he said.

How appropriate, I thought.

He sent me to the end of the counter to have my picture taken. That part of the process moved quickly, and I was soon out the door and calling my wife to tell her the entire trip had taken only 16 minutes. We were both amazed.

“I can’t believe how much older I look than my last picture,” I told her.

“Well, that’s because you are older,” she responded.

She doesn’t know it but that kind of sympathy will eventually be repaid.

It’s also a landmark that has grown from America’s largest private residence to one of America’s greatest tourist attractions.

Located in Asheville, N.C., just across the Great Smoky Mountains from Tennessee, the estate was completed in 1895. It’s a statement of elegance and opulence — most of the Seven Deadly Sins all in one package.

The home was ordered built by George Vanderbilt, son of Cornelius Vanderbilt, the magnate who launched a shipping and railroad empire that gave rise to multiple generations of multimillionaires. Had the Vanderbilts done in 2008 what they did more than 100 years ago, they would be equal in worth to the likes of billionaires Bill Gates or Warren Buffett.

At the time of the construction George was said to be in bad straits with the rest of his family for wasting so much money on a home. And what a home! A 250-room French Renaissance chateau, whose name is a combination of Bilt, for Vanderbilt, and “moor,” a synonym for estate. Its worth today is inestimable, according to several tour guides I asked.

It might as well be called “Built More” because it goes on and on. It’s situated on 8,000 acres, including many hundreds of acres of the most beautifully sculpted gardens I’ve ever seen.

The home contains collections of paintings, murals, tapestries, porcelains and bronzes from around the world. George Vanderbilt was one of the most well-read and traveled men of his time, a fancier of fine things and not quite as industrious as his forebears.

Here is a description I borrowed from the Biltmore’s main Web site:

“Inside, artworks by Renoir, Sargent, Whistler, Pellegrini and Boldini adorn the walls and, in one case, the ceiling. The furniture includes designs by Sheraton and Chippendale. A chess set and gaming table, which belonged to Napoleon when he was in exile at St. Helena, are on display in the salon, and Chinese goldfish bowls from the Ming Dynasty can be admired in the library. Eight 16th century Flemish tapestries hang in the Banquet Hall and Tapestry Gallery. Fifty Persian and Oriental rugs cover marble and oak floors.”

There are 34 bedrooms (which housed family, guests and servants), an equal number of bathrooms (with indoor plumbing), a library with 10,000 volumes, a banquet hall with a 70-foot ceiling, 65 fireplaces and multiple music and sitting rooms.

For crying out loud, there’s even an indoor swimming pool, a gym and a bowling alley, all built in the style of the late 1890s.

On the surrounding estate there is an inn where people can stay, a winery, a farm and a former stable converted to a restaurant.

One of the largest, ongoing preservation efforts in America is keeping up the castle’s appearances, coordinated by Bill Cecil, the president and chief executive officer of The Biltmore Company and the great-grandson of the Vanderbilt who founded the estate.

It’s all very eye-popping and I pity the person who has to dust it all.

TO GET THERE: Biltmore House is located near the intersection of Interstates 26 and 40. The entrance is just north of I-40 Exit 50 or 50B. The estate is open daily from 9 a.m. until 5 p.m.

FOR MORE INFORMATION: Contact The Biltmore Company, 1 Approach Road, Asheville, NC 28803, or phone (828) 225-1333 or 1 (877) 324-5866, or visit www.biltmore.com online.

That was among many observations I made this month during a 1,600-mile journey through Tennessee and North Carolina. From Edwardsville to Gatlinburg and back, I saw no sign of fewer drivers on the highway.

In fact I marveled at how much fun people were having even as the price of their trip increased with each emission of their exhaust.

In the spirit of good journalism, I logged the price of gasoline as I went.

– I filled up on July 5 at the Westland Travel Center in St. Louis at $3.95 cents a gallon.

– On July 6 I stopped at the Corner Grocery in Silver Point, Tenn., where I spent $4.07.

– At the Dudley Creek Market in Gatlinburg, Tenn., on July 9, I spent $4.04.

– On July 12, at Clark’s Pump and Shop in Richmond, Ky., the price was $4.11.

– Upon returning to the QuikTrip on Troy Road in Edwardsville on July 13, the cost was $4.18.

The price was never a surprise: Every time I turned on CNN that week, the barrel cost of oil was among the lead stories.

I hear a lot about motorists cutting back, but I saw no evidence of it this month.