The invitation

Last Saturday, my son Matthew and my grandson Noah and I traveled to South Bend, Indiana for the 84th annual Notre Dame Blue-Gold game, the final football scrimmage game during spring training.

Yes, Noah was with us, for the first time in a rather long tradition among the LaVautes.

It's a fun trip - getting a glimpse of what the Irish may look like in the fall, often springlike weather (although on Saturday the temperature at game time was 34 degrees), walking around ND's beautiful campus as trees and flowers begin to bloom, visiting familiar sites like the Sacred Heart Basilica, the Grotto and the nearby lake.

The official name of the place, by the way, is : "Notre Dame du Lac."

The big excitement for Noah was seeing the Golden Dome, the famed gilded roof atop what is called the Main Building on campus. Still in the car, we pointed it out to him in the distance as we exited I-80/I-90, and he asked about it the rest of our stay. When he pronounced it, it sounded like "Dolden Dome." I'm not sure he knows what gold is.

At halftime, we three left the game and walked toward the main part of the campus. We directed Noah to the golden dome shining in the distance, slowly growing closer, larger and brighter.

The roof is gilded with gold, not painted. After a fire in the nineteenth century, ND founder Father Edward Sorin was encouraged to consider simply painting the famous dome. No soap, he said. It gets gilded.

When we arrived at the Main Building, before we entered, I pointed to the top of the dome and asked Noah, "Who's up there?" No response. I said "Mary's up there - Jesus' mother." Notre Dame = Our Lady.

Noah nodded, filed this away somewhere (if I asked him today, I bet he would remember), and three generations of LaVaute men clambered up about 20 steps to enter the building. Once inside, I headed toward the center of the interior. Its interior rises three or four stories, to where the dome is. I pointed up, and Noah looked. Such glorious paintings on the ceiling, well above us.

Down on the floor, a few tables and chairs, an ambo and a microphone (still live)  suggested there was earlier a small gathering to whom someone spoke. I noticed someone taking a photo of a friend behind the ambo, as if speaking to the public.

Ah, I said, there's an idea. When the others were done, I grabbed one of the folding chairs, moved it behind the podium, lifted Noah to stand atop the chair, and Matthew began snapping photos. The podium had the seal of the University of Notre Dame on the front, and it was an amusing scene.

Noah seemed to enjoy it, and grabbed the microphone, which we pulled away. Ya gotta stop somewhere, I thought.

When I put him back on the floor, there were a couple families who had joined us on the floor. He said to me, I swear, "I want to say hi to some people." And I said, sure.

He walked over to three of four strangers of varying ages, stood before them and looked at them. The mother noticed him, smiled and said hello. There was a young boy with them, probably eight years old, who was a bit shy and uncomfortable with Noah's approach.

After just a moment, however, the young  man relaxed and extended his hand to Noah to shake it. At this point, Noah turned shy guy and hesitated. Whereupon I reminded him that when a hand is extended, you reach out to grasp it, and shake it. Whereupon he did.

Later, we visited the small lake on campus, and watched ducks, geese and white swans hang out, waiting for food. And shortly after that, after visiting the basilica and Grotto, we left for home. But I won't soon forget Noah's enthusiasm about saying hello to people, about greeting them and making them feel welcome.

Because if you boil down the ND visit to one thing, that's it: making people feel welcome. And without fully realizing it, Noah had grasped the truth that we've known now for 25 years. "Welcome to Notre Dame," the ushers say as you enter the football stadium. It's of a piece with my own experience of a delightful place, and my grandson realized it immediately. Welcome to Notre Dame, Noah.

Valve replacement? I'm supposed to write a story about valve replacement?

Late yesterday afternoon, I looked at the Belleville City Council's meeting agenda for 7:30 p.m. that evening, and I saw a single item for general business: valve replacement.

Valve replacement? How am I supposed to write a story about valve replacement? I mean, it's pretty mundane. I wondered what my angle would be. How would valve replacement affect Belleville residents' lives?

I'm being a bit facetious - there is an angle, and I knew it would become clear during the meeting. But I had to laugh.

I began to imagine that I would call Belleville Clerk Lisa Long and harangue her for the paucity of the agenda. How, pray tell, does she expect me to make a living writing stories about valve replacement?

And I thought no, that kind of humor can unintentionally be hurtful or at least a little odd, and I like Lisa too much, and she takes her job seriously, to have a little joke at her expense. Although I still rather like the idea. Valve replacement?

And I thought about Lisa, and how helpful she's been over the last couple years, after the Belleville City Council became one of my reporting beats in since 2011. And Diana Kollmeyer.

And I decided to write this column in lieu of covering the meeting, step back, take stock and say thank you.

Sharing information is the journalist's stock-in-trade. And drafting stories may beg questions in the reader's mind that yearn to be answered. And newswriting has deadlines. So it's gotta work quickly in most cases.

So prompt, helpful responses to my questions are a must, a big factor in doing my job effectively. I can't do it without their prompt assistance - a response within 24 hours is normal, but the sooner the better.

And I have to say, that I am so pleased with the responsiveness of government officials to me throughout the tri-community, some for almost a decade now: Lisa Long and Diana Kollmeyer are just a start. Kerreen Conley, Carl McClanahan, Darwin Loyer, Dan Besson, Greg Laurain, Kathleen Cline, Linda Combs, Cindy King, Sharry Budd, Paul White, Leon Wright, Todd Knepper, Richard Smith, Debra Greene, MJ Dawson, Tom MacDonald, Dan Swallow, Bryce Kelley, Terry Carroll, Johnny Vawters, Mary Jo Suchy, Rick Dawson, Esther Hurst, Jim Glahn, Mike Van Tassel, Karen Moffitt, Kathy Kovach, Martha Toth, Angela Stroud.

And other journalists. We help each other from time to time, confirming what we thought we heard someone say during a meeting, snaring extra copies of documents for each other, chatting about stories, joking with each other: Richard Jenkins, Rosemary Otzman.

The best thing about this job is taking a story, writing it so that it's clear to the reader, and ensuring the reader grasps how the story may affect her or him. And maybe get them to think about that.

But the second-best thing is the people with whom you work to get that done, without whom it's impossible to do your job effectively. A brief list is above, and I apologize to anyone I may have missed mentioning. Thank you so much.