It’s a Dirty Motto: State Sovereignity, National Onion

--More than 100 years of dirt, smoke and soot obscured the details of the stained-glass state seal that crowned the dome of the Illinois Capitol in Springfield. And so it wasn’t until recently, when the seal was removed for cleaning, that officials realized that the word sovereignty in the state motto is misspelled. The motto, “State Sovereignty, National Union,” is displayed on a streaming banner held in the beak of an eagle clutching a shield in its claws. The unidentified 19th-Century artist spelled it “Sovereignity,” adding an “i” before the final “ty.” “No one ever noticed it before,” said Jim Graham, spokesman for the secretary of state’s office, which oversees state buildings. “It had been so dirty before, no one could see it from the ground or read the words on it.” Because of the seal’s historical significance, the error will not be corrected. And when the seal is returned to the dome 300 feet above the rotunda it will be illuminated, making the mistake visible to all. But Graham said it will serve a useful purpose. “This will be a symbol that illiteracy was always a problem in Illinois. It’s a constant reminder that we should always be aware of good grammar.”

--If your house is targeted by tricksters this Halloween, whom can you call? Trickbusters. Students at two Michigan high schools are selling “insurance” premiums that will provide for the cleanup of ghoulish pranks. In Ottawa County, a $5 prepaid donation to the Spring Lake High School Student Council guarantees that a brigade of students will show up at your home or business Saturday morning with scrub buckets and rags to wipe out any traces of soaped windows, egg stains or smashed pumpkins, according to guidance counselor Tom VerHoeks. Students at Reeths Puffer High School in Muskegon Heights are charging a mere $2 for the same service.

--Five years after Rita Burke died, Social Security officials sent a letter advising her to appear at the Social Security office in Fort Lauderdale, Fla., or risk suspension of her benefits payments. Her widower, Frank, dutifully appeared in her stead with 59 uncashed government checks worth between $13,000 and $14,000. He said that when he tried to tell them back in 1981 to quit sending checks to his dead wife, he was told by a clerk to “get in line and take a number.” Incensed, Burke retorted, “Go to hell,” and stormed out of the office. The checks kept coming. Burke’s initial anger, meanwhile, has mellowed. “I can’t fault them,” he said. “It’s such a complicated bureaucracy.”