Landlocked several generations in the union's middlemost state, my family had but to turn in any geographical direction to study the manners and attitudes of the nation. We chose the southern way.

My affection for this choice endures. It is not that I, like some southerners, find nobility in the tradition of suffering hardships stoically. The Civil War was not my war, and the stiff-jawed martyrdom that sustains many whose forebears chose secession, fighting and dying for a cause they believed just, holds no appeal for me.

Rather, I appreciate the pace and civility in which southern lives are led. The popular vision of natives of the South is of in-bred yokels with bad teeth, beer bellies and chewing-tobacco stains on their white t-shirts ... and the men look worse.

My own vision is of courtly people who regard life as an enterprise not to be squandered.

I visited one of my aunts in recent days and, within minutes of being seated, was handed a glass of iced tea. Moments later, I was asked if the tea was too strong, then if it had enough ice.

When my aunt asked me if I had eaten (it was three in the afternoon), I smiled. This is standard operating procedure for my family, which assumes all guests feel more welcome with a sandwich in their hands. The comment went to my earliest memories, that of hospitality and casual decorum in your home.

The circle comes around on this. Those who come into my home are immediately asked about the status of their thirst.

Some say things in the South never change. Not true. It's just that the southern way is to question changes more closely.

I've pondered this lately with regard to consultants. Consulting is a lucrative vocation that would not be as lucrative without change. Change is at the heart of consulting. Not a dime would swap hands in this endeavor (though the world might be a better place) if consultants report to those who commission them, "You're doing fine ... don't alter a thing."

The response comes back, "I'm paying you for that?" And the logical extension to that response is, "No, I'm not paying you for that."

So, consulting without changes is like Roseanne without controversy. A good consultant knows how the meal ticket gets punched.

In a recent consultation paid for by the city of Cape Girardeau, an out-of-town concern supplied a study on how the community's infrastructure will bear up after riverboat gambling commences.

This seems a reasonable study, one necessary to adequately prepare for the hoped-for influx of people that will accompany this industry. And in farming out the research, the city not only uses experienced and knowledgeable hired hands, it buys a no-sacred-cows sort of scrutiny, equipped with built-in deniability. (If a finding proves unpopular, the useful reflex is, "Hey, that's just what the consultant said.")

A small part of the infrastructure study suggests relocation of the clock that graces the intersection of Themis and Main streets. The clock, which rises out of an island in the middle of the road, is a traffic hazard, say consultants.

It is true that any object placed where cars regularly travel might be considered a traffic hazard. It is also true that in the early life of the clock, after its erection in 1986, several of the decorative posts that circle the small island were taken out by motorists incapable of negotiating the intersection.

However, the clock, which cost $75,000 and embodies a 19th century style of architecture, is the centerpiece of the downtown redevelopment effort, an effort that has been successful in revitalizing this area of the city and one whose failure would have probably been a turnoff to quality gambling interests.

The clock set the tone for everything that has been done well downtown. Besides that, it keeps good time.

And as the community anticipates changes that will come about as a result of this new tourist attraction, we might ask ourselves if this change is really necessary.

Tougher decisions were made earlier, when the community came to grips with the notion of gambling, so this is trivial in comparison. But it begs the next question: Will Cape Girardeau embrace a business whose customers can't be counted on to routinely make their way through a narrow intersection?

We've determined to welcome our gambling guests. We want to be good hosts. But let's insist our visitors do us the smallest of courtesies. Let's ask them not to demolish the icons of our progress.

I hope they don't move the clock. Maybe that's foolhardy ... maybe a drunk back from a bad night at the craps table will make the decision for the city. Maybe I'm just southern enough to resist such a change.

~Ken Newton is a member of the Southeast Missourian news department.