Ask the editor: Greenleaf in the moonshine By Tom Brooker News-Chronicle My goodness, it's June already and, with the blooming of the lilacs, the trilling of the larks, the buzzing of the skeeters, here comes another bit of Wisconsin brilliance - me. The first question is from Hermoine J. of Wrightstown. "I've always been curious: Is Greenleaf named after my very favorite poet, John Greenleaf Whittier?" Answer: I'm sorry to disappoint you, Hermoine, but no, it isn't. St. John, a tiny but scenic burg in the rolling "Holy Lands" west of Fond du Lac, is actually named after Whittier. St. John, as you well know, is famous throughout the world for its annual gathering of poets who have the first name of St. John. The village of Greenleaf is actually named after Jeremiah Prescott Greenleaf, who invented the hidden-bottom buckboard right after the turn of the 20th Century. These vehicles came into hot demand during Prohibition because moonshine could be secreted within them and driven right under the revenuers' noses. Alas, with the end of Prohibition, Greenleaf's fortunes plummeted, and he took a job as a silo painter for Harvester. So, Hermoine, when you see that flag on top of a Harvester silo, think moonshine, not poetry. Larry K. from Beecher, no doubt also inspired by the dawning of summer, seeks to further his knowledge: "I know Wisconsin's state bird is the robin, and the state fish is the musky, but does Wisconsin have an official state rock?" Answer: Of course it does, Larry. It's called the Wisconsin Dells (dellsomite cheesytouristitis). As you well know, this is actually more of a geological formation rather than a specific type of stone, but the designation was made by our state Legislature, so what can you expect? Actually, for once I would agree with our solons: The Dells is indeed worthy of distinction. Its creation is a miracle of nature. The Wisconsin River, through tens of thousands of years of lapping away the limestone valley, has created an amazing series of strange formations. Huge monoliths, weirdly resembling teepees and floating ducks and roller coasters, attract people from all over northern Illinois to stare in wonder. One formation actually looks like a casino with stalagmite slot machines lined up in rows within its cavern. Oh, sweet nature! If Whittier were still alive, he'd no doubt write a poem in tribute to the bliss that is The Dells. Kenneth Q. of Champion has the last question: "I heard that Packer great Paul Hornung was quite the 'ladies man.' Any truth to this, any spicy tidbits you know of that can be shared with the rest of us?" Answer: Shame on you, Ken! To imply that the Golden Boy would have a secret, sordid side is blasphemy. The real secret is quite the opposite: Hornung, educated at the University of Notre Dame, devoted almost all of his off-field hours in service of Holy Mother the Church. While with the Packers, he and his teammate Max McGee could be found almost every morning at St. Willebrord's in Green Bay serving as altar boys for the 6:45 a.m. mass. More astonishing is the fact that McGee isn't even Catholic, but that was back in the days when all the responses were in mumbled Latin, so no one knew McGee was just faking his way through it. This sense of piety and giving persists. Today, McGee's fame rests with his work on behalf of finding a cure for juvenile diabetes. Hornung is studying to become a Trappist monk in Belgium, with lifetime vows of service, silence and chastity.