Bill Wundram

To come to the point, it's a good thing that Tammy and Tim Lane are in love. Adversity has been hounding them since their wed-ding day. As to their honeymoon, we'll get around to that in a few lines.

You might remember the misery of Tammy's wedding day, as told not long ago in this space. She was the bride whose wedding dress was delivered to the church, only half-finished, only 2 hours before the wedding. Attendants pinned and sewed her into the dress, only to find their dresses were either half-finished, too, or didn't arrive at all in time for the wedding. Remember how those seven attendants made do by rolling up their shorts and wear-ing the tux coats of the groomsmen? Wedding-goers were slack-jawed, but the atten-dants - in tux coats, pantyhose and matching heels - looked quite adorable. It wasn't over, yet. The top-notch for their big wedding cake had been mounted upside down.

Now, comes the honeymoon. Tim (a Scott County sheriff's deputy) and Tammy (a fitness instructor) were for-certain that all the misfortune was behind them. Ha! Turbulence in Chi-cago delayed their flight to Florida and Disney World. Electricity was going off and on at the amusement park. Orlando was unex-pectedly whipped by winds and rains of Hurricane Erin. It never quit raining while they were at Disney. On their final day, they bought ponchos and did all the inside buildings of Epcot Center. MGM Studios was a washout. During this, Tim became ill, a flu-like virus. On the plane home, he was quite sick.

"He vomited but luckily didn't have much in his stomach," Tammy says.

More problems: They'd left their car with a relative in Chicago. It wouldn't start. Rather than face big-city mechanics' expenses, Tim worked on the car all night. It finally started, but he had to keep his foot on the accelerator all the way home - putting it in neutral, and racing the motor - at rest stops or when Tammy ran inside a restaurant to get sandwiches. He couldn't turn off the motor or it would stop.

"The big thing, we're in love and we were married. My hus-band says after that honeymoon, we need a vacation to relax." Sight-'ems

LICENSE plates that say Momcorn and Popcorn. Cars owned (who else?) by Judy and Charles Crispin, who run Popcorn Charlie & Co., Davenport.

PUZZLE on Illinois 88, not too far outside the Quad-Cities: A marker says Mile 44. Less than a mile up the road, Mile Marker 60. Tour bus drivers joke to passengers they have zipped 16 miles in two seconds.

Battling to save a brothel?

The hub-bub over saving that little building at River Drive and Main Street, Davenport, may have more than historic importance. The city's oldest commercial building began life as a general store (1841). Later, it was Clifton Metropolitan Hotel. Some claim it was a brothel. Those who have inspected the upper floors say it is a series of crib-like rooms, with paisley wallpaper, suitable for only the size of a bed. "Very possible," says Karen Anderson, local authority on brothels. "It was at the edge of notorious Bucktown." Fritz Miller, of Davenport's preservation commission, agrees it could be so. "The brothel story was told me when I was a window decorator more than 50 years ago at Petersen's," says Bettendorf's Rosemary Lohrman. "We stored decorations in all those little rooms." Tsk. Tsk. Such tales. To think, when he came to Davenport, John Connelly had the idea of opening a tavern on the corner and calling it "John's Place."

Mispronounced words, Part VI

Almost a daily exercise now, the words Quad-Citizens most com-monly mispronounce …

Amy Maxey, whose husband Jay is a student at Palmer College of Chiropractic, says people ask if he is studying to be a choirpractor.

"No," he answers, "I'm going to be a chiropractor because I can't sing."

DAVE MAZE Jr. of Camanche, Iowa, is irked when people say hunderd instead of hundred.

NITA MARSYLA, Colona, Ill., is irritated when someone wishes, "Happy birfday instead of "Happy birthday."