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This is Roald Tweet on Rock Island.    

I know a story about three magic seeds, far more powerful than Jack and his beans that grew up to the clouds.

This is Roald Tweet on Rock Island.

No sooner had the dust of the Civil War settled than the fledgling cities around Rock Island decided to make something of themselves in this world. That meant not only business and industry, but culture.

This is Roald Tweet on Rock Island.

Have you been on so many vacations that you've seen it all?

This is Roald Tweet on Rock Island.

Father Bonn was one of Rock Island's saints. He lived in a dark two-room basement apartment with a hot plate in a dying corner of Davenport, Iowa, across the river. He had retired from the priesthood, but often, from his small cupboard, he fed the hungry with rabbit stew, clothed the poor and uplifted the drowning in spirit.

This is Roald Tweet on Rock Island.

Two years ago, January, I stood along the Straits of Magellan with a group of Rock Island college students traveling in South America.