You're an out-of-town attorney arriving in an unfamiliar courthouse. Or a law school student looking for a trial to observe. Or more commonly, somebody with a court date to fight a citation.

If so, chances are you've stopped by Mary Kay Long's desk in the Hennepin County Government Center for guidance. She knows the judges and their floors by memory. She can look up the courtroom you need. She knows the "frequent flyers" who show up often as defendants; sometimes she can't resist rolling her eyes discreetly after these recidivists check their destinations.

"Nathaniel, you go to 1759 up on the 17th floor."

Sitting under the court information sign on the public service level of the courthouse, Long has been the court system's traffic cop. She helps to ensure that everyone involved in a hearing or a trial arrives in the same courtroom at the same time. But she also tends the passing public with a bountiful candy bowl, a box of Kleenex, and a large bouquet she buys each week on her clerical salary to brighten the institutional setting in which she works.

All that ends on Friday when her job expires, part of a plan by the cash-strapped court system to convert her function to an electronic kiosk.

"A hearing judge? Down one floor and to the right."

The changeover will end her career with the county. A south Minneapolis kid from Resurrection parish who can remember when Todd Park was a swamp, Long was a New Hope mother of five when a divorce left her scrambling for work. She went back to school and worked part-time jobs, cleaning offices at night with a 5-year-old in tow. Her priorities were simple: Eating and living indoors.

Then a family friend persuaded County Commissioner John Derus, who represented her area, to hire her for a vacancy in his office. She worked for him for several years until Derus lost his election in 1992. She shifted to the court side of the county's double-towered building, where she's become an institution during 14 years at her desk.

"Lambert? L-A-M-B-E-R-T? What's it for? Rental court? Third floor."

Long is nothing if not social. Judges stop by to chat. She checks on pregnant law clerks before they queue up to go through court security. She updates reporters on the status of hearings, and even bakes the occasional rhubarb pie for them to carry back to the newsroom.

"She genuinely likes people. You can't fake that. And she has a desire to help people," said public defender Kevin Des Lauriers, also an alum of the Derus office. "I think she treats everybody, whether a you're a judge or defendant, the same way."

"Could it be under another name? Angelica, you go up to 1053 on the 10th floor, right through security."

Some days the calendar of litigation runs to almost 40 pages, and involves hundreds of people. Between the rush periods when court convenes in the morning and afternoon, she does data entry for traffic tickets. "If there's any message you can bring to officers, it's 'write legibly.' I want to find their third-grade teachers and haunt them," she said.

That's about as exercised as she gets. She's a regular mass attendee at nearby St. Olaf Church, which is handy both to her condo and her work, and her faith keeps her calm in the face of losing her perch on what's one of the busiest crossroads of downtown. "I'll land where I'm supposed to land," she said.

"Free legal advice? Right around the corner."

The lines for security to the county's court tower often bunch up just before court convenes. She tips off people to try the less-busy alternate checkpoint at the twin administration tower across the courtyard, then take the elevator and cross on one of the building's pedestrian bridges. Sometimes she earns a "thanks."

There's a farewell reception for Long at noon Thursday in courtroom 1756 of the government center. She'll say goodbye to the folks who consider her smile as much a government center fixture as its reflecting pool. County Attorney Mike Freeman is one of them.

"This is the face and voice of the government center," he said.

Five lines of fun

When you keep a Google search on newsmakers you cover, you never know what might turn up. Like a petition asking Mayor R.T. Rybak to declare Aug. 8 as Limerick Day in Minneapolis.

Turns out it's the brainchild of Max Sparber, impresario for his limerick contest that day whose self-described credentials include "writing bad poetry my entire adult life." He also has a thing for limericks, the five-line doggerel with the AABBA rhyme scheme that's named after the Irish city. An adopted child, he's tracked down his birth records and confirmed that he was the child of Anglo-American and Irish-American parents. "I hadn't wasted my entire life identifying as Irish-American when I was really Russian," he quipped.

The limerick event is slated for 7 p.m. at Kieran's Irish Pub, 600 Hennepin Av. Limerick categories include these themes: Minnesota topics, news, pubs and toasts, not for younger ears, and a catch-all category. Get your contribution in today. Finalists will be announced Saturday, and winners at the event. For entry information, go to www.tclimericks.com.

Naturally, we asked Sparber for a contribution to prime the pump:

I've been run out Dubuque and Sioux Falls

And Manhattan and LA and them all

All of American curses

Fractured meter and verses

Except Minneapolis and St. Paul

The mayor's office tells us a petition isn't necessary for a proclamation. All you need to do is ask. And you don't even need to make your request rhyme.

Steve Brandt • 612-673-4438