Several times during a 3½-hour taping at his home with PBS WTVP-47, Peoria's "singing mayor" was upstaged by Kiwi, a pet Conure parrot who burst into song despite being in a cage draped in black.

The irrepressible bird and irrepressible former mayor are roommates in the condominium Jim Maloof and his wife, Trudy, bought before she died last year. The couple wanted to downsize to a home all on one level.

The move created problems for the mayor's plaques, trophies and proclamations. There was simply no room for more than half a century of recognition and appreciation.

Maloof's home on Woodridge Lane is just six miles and a lifetime away from the back room of the family grocery store on First and State streets where he was born in 1919 with the help of a neighbor/midwife.

But never in 3½ hours of questions and answers did Maloof talk about Jim Maloof/Realtor, the business he started when he was 48 years old and forced into a career change. Instead, the time was spent talking about memories and accomplishments in the establishment of St. Jude Children's Research Hospital in Memphis, Tenn., and St. Jude Children's Research Hospital Midwest Affiliate at Methodist Medical Center in Peoria.

More than his firm's projected $200 million in annual sales, more than the 11 offices and 160 employees and associates, Maloof assesses his life in terms of children and their battles with cancer. He has spoken at their funerals and sung at their weddings. He mourns their deaths and celebrates their victories. At 83, and now without his lifetime teammate, Maloof is still sprinting toward the touchdown . . . a cure for childhood cancer.

Excerpts from his interview follow:

Q: What was fund raising like in the early years before the clinic was built? All you had was the commitment Danny Thomas had made.

A: He had us believing he was going to build this clinic where kids would get free care. We came back to Peoria and had a meeting at the old Itoo Hall down on South Adams Street. We had no blueprints, no drawings, nothing, just simply Danny's word that he was going to do this.

We brought that message back and somehow people believed us. We raised $8,000, getting $500 commitments from some of the families. The first families to give were the LaHood family, the Couri family, the Joseph family, the Maloof family.

These families would commit $500 over three years, and in 1957 $500 was a bundle. That was a lot of money. In 1958, we raised $11,000.

Every once in a while Danny Thomas would call up and ask how the heck we are raising all that money in that little town down there in central Illinois.

Q: You brought Danny Thomas to Peoria in 1959 to tell about his vision and help with fund raising.

A: In 1959, I said Danny Thomas has to come to Peoria. He was taking a tour of about 28 cities, and Peoria would be one of the last stops. So I announced to the world that Danny Thomas was coming to Peoria. I got a call oneday from a Dr. Klein, the medical director of the Peoria State Hospital. He said, you know we have mental patients down here. I said, Yeah, I used to go down and sing to them. That was a great thrill for me, to get those mental patients singing down there. I knew the institution well.

He said nothing could give these patients down here better medicine than if you were to bring Danny Thomas here. . . . So we said, OK, we'll do it.

When it came time to tell this Mr. Chamber what Danny's itinerary would be in Peoria . . . he had a fit. Oh my heavens, he'll never go there (to a mental hospital).

I said I had made a commitment, it's done, we're going to the Peoria State Hospital. If not, stay away. (Mr. Chamber said), 'Oh, all right, but whatever you do don't tell Danny where you're going. . . .'

Finally, we got down to the foot of Garfield Street hill in Bartonville, and we're going up towards the Peoria State Hospital, and I said stop the car and pull over. I told Danny I was following orders not to tell him, but this is it . . . we're going to the Peoria State Hospital, where they are all mental patients.

He said what's so bad about that. He entertained throughout Europe, throughout World War II for every shell-shocked prisoner. He's had every kind of an audience there is. He said these people need help as much as anybody.

So we get to the hospital, it was so hot that day, well into the 90s. They had a noon lunch whistle. We went to a place like a ball diamond or recreation field. The patients were in a big semi-circle with their families. I'm introducing Danny Thomas to Dr. Klein, and I literally had to yell at the top of my voice to be heard. Believe this or not, above all this noise, above all of these horns honking, above the noon whistle, above everything else that was happening came a youngster's voice.

That youngster's voice said, 'Danny, Danny Thomas, if you're here, if you're really here I've got to see you.'

It was such a pathetic cry. About 75 feet away a nurse pointed down to a youngster in a wheelchair. Danny said, 'Take me to that kid.'

Immediately Danny saw that the youngster was blind and he was trembling so hard. He had some kind of palsy. And in his hand was a white envelope pinched in his fists, and he couldn't hold it still. Danny knelt down in front of this youngster and reached over and touched him.

As a number of blind people will do, the youngster reached over and touched his face and said, 'Are you really Danny Thomas?'

Yes, yes.

The youngster said when he found out Danny Thomas was coming, he started saving candy and gum money. He had something for Danny. He said, 'I want to give you this for those kids that you're trying to save.'

Danny Thomas wept as hard as any adult I have ever seen in my life. He finally pulled himself together and asked what was in the envelope. He said, '75 cents, and it's all yours Danny.'

The kid was 11 years old, blind, palsy, named Billy Johnson. Danny picked the youngster up and took him over to a little recreational area. He told me to get up and sing a song while he pulled himself together.

Danny vowed then and there that 75 cents of Billy Johnson's would be in the cornerstone of the St. Jude statue which would someday go in front of the St. Jude hospital in Memphis. Danny took that 75 cents and told that story in such a way he raised millions of dollars.

But what you have to hear is how that youngster's voice sounded like a bell over and above all that noise. It was just meant to be.

Q: How did Epsilon Sigma Alpha get involved with St. Jude?

A: That is a women's philanthropic sorority. Today, Epsilon Sigma Alpha is the largest contributor to St. Jude in the entire world. Since 1969, they have contributed well over $60 million, and it all began in Peoria.

I was in Bloomington doing some hip, hop, hooray and all that nice stuff about trying to get youngsters in Bloomington to be part of the teen march, which had started in Peoria in 1960 and '61. Danny loved the idea of getting healthy young kids marching for sick kids. The idea of healthy kids marching door to door raising dollars for sick kids. He took that story around the country and literally got volunteers by the thousands all over the country who raised a lot of money.

After appearing in Bloomington, I got a call on a Sunday night. It was about 11 p.m., and this lady called me. She had heard me speak and said I've got to come to Chicago to speak with her sisters . . . ESA.

I said I don't know who Epsilon Sigma Alpha is. She said, come to Chicago and talk to us because we have a state project and another major health organization is the recipient, but we think St. Jude ought to come up and tell a story so we can raise money and let St. Jude hopefully become a state project.

'There are 32,000 of us across the nation,' she said.

I said, What! 32,000? I said, oh my heavens! I'm getting more interested. How many do you have in Illinois?

'I think it's 3,000.'

There will be 600 or 700 women in Chicago, and she wanted to get me on the docket to come up and tell about St. Jude.

What's the date? Oct. 18. I said, oh my heavens, that's my birthday. All right. I told Trudy we were going to Chicago. We left about 6 a.m. We go as far as Bloomington and the weather was just horrible. It rained so hard the windshield wiper wasn't doing anything. We pulled off the side of the road and sat for about 10 minutes until it eased up. Then we started the car up and got as far as Pontiac. The same thing happened again, and we pulled off the road.

I told Trudy we were going home. I was not going to fight this weather.

She said, no you're not. You made a commitment, and we're going. Now we get as far as Dwight, and it happened again. We pulled off the road. Before I could even say a word, she reached over and pulled the key out of the ignition. Are we going or aren't we? I said I think we ought to go home. She said no, we're going. OK.

We finally get up to Chicago and get to the old Sherman Hotel. The gal that we're supposed to meet is out on the curb waiting for us, all excited and nervous. You're on the docket in 10 minutes and if we don't get you on now, you won't get on. Trudy parked the car, and I went upstairs. The gal introduced me to the president of the Illinois State Epsilon Sigma Alpha group. They had about 600 or 700 women there from Illinois, Wisconsin, Iowa, Missouri, Michigan and Ohio. She introduced me and said, you've got six minutes.

I used my old cliche story. . . . I can't blow my big nose in six minutes. So I started with a funny one-liner about the madam president. I could hear the women start to giggle. About 25 minutes later I finished my story about St. Jude. At the end I sang 'Let There Be Peace on Earth and Let It Begin with Me.'

Well, they set aside the Robert's Rules of Order and asked for a vote for St. Jude while I was standing there. It went carte blanche unanimous.

Q: How did you get the St. Jude telethon started in Peoria?

A: First we got the affiliate. Danny Thomas came to Peoria in 1966 for the second time. He met Dr. Robert Hart, who had sent four youngsters to St. Jude in 1966. He was one of the few pediatricians in the country who would have the courage to send a youngster to a research hospital in those days. Danny met Dr. Hart. He met officials from Methodist Medical Center. He had an idea to create a branch in Peoria so children don't always go all the way to Memphis for treatment. They could stay here. Memphis could look at them, diagnose them, set the treatment. That way families could stay together during treatment.

In 1969, we got the St. Jude board to adopt the idea of having an affiliate in Peoria. There were a lot of hurdles. Many of the board members didn't want St. Jude to become a McDonald's franchise. But the medical director in Memphis loved the idea. He came to Peoria. Memphis officials came to Peoria. Methodist hospital officials went to Memphis. . . . We opened the doors of the first affiliate at Methodist Medial Center in 1972.

Our fund raising had grown to about $75,000 a year. Not too many cities the size of Peoria were raising that kind of money. I went and asked Tom Liston, the president of Bergner's, for 50 plastic shopping bags for the Teen March in 1961. He gave me fits for about a week . . . quit penny-anteing me, nickel and diming, and bring me a project Bergner's can really sink its teeth in.

I had gone to my friend Bill Adams, general manager of WEEK, about a telethon. Their policy was no telethons. . . . Bill made a strong pitch about why we needed to have a telethon in Peoria and he sold them on it. He said we needed a co-sponsor, and I went to Tom Liston. Bam, we've got it. No questions. That's how WEEK and Bergner's got together 25 years ago. That telethon costs WEEK a bunch of money every year, and they absorb all the costs of putting it on. It's just unbelievable. And of course, Bergner's is still saying what else can we do?

Q: Didn't Trudy ever say, 'Jim, can't we pick a charity that's a little easier? Can't we do something that's not so emotionally draining?'

A: No, God bless her soul. While we were opposites, I extroverted and she being the stay-at-home mom. But never once did she stand in the way of doing this. Each of us possess certain faculties, and I think we're supposed to use them. I don't wear it on my sleeve, but if there is a good cause and I think I can help, I'm going to be there.

Prior to St. Jude I was involved. I worked 14, 15, 16 hours a day and weekends. I could tell you a cute little human interest story. We got married at 8 a.m. at Sacred Heart Church, June 28, 1941. The two families had a wedding breakfast over at the Pere Marquette. After the wedding I went home and took off my $19 white linen suit. Trudy went upstairs to the apartment . . . and, as most young brides do, just cried most of the afternoon. The women were downstairs cooking and getting ready for the wedding celebration that night. I went back over to the rug shop and worked all Saturday afternoon. Around 5 p.m. I came home, took a bath, got back into my white linen suit and the reception started around 6 p.m. On my wedding day I worked five hours, and she never complained. Except she reminded me of it so many times.

Q: You often put St. Jude before Jim Maloof/Realtors.

A: Oh, sure. She never questioned that. If it was necessary to do something for St. Jude, that came before anything else. . . . Nothing drives you more than being on the St. Jude board. Maybe it's time one or two of my youngsters get involved before I leave this world. All they know is that their dad and mom worked their entire lives for this cause. It would be my dream and my wish that those kids pick up that St. Jude mantle and keep our tradition alive.

Q: All those years you and Trudy worked on this, did you ever despair, ever feel like quitting?

A: No, never. Never lose hope. It's like losing your own child. Trudy and I lost our second son in 1975. He was 27, not even yet in the prime of his life. Could have gone on to be a marvelous pianist. But the good Lord took him, and like many families you say, why me, God? Why us? It's heartbreaking when we lose St. Jude patients. But the work has to go on.

A prominent St. Jude researcher was in Peoria in May and told us they honestly anticipate a cure within the next 20 years. With that in mind, there is no looking back. There's only looking forward and working with hope and faith. We're doing God's work. He who does this for the least of my children, does it for me. We're going to keep on working.