The article below states with respect to Mr Janklow, former governor of South Dakota:

He was cited for speeding at least a dozen times between 1990 and 1994, and had been in accidents. Unlike some states, South Dakota does not count speeding among the offenses that warrant ''points'' toward suspending a driver's license.. While Mr. Janklow was governor, the Legislature dropped that offense from the list in 1986, Colonel Mosteller said.

Late in the afternoon of Aug. 16, Mr. Janklow was driving a 1995 Cadillac through Flandreau, headed south on a two-lane road that led to Brandon, where he lives. The speed limit is 55. The police said Mr. Janklow was traveling more than 70 miles per hour when he drove through a stop sign about 13 miles south of here. The crossing road had no stop, and two motorcycles were headed west on it. One made it. The other, driven by Mr. Scott, smashed into Mr. Janklow's car, sending the cyclist flying. Mr. Scott died beside a soybean field.

The article fails to address the crucial question of whether Janklow arranged to having speeding dropped from the offenses that can lead to license suspension. With his propensity for getting speeding tickets, it would seem reasonable to suspect Janklow of manipulation of the legislature to suit his driving habits. If this is true, Janklow could have been charged with second degree murder, at least in some states. ........We would like to receive reports discussing the question of Janklow's role in changing the driver license law. Had he accumulated speeding tickets when the law was changed in 1986?... ....It should not be forgotten that Janklow, even if he didn't manipulate the law, refused to change his habit of speeding, and this in itself removes the homicide from the realm of a simple accident. A man died because Janklow refused to stop his chronic speeding.

The New York Times, Sept 7, 2003 pA24

Fatal Crash Charges Threaten Political Career.....Rep. Bill Janklow's speeding at over 70 miles per hour through a stop sign resulted in the death of motorcyclist Randy E. Scott) Monica Davey.

Representative Bill Janklow, a Republican who is nearly always blunt, tough and sure, leaves no bland impressions. Here, in the state he has presided over in one way or another for decades, people either adore him or detest him.

''He gets the job done,'' said Eddie Hansen, a Democrat who said he regularly set aside party loyalty to vote for Mr. Janklow.

''He's straight to the point -- some would say arrogant -- and I like that,'' said Mr. Hansen, 53, as he bought breakfast here recently.

But at a lunch place down the street, George Halter angrily recalled an image he has held onto for 25 years -- the time he said Mr. Janklow, then the governor, berated him for saying ''precursor'' in a business meeting on a federal grant. Apparently, Mr. Halter said, the governor found it pretentious.

''He jumped all over me for it, and he was really nasty about it,'' Mr. Halter, 60, said. ''And we haven't spoken since.''

For once, the people on either edge of Mr. Janklow's broad and boisterous public image -- his loving supporters and his most bitter enemies -- seem to agree: Mr. Janklow, a friend of President Bush's and one of South Dakota's most powerful leaders, has a shaky political future, if at all. Mr. Janklow, the state's only member of the House of Representatives, faces a felony second-degree manslaughter charge and three misdemeanors for a traffic accident last month that left a motorcyclist dead.

''I would think he might want to retire sometime soon,'' offered Louie Kramer, 76, as he sipped coffee at the Flandreau Bakery and Coffee Bar. ''I should think it would be difficult to go forward now.''

As he trudged into the Moody County Courthouse here this week for a first appearance in his case, Mr. Janklow, pale, silent and leaning on helpers, looked nothing like the politician South Dakota voters have known for 30 years. Wild Bill, as he has been called, the man who even made light of his habit of speeding in his State of the State address, seemed to have vanished.

Neither his defense lawyer nor his son, who has spoken on his behalf since the accident, answered requests for interviews, but his friends described Mr. Janklow, 63, as a man in deep anguish -- wrestling with a fractured hand and a head injury, and an overwhelming sense of misery and remorse for the death of Randy E. Scott, a 55-year-old motorcyclist from Hardwick, Minn.

The political questions, tangled up with legal issues, are mounting: Will Mr. Janklow, who has not returned to Washington, consider resigning? Will he be convicted of the most serious charge and lose his right to vote? And will he run for a second term in the House?

''His political career is in severe jeopardy,'' said James Meader, a professor of government at Augustana College in Sioux Falls. ''I hear people feeling sorry for him on a personal level, but I don't see that carrying over into the political realm. The only question for me is whether he resigns or retires at the end of this term.''

Partisan political operatives here have avoided speaking publicly about Mr. Janklow's future. But a hope held at one point by some Republicans here -- that Mr. Janklow might take on the Senate minority leader, Tom Daschle, next year -- seems all but forgotten.

In this town of about 2,300 people, which is both the site of Mr. Janklow's legal case and his boyhood hometown, people seemed stricken to see Mr. Janklow looking so stricken at Tuesday's court appearance.

''We just feel terrible for him,'' said Helen Johns, who was a grade ahead of Mr. Janklow in school. ''He didn't want to kill anybody. How many of us haven't run stop signs? And how many of us haven't been speeders?''

Mr. Janklow was born in Chicago, but his mother moved the family to Flandreau after the death of his father, who had been a prosecutor at the Nuremberg war crimes trial. He left high school for the Marines, then went to college and law school.

Mr. Janklow's political career soon soared: he was elected attorney general and governor four times, but failed in a bid for the United States Senate in the mid-1980's.

Through it all, he was never dull, nor shy of controversy. He closed a university and turned it into a prison, lived through a plane crash, and showed up for just about every natural disaster that hit the state.

He was also known to drive fast. He had emergency lights installed in some of the cars he drove when he was governor, said Col. Dan Mosteller of the state highway patrol.

Late in the afternoon of Aug. 16, Mr. Janklow was driving a 1995 Cadillac through Flandreau, headed south on a two-lane road that led to Brandon, where he lives. The speed limit is 55.

The police said Mr. Janklow was traveling more than 70 miles per hour when he drove through a stop sign about 13 miles south of here. The crossing road had no stop, and two motorcycles were headed west on it. One made it. The other, driven by Mr. Scott, smashed into Mr. Janklow's car, sending the cyclist flying. Mr. Scott died beside a soybean field.

A preliminary hearing will be held on Sept. 25. What should happen in court depends, as it does with most questions about Mr. Janklow, on who is doing the talking -- those who love him or those who do not. The felony carries a sentence of up to 10 years.

''The majority of townsfolk think that it shouldn't be a prison sentence at all,'' said Deb Feske, 43, who owns a beauty salon.

But LeRoy Myers said Mr. Janklow should serve ''a couple years anyhow'' behind bars. ''He should be treated like the next guy,'' he said. Mr. Myers, 88, said he had never voted for Mr. Janklow, nor did he ever intend to.

Flowers mark the intersection where Randy Scott died for the sake of Bill Janklow's speeding habit.