ins, pins, pins.

None more desired in Salt Lake City than the limited-edition green Jell-O pin.

Irreverent pins, too. The kind that Salt Lake Tribune editorial cartoonist Pat Bagley dreamed up. After all, we did have a scandal here.

Pins for sale. Pins for trading. Sponsor pins, athlete pins, National Olympic Committee pins, host city pins, volunteer pins, pins of the various sports. Even the cops had pins.

They became a form of currency, a tip given to someone who helped you out, a welcome handout that brought smiles to the faces of foreigners you couldn't talk to. Pins communicated good will.

They ended up on vests and hats — real pinheads wore so many you would've thought they'd be too weighed down to walk — and, in many cases, within frames that now adorn walls of Utah homes, a reminder of those exuberant days when the pin circus came to town.