Name the Utah politician who taught break dancing at illegal clubs, appeared on Taiwan's version of "The Dating Game," studied theology at a Vatican university and owned a dartboard company.

Oh, yeah, and he still plays with dolls.

Give up? It's Utah County Commissioner Jerry Grover.

"It was all preparation for running for county commissioner," laughs the wisecracking three-term Republican who will be the commission's senior statesman once colleague Gary Herbert's term expires at year's end. (Herbert is running for lieutenant governor.)

Despite his rising political status, Grover shuns status symbols. He would rather collect "Sesame Street" dolls (Grovers, naturally) than accolades. He prefers antique Fiats to fanfare. And hobnobbing at party functions takes a back seat to quiet evenings in his Orem home with his wife, Miriam, and their five children.

"Jerry is a reluctant politician," says former Provo City Councilman Stan Lockhart, who ran against Grover and lost a decade ago. "It's almost as if he got involved in the political arena by accident."

Adds Herbert: "He's a little aloof when it comes to party politics. There are other county commissioners [in Utah] who will tell me, 'I've never met your commission colleague.' But Jerry is involved with his commission job and his family, and that's where he puts his emphasis."

For his part, Grover wants to set the record straight - about Grover, anyway. The doll collection is a joint venture with his four daughters and one son. And quick as he is with a quip, the 41-year-old commissioner takes his job overseeing Utah County's 1,000 workers and $60 million budget seriously.

"He's very analytical and very articulate," Orem Mayor Jerry Washburn says.

Since becoming a commissioner in 1995, Grover has helped get the red - $2 million worth - out of the budget and bring the county into conformity with federal clean-air standards. As a result, residents will not be forced to use oxygenated fuel this winter.

Grover wins kudos for avoiding a tax hike when the new county jail and the Health and Justice Building were built. He also introduced a market-based wage scale for county workers.

"I try to apply sound business principles to government where applicable," says Grover, who has a bachelor's degree in geologic engineering from Brigham Young University and a master's in civil engineering from the University of Utah.

Still, as his unorthodox background attests, Grover is not all business. After serving an LDS mission to Sicily, for instance, he decided BYU was so sedate that he needed a break. He traveled to Taiwan, even though he spoke no Chinese. As an "engineering tech" for Mercedes-Benz and General Instrument, he learned the lingo quickly and "became famous" modeling shirts. His picture was everywhere.

When serendipity arrived in the form of an invitation to Taiwan's version of "The Dating Game," Grover accepted on a whim and soon sparked an international incident of sorts. He belted out a rock song in a Taiwanese dialect when only Mandarin Chinese was allowed. "People in the audience were cheering," he recalls. "I thought it was because I was a good singer. But it turned into kind of a political statement for the Taiwanese."

If that was not enough to turn Taiwan's society on its head, Grover's break-dancing lessons at illegal dance clubs would have been - if he had been caught. "Brothels were legal," he explains, "but dances were totally outlawed."

After returning home for a few days, he jetted to Italy, where he was a guest student for several months at the Vatican's Gregorian University. The returned Mormon missionary got the gig upon the recommendation of priests at the Catholic monastery in Huntsville.

"Nothing against my [LDS] singles ward," he says, "but I felt it was more of a fashion show than anything. So I would hang out at the monastery on weekends and go listen to Gregorian chants."

Though he may have been a bit of a Yankee Casanova in Taiwan, Grover had trouble at first winning over Miriam, who hails from Taranto, Italy. She was visiting a friend at BYU when the two hooked up on a blind date on New Year's Eve.

"All I remember is walking through all this deep snow," says Miriam, 39. "He was funny and interesting. We dated for 3 1/2 months."

"Yeah," Grover jokes, "we had a big discussion about marriage with me or going on a mission. She went on a mission."

When Grover asked Miriam's father for her hand in marriage upon her return, the Italian papa was not thrilled. "In Italy, you finish school, furnish a home and then get married when everything is settled," Miriam explains.

Grover was still in grad school. As for a steady job, he could point only to his and a friend's company, Body Shots, which sold dartboards featuring politicians' pictures.

His future father-in-law was not impressed. "I finally told him, 'I [am] paying for the reception, I have Italians coming, and I'd love to have you come,' Grover recalls. 'But if you don't, I don't care. We are getting married.'

Miriam's parents relented and flew to Utah for the wedding.

Fifteen years later, Grover does not know about his next step. For now, he is focusing on easing Utah County's traffic crush. He also wants to consolidate fire and police dispatch services.

"I'll finish up being a county commissioner at some point and probably melt back into oblivion," he says. "I'm partially oblivious now in many ways."

Another international business stint in Taiwan is a possibility, though Grover says he would need to bone up on the language.

"On a trip with Mayor Lewis Billings to Provo's sister city [Nanning] in China, I mistakenly ordered him a beer instead of an apple juice."

meddington@sltrib.com