The Noble Character: A Tribute to Miss Jane - Part 5, Elder Years (Part 2), Me and Miss Jane

This is a tribute to my dear friend Miss Jane. I’d like to tell you about her because, by God’s grace, she didn’t waste her life, and that’s probably the highest compliment any of us could ever hope to receive from anyone. This is partly about some of the events and people of her life, but more than that it is also about some of the things she taught me and how she influenced me, to the Glory of God. Thus, in reading about her un-wasted life, may you receive God’s grace to make the best use of yours.

I met Miss Jane 6 years and 3 months before she died, and I’d like to think I got to know her very well.

My wife and I had only been married two years when we moved from Oklahoma City to be youth pastors for a small church in Decatur, AL. On our first Sunday, we were both nervous and probably a little too shy. Miss Jane wasted no time starting the conversation with us after the worship service. (She loved to take initiative like that.) She cordially invited us to Big Bob Gibson’s Barbeque, one of the Crown Jewels of Decatur. According to Miss Jane, if we were to have a proper introduction to Southern-style-cuisine and culture, then Big Bob’s Barbeque was to be the cuisine, and Miss Jane was the culture.

She picked us up the following Tuesday in her white, egg-shaped, 3-door hatchback Hyundai Accent. It was a car wholly consecrated to the work of God, which she made immediately clear. Before going to the restaurant she drove us all over Decatur like a tour guide, instructing us better than anyone else could about the oldness of Decatur, the points of interest, and the unfortunate factors that prevented it from becoming the Chicago of the South.

Finally we pulled into a crowded parking lot with a big red and green neon sign that had a picture of a pig wearing a chef’s outfit and holding a knife. The sign read, ‘ “Big Bob” Gibson Bar-B-Q.’ I was already in love. It was the kind of place that, if you’re just visiting and you ask the locals for a restaurant that gives you the feel of the town, they’ll tell you “Big Bob’s.”

We entered a packed dining room at lunchtime on a workday, yet no one seemed to be in a hurry. The tables were all too close together so that waitresses had to turn sideways to walk between chairs. There were barbecue awards and statues of pigs everywhere, just everywhere, especially decorating the front cash register. A couple of the statues were of a pig standing at a grill wearing a chef’s hat and cooking, you know, pig.

To the far left corner was an office door with a big window, closed yet conspicuous. The office was the size of a large closet. A white-haired man sat at a desk in that closet, pecking a calculator and scribbling in a book. Looking back to the right, the dining room was a big square. Across the far opposite corner of the dining room was the steamy kitchen window where the waitresses would land like bumblebees then fly away with their plates. To the right of the service window was a glass-doored fridge holding all sorts of pie ready for digestion. On the walls between the kitchen and the office were framed newspaper write-ups, plaques, trophies, and more pictures of pigs, all to prove that this dining room stays packed for a good reason. I knew right away this was how Big Bob’s was supposed to look, a small-town staple. But to be honest, Miss Jane didn’t quite fit.

She was, it seemed to me, too classy for the place. 

Our hostess chewed gum like a bored cow as she led us to our booth. Miss Jane followed bold as a mare, proud to show off her hometown’s BBQ-namesake. Miss Jane was a paradox from the start. As we chatted over our water we learned that she had seen the world, yet here she was in Smallville, AL treating Big Bob’s with the prestige of a Paris bistro. She spoke with such great elocution and propriety that I literally asked her if she was British. She humbly giggled and clarified that she was raised in Decatur but had lived for many years in (here she over-pronounced it), “AND-er-son, IN-di-AN-a.” Anderson, in her opinion, produced a more refined and elegant people than London ever could.

Then came the foundational moment of our friendship with Miss Jane, the initial event that would forever make me cherish and understand her with mirth and respect.

For the Chicken.

My wife received her chicken sandwich from the waitress, then proceeded to grab regular ol’ red BBQ sauce to pour over her food. Miss Jane stopped her as she opened the bottle and kindly offered The White Sauce, made especially for chicken. She addressed Mary with the courtesy of a diplomat who needs to help a foreigner understand an unbreakable cultural rule, explaining that The White Sauce was the only sauce made especially for chicken. Then Miss Jane apologized on behalf of the generation that grew up with Mr. Gibson’s original The White Sauce recipe because, unfortunately, they’ve never quite got it right after he passed. Those people old enough to have tasted The Original had to live with the burden of an inferior product. Even so, The White Sauce was for the chicken. She held it across the table for Mary and grinned as though she had stopped Mary from doing something regrettable. Mary looked at the bottle of The White Sauce, then back to the regular BBQ sauce in her own hand, then back to Miss Jane, and shyly declined. She stared at Mary in disbelief. Miss Jane’s smile fell, but the outstretched bottle of The White Sauce did not. It was then that Mary realized Miss Jane was not recommending, she was instructing. As a world traveler Miss Jane was familiar with awkward cultural situations, so she re-explained in case Mary didn’t understand the first time, “My dear, this is The White Sauce, which is made especially for the chicken. If you order chicken, The White Sauce is what you use.” Miss Jane blinked politely. Mary looked back at the bottle to better evaluate the gravity of the situation. Miss Jane’s gaze was fixed, and her lips parted slightly. Mary’s right hand still held the bun ready for red-BBQ-sauce application. Then Mary’s left hand proceeded to shake out sweet red BBQ sauce onto her chicken sandwich and said timidly, “Oh thanks, Miss Jane, but I’d just rather have normal BBQ sauce.” Miss Jane’s eyebrows raised and she began to blink a lot. It took her a whole 5, maybe 8 seconds to bend her elbow and replace the bottle in the condiment rack. She shrugged her shoulders a couple times and her neck twitched subtly. And as she put the bottle back she said with a surprised tone, “Well I suppose you can use any sauce you like, but The White Sauce is for the chicken.” And all I could do was grin and chuckle as my wife chewed with lowered eyes, waiting for me to change the subject.

I do think this story is funny, but please don’t take it as unflattering. You should not hear it as a cheap kind of sitcom-funny. This was just the first of many stories pointing to the deeper, more godly humor that tells you something good and satisfying about reality. It is not because Miss Jane was wrong about The White Sauce, but because she never felt the need to shield anyone from her quirks. From the beginning, Miss Jane showed us that truth is always packaged in a personality. She was abruptly eccentric, which made it impossible for Mary to hide her own subtle eccentricities and particular tastes. Nobody had anywhere to hide with Miss Jane because she would not hide herself from anybody.

Thus, even in that first unforgettable luncheon, she removed from us any temptation to pretend, as so many of us often do. Her simple lesson that day: love can flourish where personality is nourished.