Remembering the Pie Lady, and her wonderful service

Maybe you knew Sally, even if you didn't know her name.

She was a waitress -- not a server, and definitely not a waitperson -- from the old school. She was a fixture, over the years, at a number of area eateries.

Sally was one of those women of indeterminate age. She could be 50. She could be 70. She never seemed to change. Or age. As it turns out, she was 77 when she died last week at her home in McClure, Illinois.

For countless diners over several decades, Sally was a connection to an era when restaurants made their reputations by serving tasty food, ample portions and some specialty of the house, whether it was fried chicken or seven-layer salad. For the restaurants where Sally plied her trade, it was pie.

No, make that pies.

Sally didn't just make good-tasting pies. They were beautiful as well. The meringue pies reached questionable heights. The fruit pies were topped with lattice crusts. You could still enjoy one of Sally's rhubarb creations. Or raisin pie. Who serves raisin pie in the 21st century? It was a personal favorite of mine.

Other diners had their favorites, too. Sally loved to tell customers about "that fella from the university" who regularly ordered one kind of pie to eat before his meal and another kind of pie to end his meal. This was lunch. The "fella" was Tom Harte, who certainly knows a thing or two about baking -- and knows where to find the best examples.

Twenty-some years ago, Sally was a waitress at an establishment in East Cape Girardeau called Witz BBQ. Lunch crowds there scarfed the daily specials and saved room for pie. Nearly everyone had pie.

The restaurant went through several ownership changes until it finally faded into memory. But Sally didn't evaporate into thin air. She showed up at the Fox Hollow Cafe at the intersection of the bridge highway and Highway 3 south of McClure. And there were those luscious pies.

If you were to describe Sally, surely you would observe that her waitress attire was always starched and ironed to perfection. Every crease was exactly where it should be. The same could pretty much be said for her hairdo, although it's highly unlikely that she starched her hair.

When my wife and I first met Sally, at the Witz establishment, we noticed that she had an ever-so-slight limp. She explained she had had a hip replacement. But that didn't mean slowing down. Not one bit. It meant exerting a little extra effort. That's all.

One time my wife and I went to the Witz cafe for lunch, and Sally was there with her husband, Chub. They were having the special. It was, she explained to several regulars who were used to seeing her in uniform, their anniversary, and they were celebrating with a meal at the restaurant where she worked. And why not?

Pies were not the only special creations that came from Sally's kitchen. She also made bite-size chocolates for Easter and Christmas -- hundreds and hundreds of them, each of them tediously decorated with bits of icing. They were like jewels, almost too pretty to eat. Almost.

If you watched Sally at work, you would assume she never took a slow step or sat down to rest a minute in her life. She was constantly in motion tending to the needs of hungry guests.

In recent years Sally had some serious health problems, bad enough to keep her away from work. For a while. Only for a while.

Among her customers, Sally had her favorites. My wife and I were honored to be among those with whom Sally shared some her joys, and some of her woes. When she saw us come in, she would shoo away the younger servers, making sure we got the best Sally treatment.

The last time we ate at Fox Hollow, a couple of weeks ago, we noticed Sally was moving more slowly. She stayed in the kitchen preparing food. She didn't come out to say howdy-do or to ask what we had been up to.

Without saying a word, we knew something was wrong. And then there was the obituary in the paper.

The sadness we feel at the loss of a good and wonderful friend is tempered a bit by the memories of all those occasions we had over the years to see Sally in action. What an inspiration she was.

And, it goes without saying, every piece of pie we ever consume for the rest of our lives will always -- always -- be measured against those crusty marvels of Sally's.

In memoriam, have a piece of pie. Then have lunch. And then have another piece of pie.

Really. Do it.

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.