Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SATURDAY, February 18, 1995 TAG: 9502200060
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV3 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: DONNA ALVIS-BANKS STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
"He was so polite and so nice," she recalled as she sat on the sofa in my living room watching the evening news. "I don't believe he could have killed Nicole."
The Christmas tree was twinkling in a corner of the room. Candlelight flickered on the walls. The glow made her face look so frail. Her meager 78-pound frame was wrapped up like a Christmas package in a colorful afghan.
The love I felt for her swelled like a tidal wave inside me.
"Grandma," I said, laughing, "I'm sure O.J. would love to have you in the jury box!"
When I was growing up, other girls my age had grandmothers who wore their hair in buns and baked cookies. Their grandmothers had names like "Nana."
My grandmother's real honest-to-goodness name is Charlie Belle Barnes. Since 1960, she has lived in Atlanta and rubbed shoulders with the rich and famous, not to mention the occasional rich and infamous.
Until a few months ago, she worked as a waitress in some of Atlanta's prime restaurants and hotels - the Regency Hyatt, the Royal Coach, the Stadium Club, the Ramada and, since 1984, the Holiday Inn South near Atlanta International Airport.
It took a fractured leg that was slow in healing, a stint in the hospital following congestive heart failure, surgery for cataracts and a few other medical setbacks to persuade her to retire.
She's 79 years old.
For as long as I can remember, Grandma has entertained me with stories about her profession.
To most people, waiting tables is a provisional job, a way to work your way through college, a stepping stone to better things.
But for more than 60 years, it was Grandma's calling.
"If I can brighten someone's day, I feel like I've made a difference," she told me time and again.
Soft-spoken, kind, efficient, patient and caring in the most genuine way - there's no doubt Charlie brightened a few days.
She brightened Doris Day's day. She brightened Joe Namath's day. She brightened O.J.'s day, too.
Hank Aaron. Jimmy Carter. Elizabeth Taylor. Bill Elliot. Mel Tillis. Herman Talmadge. Phil Niekro. Rusty Wallace.
The people who sat at Grandma's table came from all walks of life. Some of them were "picky" and "hateful." Others were "polite" and "nice."
Bob Hope once pressed a $50 tip into Grandma's hand.
Astrologist Jeanne Dixon correctly guessed her sign.
"My dear, I'll bet you're a Virgo," she surmised after watching Grandma in action.
Grandma seldom asked her celebrity customers for an autograph, but she couldn't help herself when Will Geer showed up in the dining room.
Geer, who played Grandpa Zeb Walton on "The Waltons," was the favorite television star of my great-grandmother, an invalid who, until she died at age 97, lived with Grandma.
"My mother has to be sure she sees you every week," Grandma told Geer. When she held out a piece of paper for Geer to sign, he pushed it away.
"Honey, I'll do better than that," he told her. "I'll be back in a minute."
He went to his car and returned to the restaurant with a glossy photo. He autographed it with a personal message: "To Granny."
Three days later, Grandma heard that Geer had died.
Although Grandma saw people most of us only glimpse on magazine covers, she wasn't starstruck.
Even major-leaguers, she realized, put their pants on one leg at a time. She also realized that some of them were too big for their britches.
Take Bob Horner, for instance.
Horner, the third baseman and homerun slugger for the Atlanta Braves in the late '70s and '80s, once got a dressing-down from Grandma.
Grandma still tells the story about the little wide-eyed boy who spotted Horner having breakfast in the Stadium Club and approached him for an autograph.
"Leave me alone," Horner told the boy. He didn't even look up from his morning paper.
"Bob," Grandma said as she sat Horner's juice glass on the table, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"I don't have time for that," Horner retorted huffily.
"One of these days you'll have lots of time on your hands, Bob," Grandma reprimanded. "And you may wish you had someone to share it with."
No wonder Pernell Roberts fell in love with Grandma.
Roberts, the only surviving major cast member of NBC's long-running "Bonanza" series and former star of "Trapper John, M.D.," always made a point to sit at Grandma's table when he was in Atlanta. He's a Georgia native.
A few years ago, Roberts called the restaurant where Grandma worked to make a special request. He was planning a dinner reunion for buddies from his old school football team and wanted to make sure Grandma would be available.
As she was bustling around the dining room, filling coffee cups and iced tea glasses, she heard Roberts calling her name.
She hurried to his side and asked, "What would you like, Pernell?"
He flashed his best Adam Cartwright smile.
"I would like my hug, Charlie," he replied.
It wasn't easy for Grandma to throw in the towel a few months ago.
"I wish I could go back to work," she told me when she visited this past Christmas. "When you've worked with the public as I have for 64 years, it's hard to stop."
I thought then about all the lives my grandmother has touched over the years - especially mine.
She taught me the value of hard work and the personal rewards that come from caring for other people.
And she did it by example.
While my friends found their heroes in television and sports and movie magazines, I found my hero in a restaurant.
She was a waitress.
Grandma lived in the New River Valley before she moved to Atlanta. Formerly Charlie Belle Bibb, she raised three children in Radford while she worked at the Burlington Hosiery Mill. She was a youth group leader at Radford's First Christian Church. Later, she managed several restaurants in the area, including the Texas Barbecue, a popular Radford drive-in in the '50s. Friends and former customers who would like to get in touch with her may write to me, Donna Alvis-Banks, c/o The Roanoke Times & World-News, New River Valley Bureau, P.O. Box 540, Christiansburg 24073, or call 381-1661.
by CNB