Twenty-Five Years Later
\nIt was such magic in our lives. The gift left to us by someone restored something in my family and \u00adme. My troubles aren\u2019t gone, but MY HOPE is restored. \u2014JBM
\nChuck might be the only person ever to write his last will and testament on the back of a paper placemat.\u201d Preacher Longhurst paused as soft laughter rolled across the crowd assembled under the mammoth green canopy erected in the field behind Chuck\u2019s Chicken \u2019n\u2019 Biscuits. \u201cBut friends, who are we kidding, there were probably a lot of things Chuck was the first person to ever dream of.\u201d
\nHope Jensen smiled from her folding chair on the second row.
\n\u201cAnd that\u2019s why we loved him. It was not just for his secret recipe that produced fried chicken so tasty it could have been made by angels in hairnets, but also for his heavenly Three Musketeers pie, his Sing for a Wing talent nights, and his Cluck Truck that was a rolling landmark around town. Who here hasn\u2019t been sitting at a stoplight when Chuck pulled up behind you and all you could see in the rearview mirror was a yellow beak? You\u2019d smile, he\u2019d wave, and if you were lucky, he\u2019d honk the only horn ever manufactured that went \u2018buck-buck.\u2019\u201d
\nThe congregation laughed, partly for the memory of Chuck\u2019s famous horn, but mostly for the silly sound effect Preacher Longhurst made with his lips pressed against the microphone.
\nHope looked at Marianne\u2019s soft expression and squeezed her hand. Marianne had only known Chuck since she had been reunited with Hope three years earlier, but he\u2019d become family to her, just as the Maxwells had. In fact, he became family to nearly everyone who\u2019d ever had a meal at Chuck\u2019s Chicken \u2019n\u2019 Biscuits.
\n\u201cFriends and neighbors, there was more to Chuck than his sense of humor, and he wasn\u2019t just about customer service. He was about people service. More often than not when you saw the Cluck Truck around the county it meant that Chuck was delivering free meals to schools, church functions, or the seniors\u2019 center. His sweetheart, Gayle, tells me he gave away as many meals as he sold during his many years in business.\u201d
\nGayle nodded from the family section in the front row.
\n\u201cDear friends, I know that some among us find it ironic that a preacher from a church Chuck never attended is officiating his funeral. I have wondered the same thing. The truth is that Chuck rarely attended church. I invited him every time I saw him, usually on Sundays for lunch or when I was brave enough to participate in Sing for a Wing night. But his answer never deviated. And these words will sound familiar to his family, I\u2019m sure. He always told me, \u2018Preacher, just because I\u2019m not in God\u2019s house doesn\u2019t mean he\u2019s not in mine.\u2019\u201d
\nHe looked down at Gayle from the wobbly tabletop pulpit. \u201cChuck\u2019s church was here, wasn\u2019t it? Here at the diner, where he did more good for God than any of us will ever know.\u201d He reached down to the table and pulled something from a large envelope.
\n\u201cNow I know this is rather unusual, but this whole day feels different, doesn\u2019t it? I\u2019ve discussed this with Gayle and with her enthusiastic support I\u2019m going to read Chuck\u2019s will for you.\u201d
\nGayle smiled, reaffirming her blessing, and clutched her unopened package of Kleenex. With her eyes closed she saw herself sitting in a booth five years earlier with her husband late one evening. Chuck had suffered a very mild heart attack and was convinced it was time for a will. But instead of hiring an attorney and producing long, complicated lists of wishes, assets, and disclosures, he jotted down his thoughts in tiny letters on the back of a paper placemat. With one hand he wrote, with the other he ate a piece of pie and nursed a carton of chocolate milk.
\nHope reached forward and tenderly rubbed Gayle\u2019s back.
\nGayle\u2019s two grown sons, Joel and Mike, sat on her right and left and simultaneously looped their arms through hers.
\nPreacher Longhurst unfolded the placemat and held it high for the guests to see. Those in the first few rows laughed at the mustache Chuck had sketched on the diner\u2019s longtime logo: a cartoon chicken.
\n\u201c\u2018The one and only will and testament of Charles \u2018Chuck\u2019 Quillon. If you\u2019re reading this then I\u2019ve kicked the chicken bucket.\u2019\u201d Preacher Longhurst looked up and out at the crowd. \u201cIt says, \u2018If read aloud, pause for laughter.\u2019\u201d
\nThey laughed again.
\n\u201c\u2018If I\u2019m dead, I either choked on a chicken bone, had a heart attack worse than last month\u2019s, or Gayle finally made good on her threat to smother me in my sleep and take my vast personal wealth. I hope for the sake of a good story that it was the latter.\u2019\u201d
\nHope whispered something in Marianne\u2019s ear.
\n\u201cYou\u2019re so bad.\u201d Marianne poked her in the side.
\n\u201c\u2018What to do with my stuff.\u2019\u201d Preacher Longhurst looked up again. \u201cYou\u2019ll have to excuse me, the writing is quite small here.\u201d He held the placemat closer to his face. \u201c\u2018My stuff. The restaurant to Gayle and the boys. The red Mustang to my brother, Derrick. The silver-and-black one to Randall, the best cook in America. The stuffed chicken by the register to Eva, the worst waitress in America.\u2019\u201d
\nEva laughed loudly and clapped her hands twice in delight.
\n\u201c\u2018Last. My two certificates of deposit from Southern Family Credit Union. Gayle will cash in and divide equally with everyone who ever worked at Chuck\u2019s. Be prepared to be surprised.\u2019\u201d There were several gasps throughout the tent and someone actually clapped. Before long they were all applauding.
Preacher Longhurst continued. \u201c\u2018Rules for my funeral. Number one. No crying. Number two. No church. Funeral must be held at diner or outside in the meadow.\u2019\u201d He smiled and gestured with one hand to the rented tent that sheltered some two hundred guests less than fifty yards from Chuck\u2019s. \u201c\u2018Number three. No sad and hokey two-for-one deaths. This isn\u2019t some cheesy novel or chick flick. If I go first, Gayle must live for a minimum of twenty more years.\u2019\u201d
\nThe crowd laughed and Gayle rolled her \u00adeyes.
\n\u201c\u2018Number four. No use of the words \u201cmourners,\u201d \u201cgrief,\u201d or \u201cbeef.\u201d\u2019\u201d Preacher Longhurst shook his head. \u201cI just got that,\u201d he said sheepishly.
\n\u201c\u2018Number five. Serve a free meal before or after. Leg-and-thigh platter with tots. But no free drinks.\u2019\u201d
\nThe crowd laughed even harder.
\n\u201c\u2018Number six. Everyone gets a jar. Hope\u2019s in charge.\u201d Preacher Longhurst pointed at a row of banquet tables running along one side of the tent. Covering the tables were Mason jars bearing a black-and-gold label that read Christmas Jar.
\nGayle turned around and winked at Hope.
\nHope glanced at her best friend, Hannah Maxwell, on one side, Marianne on the other, and gave the preacher a thumbs-up.
\n\u201c\u2018Lastly, number seven. Keep living. Because I\u2019ll know if you\u2019ve stopped.\u2019\u201d
\nPreacher Longhurst held up the placemat once again and pointed out where Chuck had signed and dated it and reminded everyone that despite its uniqueness, it was, in fact, a legally binding document. He added a few more words of his own about the legacy of Chuck Quillon and closed with a scripture.
\nBoth of Chuck\u2019s sons spoke briefly. Then his brother, Derrick, spoke until he began to lose composure. He finished, \u201cI better sit down now before I cry and lose that Mustang.\u201d
\nFinally, Hope, Hannah, and Marianne stood and sang a closing hymn that could have been written by just about anyone in attendance: \u201cBecause I Have Been Given Much.\u201d There wasn\u2019t a dry eye in the tent.
\nAfter a benediction by one of Chuck\u2019s grandchildren, the pallbearers loaded the plain casket into the hearse and the guests made their way to a small cemetery ten miles south down U.S. Highway 4. There was no graveside service, just a moment or two of private reflection. Many stopped to touch the casket or whisper something kind into the wind.
\nA team of folks had stayed back at the diner to prepare for lunch so by the time the procession returned, the tent had been filled with tables and chairs and hot chicken and tots were being served on heavy-duty paper plates. Five-gallon coolers bearing Chuck\u2019s cartoon chicken logo poured lemonade.
\n\u201cWhat a turnout,\u201d Hope said to Hannah Maxwell.
\n\u201cNot surprising though, right? Who in the south hasn\u2019t eaten at Chuck\u2019s at least once? See that lady over there?\u201d She pointed with her fork to an older woman sitting at the far side of the tent. \u201cThat\u2019s Terri Alexander. I think she\u2019s from Tampa. She heard from a friend of a friend that Chuck passed and wanted to be here.\u201d
\nHannah repeated the point to her husband, Dustin, and the two began counting how many people in the crowd were unfamiliar to them.
\nHope rested her head on Marianne\u2019s shoulder for a moment and relaxed. It had been a tiring four days. Chuck died on Thanksgiving evening, alone in the kitchen, after serving free meals to anyone who\u2019d asked. It was an annual tradition at Chuck\u2019s, and it seemed natural that he\u2019d leave the earth on the same day he gave several dozen others a full stomach and one more day of life. Gayle said that at age \u00adseventy-\u00adfour, after all that Chuck had accomplished, no one could say that he\u2019d left behind any unfinished songs.
\nThis had been Hope\u2019s first funeral since Adam Maxwell\u2019s three years earlier when she\u2019d sat shyly in the back. She\u2019d not grown up with a traditional father of her own, but she\u2019d certainly had two terrific dads. Between Adam and Chuck she\u2019d had more love and fatherly guidance than most girls she knew.
\nHope looked at Marianne and warmed at the thought that not only had she loved two fathers, but in a strange way, two mothers as well. Raised with such unconditional care by her late mother, Louise, she was now cherished by Marianne. The two were much more like sisters than mother and daughter. In fact, Hope reserved the title of Mother only for Louise, even though it was as crystal clear as their stunning eyes that Marianne was Hope\u2019s biological mother.
\nBy now practically everyone in the county knew she\u2019d been mentored by Adam for a short time, and by Chuck since birth. She surveyed the funeral scene and proudly wondered how many other people could make such a claim.
\nAdam\u2019s widow, Lauren, had adjusted well to the loss of her husband. She volunteered at the hospital three days a week and at an elementary school the other two days. The weekends were spent with her grandchildren, recharging her battery, and keeping her mind off the loneliness of a king-sized bed. And because Christmas was just three weeks away, she enjoyed telling people she was \u201cbeyond busy\u201d with the Christmas Jars Ministry.
\nHope watched as the first wave of people finished lunch and began stopping by the tables to pick up their Christmas Jars. A few spotted Hope at her table, caught her eye, and proudly raised their jars for her to see. She blew them a kiss and waved good-bye.
\nShe knew that everyone would find a rolled-up note, tied with green yarn, inside the jar which explained its purpose:
\nThank you for honoring Chuck\u2019s wish and taking a Christmas Jar with you. The tradition may already be a familiar one, and if it is and you already have a jar at home, we thank you again and invite you to give this jar to someone who is not yet part of the magic. If this is your introduction to the tradition, we ask you to place this jar on your counter at home, or anywhere it can easily be seen and reached. Each day drop your spare change, coins only, into the jar. On or around Christmas Eve, give the jar away anonymously to someone in need. The need is yours to judge and the decision of who receives the jar is yours and yours alone to make. As soon as possible after Christmas, place a new jar on the counter and begin filling it for next year. The miracle begins with you!
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