Jane George: “Like a second mother to me”

By W. I. “Bill” Hairston

I first met Jane George (then Jane Cox) over 50 years ago when I was 13 years old. I was a skinny little 4-Her from Saint Albans, and Jane was a homemaker and a 4-H leader. It was 1963, the first year Kanawha County held an integrated 4-H camp at the newly opened Camp Virgil Tate. Before that, black 4-Hers like me went to Fort Lee at Institute.

For some reason, Jane practically adopted me that first year at Virgil Tate. She immediately made me feel comfortable in what could have been a very uncomfortable situation. And once Jane accepted you, everyone else did, too.

Up to that point in my life, I was kind of shy, but thanks to Jane, I suddenly started to thrive. She called on me to do a little bit of everything and put me in various leadership roles. I don’t know why she picked me. I guess she saw something in me that I’d never seen in myself. In particular, she recognized that I had some singing talent and a good speaking voice. For those of you who know me these days, you might think the talking part would’ve been obvious from the start, but it took Jane to bring that out in me.

After that, Jane was my mentor. If she handed me a book, I read it. If she suggested something for me to wear, I wore it. She was really like a second mother to me, and her two youngest sons weren’t just like brothers; they were my brothers. I got to know the older two sons much later, in the late ’70s. They also became my brothers.

As Jane moved from county to county with her 4-H work, she kept calling on me to help out. She had this idea to do Mountain Heritage Weekends, which immersed junior and senior high school kids in traditional Appalachian culture. The first one was at Hawks Nest State Park in 1968. She asked me, a 19-year-old student at Glenville State College, to be a “presenter of music.” When I got there, I realized I was in rare company. The other presenters included John Morris, Dr. Patrick Gainer from West Virginia University, and Jane’s soon-to-be-husband, Frank George—all of whom were very accomplished musicians. And then there was me, alongside these greats, singing traditional tunes, which Jane had taught to me.

In fact, Jane taught me a lot about a lot of things. She even turned me into a Scottish dancer. If one of her regular dancers couldn’t make it to a performance, there I was in my kilt, which she had made for me, doing the highland fling. Let me tell you, you didn’t see many black kids, especially from West Virginia, wearing kilts.

Wherever Jane went, I went. And Jane went everywhere! When I was in my 20s, I’m guessing I spent 30 weekends out of the year with the Georges. I also spent scores of weekdays with them. She didn’t care that I had a fulltime job by that point. She expected me to be there, and I wasn’t about to let her down. So, I constantly rearranged my work schedule so I could help out.

In the early ’70s, she started her Appalachian Day Camps for kids down in Mercer County. One day, Frank was playing his banjo, and one of the black kids said, “‘Uncle Homer’ plays that same tune.” Well, none of us had ever heard of “Uncle Homer” Walker at that point. Jane jumped in, “Who’s this ‘Uncle Homer?’” Next thing I knew, I was driving Jane down to Glen Lyn, Virginia. We found this old black man playing a banjo on the porch of his little shotgun house. Pretty soon, Jane was taking “Uncle Homer” around to her camps. He, of course, went on to play festivals all over the country and was featured in Taj Mahal’s 1977 movie Banjo Man. None of that would’ve happened if it hadn’t been for Jane George.

Finding talented people was one of Jane’s many skills. She really didn’t get enough credit for it. So many Appalachian musicians and craftspeople who later became famous are known today because of Jane George. Even Frank fits in that category. Now, Frank George was well-known before he met Jane, but he became THE Frank George largely due to Jane’s encouragement. She was his biggest promoter and, to a great extent, helped mold that grizzled persona, which he became known for worldwide.

In 1973, when I was 24, Jane called me up out of the blue and said, “We’re going to Europe!” I didn’t argue with her because when Jane made up her mind, it stayed made up. We took a bunch of kids with us to show Europe some traditional Appalachian music and dance, much of which came from Europe in the first place. I was in charge of the boys and led the singing. We landed in Scotland, went on to England and Holland, and ended up in West Germany.

Frank was a brilliant man, and he knew how to speak German, but not quite as well as he thought he could. Whenever we’d go to restaurants, Frank would order in the native tongue. I started noticing, though, that the waiters and waitresses all seemed to have puzzled looks on their faces. Then, at one performance, he was getting ready to do that old song “Groundhog,” and he said the entire introduction in German. Afterward, a German woman came up, complimented him in English, and said that was the first time she’s ever heard that song translated as “Earth Pig.” What a laugh we all had.

For 34 years, I emceed the Stonewall Jackson Heritage Arts & Crafts Jubilee at Jackson’s Mill (where, in 1964, I had attended West Virginia’s first integrated statewide 4-H camp). And you know why I was emcee for 34 years? That’s right. Because Jane asked me to—for 34 years. If she was going to be there, I was, too.

After I got married and became a father, I didn’t have as much time to work on Jane’s projects, plus Jane was getting near retirement. Although, Jane never slowed down much. It wasn’t in her nature.

I visited Jane and Frank pretty regularly at their home up in Roane County, usually on Sunday afternoons. And she and I still got to work together on occasion, namely at the Jubilee and at the Vandalia Gathering. One year at Vandalia, I was emceeing the Friday night concert, and Jane was sort of my sidekick (but, to be honest, Jane was never anyone’s sidekick). Later, someone said to us, “You all do that really well together,” and I said, “Well, we should. We’ve been doing this together for 40 years.”

Jane George influenced things I do to this day, even the way I think about things. I’ve been fortunate to work with a lot of young people in my life—through my church and as a 4-H leader myself. When I teach kids, I pattern myself after the way she taught me.

All of my mentors are gone now. Jane George was the last of many people who molded my life. I absolutely loved that woman. May God bless Jane as much as she blessed all of us.

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