About to get pretty personal here. It’s a hard thing to write about, losing a friend. But it seems even harder when the friend isn’t really gone.
Jane White is an 86 year-old Madison, Wisconsin native. She’s been a fixture in the care of orphans and unwed mothers in the central South Korean city of Je-ch’eon since February of 1963 (the year of my birth). She’s really been a hero to me and so many others over the past 60 years.
I met Jane over 20 years ago on one of my military tours in Korea. My unit was supporting her orphanage, and I became involved in our monthly trips. It wasn’t long before I took over as president of the unit’s orphanage committee, and so I grew even closer to her. There were so many wonderful memories, making the two-hour trip, cooking burgers and hot dogs for the kids and staff (Jane loved her hot dogs burned), and then playing for the rest of the day. I’d usually go hang out and crawl around on the floor with the toddlers while most of the others played outside with the older kids. We’d finish up our play just before dinner time and then all head up to Jane’s apartment on the top floor of one of the buildings.
She had a really nice, comfortable living room, with sofas and rocking chairs, and a beautiful forest of plants by the windows. She’d usually have a cake or snacks for us, and would brew a lovely pot of coffee. We’d sit at the kitchen table or spread out over the living room and just relax from the day. She was always such an interesting woman.
Jane first came to Korea in May of 1962 on a ship from Washington State (through Japan). After some time in Seoul, she moved to Je-ch’eon in November of that year. By February of 1963, she’d settled into a small place and established the children’s home.
“Moved from Seoul to Jecheon (Chechon) the end of November 1962. Lived with the Holm’s my Missionary friends. Spent the next two months walking around Chechon in knee deep snow looking for a house to rent. We finally found a small four room mud and stick house with a tile roof in the beginning of February.”
“We had to do some repair work and electrical wiring plus closing in a porch at the front of the house putting a small coal stove in and used for my living room and office. We used the largest room for the babies. One smaller room for my two caregivers. One room we used for a storeroom. The smallest room was for me. In this room I had a very small kerosene refrigerator and cooking stove, a small cabinet for dishes, and one of my wooden shipping crates to wash dishes on. There was just enough space in the middle of the room to put down my sleeping pad. The floors were all heated except the closed in porch. We had a well in the yard with a hand pump. Heated water in one of my shipping barrels in a long shed on one side of the house. Shared the outside toilet with the rats.”
There’s far too much history since then – I’m only really familiar with the most recent really. I left Korea in 2003, and when I returned in 2006, our unit was no longer supporting the orphanage. This didn’t stop me from calling Jane and even taking some people up to cook for the kids a couple of times. I went to the 50-year anniversary ceremony in 2013, and then for the occasional visit over the years. The last time I went was in 2018 with my wife. We’d always take a few things for her – especially cake mix and frosting so she could bake birthday cakes for the kids — but maybe a little coffee or peanut butter (Skippy, extra crunchy — which, with the arrival of Costco in Korea, stopped being a need some time ago).
Jane would still call me every few months just to let me know how things were going. Mostly just casual conversation about the kids and the orphanage, but sometimes about more serious matters. There were two things I remember most about every call. First, Jane would always ask for prayer for the kids and the children’s home. She really appreciated prayer for them, especially during those more serous calls. But the second thing, and what I remember most, was the way she said goodbye. I’d say “Bye, Jane,” and without fail she’d end with “bye for now” right before hanging up. Every time. And I always thought that was a beautiful way to end a conversation — a reminder that we would talk again someday.
I’d always told Jane that she should take the time and write her fascinating history down for us. Here was a Wisconsin girl, packing up and moving halfway around the world to a country that was less than 10 years removed from a devastating war at a time when children were still being thrown out into the streets to die. There were no Samsung or Hyundai economic juggernauts. There was no K-Pop and Korean wave. A trip to Seoul took six hours over muddy roads, most often courtesy of the US military. The first few times I went to the orphanage, it took us over two hours to get there (up to Seoul, over to Wonju, down to Je-ch’eon — the 55 expressway from Wonju past Je-ch’eon wasn’t open yet). Now, with the completion of a major expressway between Pyeong-taek and Je-ch’eon, I can make it in just over half that time.
“This is not a real picture – we had it made. It was a lot cheaper than to hire an air view. No grass or water – hard to get a picture like this – cut off the top of the mountain (we call them hills in Wisconsin) that blocks the view of our property. GOD IS SO GOOD – He has met all my needs and Blesses more than I ever thought or dreamed.”
The last long conversation I had with Jane was when she called me a couple of years ago. Much the typical call. Then on her birthday last year, I gave her a call. She was actually at a party with the staff, so I had to call back. When I did, I got the sense she didn’t know who she was talking to. But I thought it was probably because there was still a lot of activity going on and she was distracted. I kept the call short, and she ended with her typical “bye for now,” and then I didn’t hear from her for the next year.
And so, a couple of days ago, I remembered that her birthday had just passed (28 February), so I picked up the phone and called. An unfamiliar voice answered — a younger woman — and as I asked for Jane in my broken Korean, the woman on the other end of the line told me in English that she was sleeping. It was only 7:30 and our calls had always been much later than that, so I asked how she was doing. Sadly, she’d had a very rough year, to include quite some time in the hospital with a disease that I couldn’t recognize in Korean and for which the woman didn’t know the English. Worse still though, Jane was suffering from dementia. I was told I could call again the next day at about 10:30 in the morning. It was usually right after she got up that she was most lucid.
The next day, I called on time and it was one of the hardest calls I’d ever made. The woman asked Jane to say hello, but the most she could manage were a few short “hmmm”s. But mostly silence. And when I told her something I had so many times before – “Jane, I’m praying for you” — there was a pause. The woman repeated to her gently, “Jane, he says he’s praying for you.” And Jane answered with the only words she spoke during our conversation – “I don’t know what that is.” I was heartbroken.
But even more when it came time to say goodbye. “Bye, Jane.” There was no response.
I know that Jane is perhaps not long for this world, and of course it’s sad. The world will be losing a great woman — one who labored for decades loving and helping so many children and families in Korea, and yet wasn’t some kind of household name. She left her home in Madison, Wisconsin nearly 60 years ago, and I doubt that many there even knows she exists anymore. But I remember her and I’m so happy for having known her. And I’m reminded — perhaps now even more clearly — that when she said “bye for now,” it wasn’t just about our talks on the phone or my occasional visits. She may not ever say it again to me here, but I know the last time she did, it counted as much as it ever will.
“Bye for now.” We’ll talk again in heaven, Jane.
Note: all of the pictures on this post are from Jane’s Facebook page. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind, although maybe she wouldn’t want me to make such a fuss.