Everyone at Skyway Jack's fell in love with Glenda Hill

ST. PETERSBURG — The way it was for 30 years, grizzled old fishermen, smelling of salt and last night's bait, stumbled into Skyway Jack's at dawn. A skinny Tennessee hillbilly brought their coffee and said — voice as Southern as peppered grits — "How y'all doin'?"

Those rough old cobs fell forever in love with Glenda Hill.

She died on Jan. 26 of ovarian cancer. She was 62. No one felt right that her ashes were whisked north without a goodbye. So Skyway Jack's will say farewell Saturday to the hillbilly waitress that everyone fell in love with.

The woman they loved was barely 110 pounds, a single mother of three. She held it together with her trayfuls of eggs and coffee.

She had a favorite saying, a philosophy of life that covered all its uncertainties:

"Sorta, kinda," she'd say.

"But not really."

• • •

Skyway Jack's was born in 1976 next to the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, and now holds forth on 34th Street S. It's famous for its waitresses. They serve a thousand eggs each morning in T-shirts with two fried eggs plastered on their chests. If a customer wanted a rise out of Glenda Hill, all he'd have to say was, "I'd like some of those fried eggs."

She was one of Skyway Jack's original "Three Musketeers," a trio of waitresses who started at about the same time three decades ago — Glenda, Denise Abel and Mary Lischyna. Back then, the place — more tilted shack than restaurant — stayed open 24 hours. Waitresses never knew exactly when their shifts ended. The Three Musketeers set the tone. Theirs was a Southern-fried wit remembered today on a plaque behind the counter that reads: "If a------- could fly, this place would be an airport."

• • •

One musketeer remains — Denise, now the manager. Glenda was Denise's maid of honor. She was glad Denise, not her, got the promotion. Glenda never wanted to be manager. Pointing to the tables, she said, "My place is out there."

The tips were out there. A sign in the old Skyway Jack's reminded customers the waitresses got $2.13 an hour and relied on what they left beside the plate. Customers didn't let them down. Glenda raised her three kids on her tips. Musketeer Mary raised five.

They knew which customer wanted his eggs hard, which liked ketchup on his home fries, which had a sick daughter. They knew who belonged where at what time every morning. There's the table called the Tree of Knowledge. At daybreak, the fishermen get that table. When they leave, the retired guys get their turn.

Stu and Carolyn Higel have been coming since the beginning. Glenda knew them so well she'd take Stu's plate while he still had his egg sandwich in his mouth.

When Glenda took ill, she told Carolyn about it, over coffee at the counter, at 5:30 a.m.

"All I can do," she said, "is keep on trucking."

• • •

For most of the nine years Glenda fought ovarian cancer, she stayed on at Skyway Jack's. She had no medical insurance. When her customers found out, they put $1,500 in a donation jar by the cash register. She worked off and on between chemotherapy treatments. Her old customers, she said, were her best therapy.

Three years ago, her sister, Kathy Young, got married. Glenda was again a maid of honor. The newlyweds took her on their Las Vegas honeymoon. Glenda moved in with them in Tampa about a year ago, so Kathy could be her caregiver. That was where she died.

Skyway Jack's has new waitresses. But it's the same old place.

Sorta, kinda.

But not really.

John Barry can be reached at (727) 892-2258 or jbarry@sptimes.com.