Noble: Jarvis was part of Shea's fabric

The older ballparks had unmistakable aromas, mixtures of stale beer, cigar smoke and cement. The ramps of Yankee Stadium, pre-1974 renovations, had more cigar than the Polo Grounds or Ebbets Field. To me, the Dodgers' home had a unique scent that suggested wood was burning. The Polo Grounds just smelled. But that odious odor was part of the distinction.

Yankee Stadium had the wonderful sound of Bob Sheppard's voice -- "Num-ber fawty-too, Tom Sturd-i-vant." The Polo Grounds sounded hollow. Ebbets Field sounded as if the treble had been turned up and the bass turned down. More distinctions.

Shea Stadium was in its infancy the first time I climbed its ramps. No cigar smell or eau d'Rheingold. Its distinctions were its roundness (noticed most by trips to and from LaGuardia), the rattle of those blue and orange corrugated metal things attached to exterior of the park and the dreadful din of the departing jets.

And Jane Jarvis.

To me, she was to Shea what Sheppard was to the Ball Orchard in the Bronx. Lindsey, Kiner and Murph were the voices of the Mets, Bill Gallo's Basement Bertha was the team's mascot for so many years. And Jane's organ was the Sound of Shea. A most delightful distinction to be sure.

Yankee Stadium had Eddie Layton playing for decades, and I enjoyed press room dinners with him and Sheppard as often as possible. Ebbets Field had Gladys Gooding. And the Polo Grounds had -- I don't recall. But Shea had Jane playing. She was better than the jets.

Delightful was the word I always used to describe her play until I read her obituary Saturday. Sprightly is the more appropriate word -- sprightly renditions. I think she would have preferred that phrasing. Her obits were must-reads for me after Bob Mandt, her friend and Shea's Stadium unofficial biographer, called Saturday to tell me of her passing. Jane had died Monday at age 94.

To me, Jane's was the most enjoyable live music in town. From 1964 -- she played Shea before the Beatles did -- through '79, she made every day Ladies Day.

Truth be told, she was a guilty pleasure for someone who had collected 45s and kept his father's car radio tuned to WINS and WMGM in the 50's. But I've always been a sucker for organ music. So I put my Presley and Platters preferences in my pocket when I entered Shea -- as a baseball fan and later as a baseball writer -- and listened for Jane's energetic arrangements. I knew I was at the ballpark when she played.

Under the guise of working on a Mets-related story, I saw her perform her jazz in the Village in '86. Or was it '87? Whatever, I do recall enjoying the experience, and I never diminished it by trying to write about it. She was a very sophisticated musician, I came to find out. But I always thought she played with smirk and an occasional wink. And that's what I appreciated most. Implicit in her playing was one message: "Enjoy yourself."

Jane always seemed to enjoy herself. I sensed she routinely made the best of trying circumstances. She played "Jingle Bells" and "White Christmas" at Shea on the night of July 13, 1977, when the temperature and humidity were in the high 90s and the city was blacked out. Lenny Randle was batting in the sixth. I wrote it was ear conditioning. She probably was smirking.

Invariably, Jane would respond to the question "How are you?" with "Too wonderful for words." So this salute to her is inadequate. She too was too wonderful for mere words. I'd like to hear her play again.