By Ken Robinson

Managing Editor

Over time, friends come and go. But some people stay with us, no matter how long it’s been since we last met. Once we were friends, it was forever.

Jack Jones was one of those people.

Jack died last week. He was 82.

We met in 1972, when we were both 28, through his wife, Darla, who worked with me at the town’s weekly newspaper.

We both had two sons, close in age. I took some photos of the Jones family—young, energetic, and full of life. Those photos are treasures, and I’ve shared them with the family.

A few images rekindle the friendship:

—Jack and Darla and the boys at the park at Dash Point, in the sun. —The Jones family, happy and together, sitting on a couch in the living room. —Jack and Darla, often with a shovel, rake, or trowel, working in their yard—always busy, always tending to something. —Both our families out in the country on land owned by a friend of Jack’s, cutting firewood on a cool fall day and eating chili outdoors when the work was done. —On the deck at their home on Mirror Lake, serving food and drinks to friends, including us. —At the small business repairing lawnmowers and other gas‑powered tools, named for the boys—Jack, Darren, and Keith—shortened to JDK Small Engine Repair. —Jack in the shop on Highway 99 across from the high school at Locks, Mowers and Bikes, after he learned the locksmith trade. —Jack and Darla as proprietors of Auburn Lawn and Garden, after the founder—ready to retire—placed his faith and trust in Jack to take over the business. —Jack and Darla and their sons, grown and running their own branches of the hardware business.

The family has maintained a way of living that has disappeared for most of us—their door was always open, always welcoming. No one was a stranger, just a friend they hadn’t met yet. And once you met them, you were always a friend. You wanted to be a friend.

Once they are in your life, it is forever, marked by generosity, a helping hand, and honest affection.

Jack grew up on a small farm, where he had to pitch in early because his father was injured at work and struggled with many of the tasks needed to keep things going. Jack learned to work, learned the value of work, and learned that if you want something done right, you probably have to do it yourself.

Jack lived by an unwritten philosophy grounded in focus, fairness, honesty, and trust. The person he presented to the world was unvarnished—without pretense, without guile. He was a handshake guy, transparent and real.

He once told me he didn’t use credit cards for things he wanted. He paid cash. And over time, he acquired property, toys, and the rewards of persistence. He didn’t do it alone; Darla hitched her wagon to his star early on, and they were truly a team without needing matching jerseys. She has always been strong in her own right and shares the same life view that made them strong partners.

Darren and Keith show every sign of having absorbed the values their parents lived by. They are good, strong men—clear reasons for their parents to be proud.

I shuddered when Darla called from their place in California to tell me Jack had passed. A palpable sadness washed over me, as if something important had just gone away. But I cannot dwell on the sadness. I can revisit the gift of my friendship with a good man—a true man.