Remembering Ray

The classic tune “Mr. Jones” has a place reserved on my all time favorite list due to the following …

I have a meager cabin (Hawk's Nest) nestled on the shores of McKinley Lake which is a scenic 45 minute drive on a loose gravel road from the nearest town of Horsefly. Another resident on the lake is a gentleman who was born in Horsefly and returned to the area upon retirement. This man who shares the name "Mr. Jones"(Ray Jones) is 90 yrs old this year. He is an inspiration to all and continues to amaze me every moment I have the pleasure of his company. To start, he has had liver cancer for the past 6 years yet still drinks a bottle of “home made” wine per day. Not a concoction one picks up at their local bottling depot but of the dandelion or local berry variety he has harvested from the surrounding forest floor. He distills these succulent spirits in the crawl space beneath his “A” frame log cabin which he hand built from fallen tree’s on his property at the tender age of 65 but that’s another story. The process is quite archaic but serves the purpose and the sweet nectar he produces has a kick like no other drink I have ever tasted. He harvests hundred’s of Dandelion’s every spring for the following year’s batch of wine that composes a classic McKinley Vintage. Mr. Jones makes McKinley Lake his primary residence after the ice severs in late April and until the snow stops melting in December. For the winter he drives south to Harrison and spends his days skiing the powder slopes of Hemlock Valley where they have honored him with a lifetime seasons pass. He graduated from Victoria College, which I believe is now UVIC, with an engineering degree back in the 30’s. He worked in the Eastern United States and Northern Manitoba running some of our continents largest mines. He is not a man who boast’s but I discovered that when he retired in 1976 he was making 120 thousand which was unheard of in the day. A small town kid from Horsefly who made it big. He has shared some amazing stories that one would believe are fabrications if told by most but he delivers a story like a magician performs a trick and you can’t help but want to listen and absorb these brief chronicles of his past. During my four month sabbatical at the lake back in 94, every Friday night I would saunter down the bark mulch path to the Jones residence for a home cocked meal and to swap tales with a man three times my age. One fine evening while we devoured some succulent venison and sipped some fine scotch he spoke of a baseball game he attended back in 47. The story started off light but built to a thunderous roar as he recapped game seven of the 1947 World Series between the New York Yankees and Brooklyn Dodgers. Seventy thousand people packed every available inch of Yankee Stadium while cheering on the likes of Jolting Joe and Jackie Robinson as the Yankees took game seven that Monday, October 6, 1947. A story of this magnitude was unfathomable but as he pulled out a picture and his ticket stub I was floored. His story was told with the patience of a heart surgeon and the modesty of a lighthouse curator. Throughout his rustic cabin overlooking the waters of McKinley are reminders, memories, photographs of a man’s life that rival anyone I know. There are medals from world wars to pictures with US presidents all hidden within the pine corridors of his humble McKinley Lake residence. This is just one of many interesting conversations we have had over the years and every time I hear the Counting Crow’s belt out “Mr. Jones” it reminds me of Ray.