Beneath a starry sky in the early morning hours of September 30th, 2024, James Horace Jones passed away from Covid at his home in Woodstock, New Hampshire, with family by his side. He was 95 years old.
James was born to Horace and Ethel Jones on July 31st, 1929. He grew up in Rochester, New York, a place he recalled with considerable fondness in his final years, often mentioning his days at Allen Creek Elementary School, his childhood dog (an Airedale named Angus), and fishing adventures on Allen Creek.
James was a graduate of Nichols School in Buffalo, NY, and of Kenyon College in Gambier, Ohio, where he was also a member of the Psi Upsilon fraternity. At Kenyon, he made lifelong friends, many of whom he kept in contact with through his final years. After college, he served as an officer in the US Army (stateside) during the Korean Conflict. He earned an MA in English Literature at the University of Buffalo, studied Scottish ballads at both the University of Edinburgh and Harvard, and completed a fellowship at the University of Notre Dame. He earned a PhD in English Literature at Indiana University (Bloomington), with a specialization in Shakespeare. There, he met his future wife, Julia; they married in 1959.
James became a Professor of English Literature at Northern Michigan University (NMU) in Marquette, Michigan, in 1962. He and Julia lived and raised a family there until her death in 1985.
After retiring in 1993, James moved to New Hampshire full-time to what was formerly the family’s summer home. Awestruck by the beauty of the mountains, he soon became an avid hiker–an activity he continued into his early 90’s–and even joined a local hiking club. In 2002, after climbing all 48 of New Hampshire’s highest peaks, he earned membership to the AMC 4,000-Footer Club.
At the heart of James’ identity were his ideals. He was deeply committed to conservation, philanthropy, and actively helping marginalized people. Even in financially challenging times, his commitment to monthly charitable donations never wavered. He was a member of the ACLU, fought for civil rights, taught English classes to inmates at Marquette Branch Prison, and, after retiring, did volunteer tutoring in a literacy program in New Hampshire. In the 1980s, working to protect human rights, he established a chapter of Amnesty International at NMU and later went to Washington D.C. with the organization, where he appeared on 60 Minutes advocating for political prisoners.
While James’ had various personal struggles, his life was also filled with many joys. Among the greatest were his visits with family. He enjoyed sharing his love of nature, fly-fishing, poetry, theatre, Scrabble, dogs–and ice cream! At Kenyon, he discovered a love for horseback riding and soon excelled at show jumping. James also thoroughly enjoyed language, thoughtfulness, clever wit, and, on occasion, a good prank. His reserved nature made his mischievous side and infectious laugh all the more enjoyable.
James had a great enthusiasm for his Scottish heritage (Lamont clan), the summers he spent in Edinburgh as a young man, Scottish poetry and music, and nearly all things Scottish–including his lifelong friendship with Scottish artist Ian Hamilton Finlay.
Fiercely independent, even in his late 80s and early 90s, James would ascend 30′ ladders, climb fences, pitch in to paint his house, chop his own fire kindling, hike icy trails, and take winter walks in sub-zero weather.
A passionate scholar to his final days, James was rarely seen without a book in hand or a poem to share. Among his favorites were works by Fyodor Dostoevsky, Alexander Solzhenitsyn, William Shakespeare, Sir Thomas Moore, Miguel de Cervantes, William Wordsworth, Robert Burns, Gerard Manly Hopkins, and Mary Oliver, to name but a few. Even near the end, when his six-year struggle with Alzheimer’s often left him unable to recall where he was or the names of daily caregivers, James could still recite from the volumes of poems and plays treasured away with his most protected memories. Walk with him in the woods and he’d likely begin with a line from Robert Frost, “Whose woods these are, I think I know” and with little encouragement, he’d recite the rest of the poem. Mention the cold, and he’d often respond with the line from Shelley, “If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?” Ask him if he’d like a light turned off, and with a nod to Shakespeare’s Othello, he might reply, “Put out the light, and then put out the light.” And if you promised to return to visit “tomorrow,” he likely turn again to Shakespeare and dramatically begin, “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time”
James was a true original who learned and grew and changed so much in his time here. As he aged, he became more expressive, loving, tolerant, and appreciative. He embraced much of his old age and its challenges with admirable courage, intelligence, perseverance, and often with very good humor. As he climbed his stairs for the last time, he requested his hiking “power stick” to help him the rest of the way. He then thanked those who had helped him up the stairs that night.
James was preceded in death by his beloved wife Julia, sister Jackie, and son-in-law Lawrence (daughter Lucy’s late husband).
He is survived by his five children: Lucy, Anne (Peter), Stephen, Sarah, and Katharine (Dani); his six grandchildren: Katharine, Amberly, Willow, Gage, Julia, and Max; his close friend, Edna; and his niece, Meghan.
On October 11th, James was laid to rest beside his wife Julia in a small graveside funeral in Thornton, New Hampshire’s Pine Grove Cemetery. His ashes were buried in a pine urn made by his daughter Katharine. His hiking boots, sprigs of Scottish thistle, and his loyal hiking stick were buried beside him while the bagpipes he loved played for him nearby.
In lieu of flowers, if you would like to honor James, work for peace in the world, practice forgiveness, kindness, and charity, and join Amnesty International or make a donation at Amnestyusa.org.
(Dr. Jones, James, Jim, Dad, Grandpa, Horace– you will be dearly missed.)