"I'm leaving. I'll move out of your way, sir," he said, friendly enough.
"No problem; I'm fine here. The grave I'm interested in is just over there." I motioned to the Jones monument and with that he gave me a funny look.
"Me too…the Jones one?" He smiled and I got goose bumps when I saw the smile. Amazing. He took in my perplexed response and walked toward me smiling as if to reassure me. His right hand was lifted and offered.
"I'm Jones, sir…Jones Lopez." I took his hand and I was afraid my pacemaker was going to kick in….his smile was Mr. Jones' smile.
I looked blankly at him, dumb struck. He took mercy on me with warm words of explanation. "My grandmother, Rebecca Jones Lopez, made me promise before she died in 1964 to visit her daddy's friend Mr. Jones' grave in Fayetteville, Tennessee. She called Mr. Jones there her father Fayette's patron."
Remarkably, my Mr. Jones was as 'good' as his world would allow. Conscience and passions preclude any grace-less judgment I could make. Greatness is scarce, yet goodness is an attainable accomplishment.
"Well, Jones, I'm Doak, Doak Maddox Mansfield, and I've got a very interesting story for you. And there're a couple souvenirs I'd like you to have. I know a colorful local place to get a good breakfast. I'll buy".