Lorne David Jones
Obituary for Lorne David Jones
On July 18, 2020, Tim Horton’s Executives called an emergency meeting to brace for the impact of impending sales loss.
Lorne David Jones’ spirit released itself from his well-worn body. He simply snuck out for a smoke and let go of this earth. He was 81...or so people thought.
Lorne was the son of the late Cecil and Effie (Hann) Jones. He is survived by his loving wife of 56 years, Carol (Morgan); brother Cyril (Maunda) and sister Betty; son Paul (Edwin Whittle), daughter Shauna (Gerry LeBlanc) and grandchildren Morgan and Sophie LeBlanc and Lauren and Hannah Jones. He was predeceased by his siblings Guy, Wilson, Marie and Jane and his beloved daughter, Lorna Joann.
He was born in Millertown, Newfoundland on Christmas Day 1939. As quickly as he was able, he changed his government documents, and was officially born in 1938 so that he could obtain his Driver’s License a year early. So began his lifelong disdain for Government regulation.
Lorne was a man who lived life on his own terms. From a very young age, he worked in the forests as a guide, and on the rails for CN. He was even a personal guide for Johnny Cash. We were very starstruck by this, he was not. He called him, “the nice guy who sang country music and gave me a knife”.
In the early 1960’s he met his wife Carol and decided chasing her was worth leaving the woods for. He moved to St. John’s and went to work at the airport. He became a private pilot. He loved the aviation industry, working his way into management. He loved the excitement, he loved the machines and mostly, he loved the people. Except Harry. He didn’t like Harry.
They had three children. Lorna – his favorite – she was ambidextrous and had incredible memory for historical facts. She was his Buddy. He could not understand why the next two children, Paul and Shauna, didn’t turn out as well. He began a love/hate relationship with his family. He bought a camper trailer, and literally dragged them everywhere, in enormous eight-cylinder station wagons. Much to the delight of him and Lorna, with their matching sunglasses and vanilla ice creams, they dragged Mom and the other two kids thousands of miles. To every Provincial Park from Newfoundland to Ontario. Every gravel pit, fetching shoreline and natural wonder. Every family attraction from Niagara Falls, Santa’s Village, Woodleigh Replicas, to Giant Blueberries and Apples. They loved them all, posed for blurry photos and bought trinkets galore. Blackflies, mosquitos and bears – literally big black bears at the dump – did not deter them.
He made enormous sacrifices for his kids. Like wearing a scarf because he became a Cub Scout leader. Sacrificing his integrity as a softball referee, calling his daughter safe at first base when she really wasn’t, much to the chagrin of the opposing team.
Working for Eastern Provincial Airways moved the family to Gander, Newfoundland, and then to Dartmouth Nova Scotia in 1977. EPA eventually became Canadian Airlines, for whom he was a proud employee. He still didn’t like Harry. One of his prized possessions was his executive parking pass for the Halifax Airport. He maintained a space next to the front door of the terminal, until he retired from Air Canada. He was often asked ‘how he got to park there?’ but he has taken that secret to his grave.
He loved the traditional Newfoundland foods. Jig’s Dinner was his favorite, perhaps because big meals brought family and friends around the table. Any natural game, anything pickled or bottled, salt cod, salt fish, scrunchions, hard tack, and great servings of butter. His salt shaker was always close at hand. “It’s salt that puts the flavor on food!” he would declare. He loved vanilla ice cream, snow balls, black tea, tins of Vienna Sausages and never drank a full glass of water in his life. He hated unsalted food and chicken.
Medically speaking, the doctors had a hard time diagnosing his pancreatic cancer, unsure if his pancreas was pickled or brined.
Born on Christmas Day, he ever opined that he was cheated out of birthday gifts. He did not care for organized religion, but was spiritual in his own right. He was very in tune with nature, animals and the weather. In the last year, he trained a crow that he fed every day outside his home. In his younger days, he loved to hunt and fish, and as he grew older, he simply loved to go out into the woods for a “mug up”. Translation for the Mainlanders - that’s a day hike, boil a kettle for lunch with friends.
In his later years, Lorne’s attention shifted from his two disappointing kids (but not his buddy Lorna) to the next generation. He gave his granddaughters many gifts, including trips to the playgrounds of Nova Scotia (by this time in his smoke-free minivan) where he would always start with a personal inspection of the equipment to make sure some vandal had not had embedded glass in the hard steel slide. He ensured they received only the finest of the food groups - ice cream, chocolate and candy. He kept the fourth food group, salt, to himself. He shared his love for the outdoors with them, and taught them things he figured were essential for little girls to know, like how to make a slingshot and to whittle with a razor sharp knife. Volleyball became his spectator sport of choice, and for eight years, he was a fixture on the bleachers, never missing his granddaughter’s games. He had many loud and choice words for the referees. As the babies became young adults, he still expected hugs every time they came to visit, and never let them leave without I love you’s, a $20 bill in their pocket and his admonishment to “Watch out for the crazies”.
He stood up for people when they were down, or in need of his help. Because of this, he had some lifelong friends, who would attest to his character. He never minced words and was the least passive-aggressive person on the planet. He told you his opinion, even if it was unpopular. He was fair, and showed that by his willingness to see things differently, even as he grew older. He fired people that needed to be fired and stood beside those he thought needed a fair defense. It was nice to see how those honest friendships made his home a place where people still came to visit as his health deteriorated.
He never raised his voice (except maybe to the referees). Despite his stubbornness and cool exterior, he was glad for all those who took the time to stop by for a cup of tea. He would say, thank-you, for sharing your life with me.
So in Memory of Lorne, go now, and tell someone you’re going to stop by, and have a cup of tea.
In the words of Lorne… “That’d be nice.”
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