Rooster’s Dance

Ed “Rooster” Jones can do two things well: he can dance, and he can fight.“I’m fast with my hands and feet,” he claims.On the weekends, Ed and his wife Myra attend “Old Timey” dances, where they specialize in the jitterbug, waltz, two-step, and a little scoot called the “monkey shine.” The pair’s old stompin’ grounds was the Thatch Community Center on Saturday nights, where Ed claims “Ain’t nobody could beat us.” But that place shut down, so on Saturdays they drive ten miles to Jasper to show off their moves (Ed says that the first time he laid eyes on Myra, he was opening the door for her at the Jasper Mall, and said to himself, “That must be jelly, ‘cause jam don’t shake like that!”).Together, they can flat out boogie.Although the 79-year-old Ed (who’s celebrating his 80th birthday this month) will probably never make Dancing with the Stars, he would be a great candidate for his own Reality TV show. Here’s what he might put on his application:1. He had a car wreck a while back and assures that he now has a bionic arm (“I got pins from here to here,” he says, pointing from mid-forearm to wrist), which contains a grip that can apparently squish someone’s head.2. He’s a mall walker, circumnavigating the interior of the Jasper Mall for two hours, six times a week. One day, a lady who worked at the mall was feeling a bit depressed, and, to cheer herself up, she called Ed over and he danced for her while she videotaped it. You can find it on Facebook.3. Three years ago, at 77, he was re-baptized in Smith Lake. A framed certificate hangs on his living room wall.4. He watches WWE wrestling and likes John Cena and a “little ole short guy that runs around sayin’ ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah!”5. He’s never been on an airplane (“Naw, and I ain’t goin’ to either. I’m gonna stay here, walk on the ground, and drive my truck.”), has stayed in a motel room only once (at the Best Western in Hurricane Mills, Tennessee when he went to hear George Jones a few years back), and had never seen the beach until a couple of years ago when the family went to Gulf Shores. “The only thing I ever seen is Lost Creek,” says Ed, referring to the creek he grew up around, near Parrish, Alabama.But you wouldn’t get the sense that Ed has missed out on a whole lot in life.His modest home is at the end of a narrow road tucked away deep in the Alabama thicket, in the little community of Manchester. After the screen door thwacks shut, a pair of rocking chairs with green-checked cushions, bags of potting soil, and a couple of wooden barrels garnish the patio. Ed swings open the door as Myra (his second wife), and daughter, Kathy, extend pleasantries. Inside, there are some carvings of animals, a few porcelain cats, angel figurines, a reproduction of The Last Supper, and a bookcase with several versions of the Bible and volumes of Reader’s Digest that chock the shelves—little to suggest any of Ed’s fascinations. It doesn’t take a private investigator to conclude that Myra does the decorating.“She’s my thirteenth wife,” is the first thing that Ed says. “Asked me to marry her.”“Stop it, Ed!” cries out Myra, now in the kitchen.Ed sits comfortably in his leather La-Z-Boy in a plaid button down shirt, jeans, and white New Balance tennis shoes and recounts his life. His voice is raspy, coarse as sandpaper. He is fidgety, like a lion in a new cage.Ed explains that his mother, Lena Jones, died during his childbirth. So he was raised by his maternal grandparents—Bud and Miram—who already had twelve children of their own (one was J.O. Jones the Jukebox Man, who famously went all over Walker County putting in jukeboxes. “He made big money, buddy!” assures Ed. “He was a crackerjack.”).Ed grew up in Aldridge, Alabama and went to Aldridge School until he was sixteen. He remembers two of the teachers, J.L. Bailey and a Mrs. Brasfield, but will admit he wasn’t a good student. “I went through the front door and out the back,” says Ed. “I couldn’t learn anything in school, so my grandfather stuck me in the coal mines.”What Ed could do, was scrap.“I was just a little bitty feller but I could whoop some of the big ones. I had one ole boy and I was about to throw him out the window. The teacher caught me and said ‘you’re going to see J.L. Bailey, Edward Mitchell Jones!’ So I went in the bathroom and stayed about fifteen minutes and came back,” says Ed.Fisticuffs weren’t limited to the confines of the schoolhouse. A scrum might erupt over a game of marbles or at the old theater in Parrish when a few local toughs claimed he was “messin’ with their women.”Ed also liked to dance and learned how to play the guitar, both of which have become lifelong fascinations. He’s a big fan of George Jones, Hank Williams, and “ole Merle Haggard.”Ed worked for two or three years at his grandfather’s wagon mine before the mine closed down. A few odd jobs followed before getting hired at Hiltons Nursing Home in Parrish. It was during this time that he met Lois Beavers, a divorcee eight years his senior. They married, bore five children (Lena, Paul, Teresa, and the twins, Johnny and Kathy), and stayed together for the next 48 years.Ed’s working life until his retirement included a hodgepodge of jobs: working at a hog farm and a chicken farm, driving a 7Up truck and selling drinks (including an elixir called the “Try Me” drink), and working in Rome, Georgia at a carpet mill. He also worked for 29 years at Jasper Lumber, a local sawmill, running a cutoff saw. Ed was hired back when the place was called TWA and when “they didn’t even have no logs on the yard.” The rough-and-tumble environment at TWA facilitated a bit of lighthearted razzing, and the men often got nicknames. “One of ‘em was named ‘Wal-Marks’ and another was ‘Rodeo’. They called me ‘Bannie Rooster’,” says Ed. “I was a cat in my time.”But life hasn’t been all dancing for Ed.On December 16, 1980, his son Johnny had just left a friend’s house and was traveling at an unusually high rate of speed. Suddenly his tire blew out and the car went airborne. Hours later, a neighbor came to the Jones house and told them that their baby son had been rushed to the hospital. When Ed arrived, the doctor broke it to him like this: “I hate to tell you, but your boy got killed.”“I had to go in and identify him,” says Ed. “My heart liked to have stopped. That was the roughest thing. I thought my heart was going to quit.”Ed says that he and Lois dealt with the tragic loss of a child—every parent’s nightmare—one day at a time. “You won’t ever forget it,” he says, eyes averted.Then Ed had to deal with a debilitating vascular disease that confined Lois to a wheelchair for many years. She had to have two major surgeries, and both legs were amputated. “Daddy always cared for her and made sure she had what she needed,” says Kathy. “She always had our love.”A somber ether hangs in the room and Ed is quiet until Kathy mentions football. “I need to say this,” says Kathy. “Daddy is a huge, huge Alabama fan.”“I’ve got to show you this jacket,” says a now excited, kidlike Ed. “I give $216 for it.”He disappears into a back room and then almost immediately reappears with jacket (not just any jacket; the jacket) beneath a black plastic bag, and a houndstooth hat. After shedding the bag, he pulls out a mint condition University of Alabama letterman jacket with 12 national championships stitched on the arms. He slithers inside of it, plops on the hat, cocks it to the side, claps his hands, and does a little jig.“Look out, baby!” he says. “Did you see who signed it? Right there [showing his sleeve]. Gene Stallings.”Ed also produces a crimson driving cap, and poses for a few pictures wearing his regalia.When Bannie Rooster finally calms down, he talks about a car wreck that nearly took his life. He talks about having open heart surgery a few years ago. He talks about his church, and Myra’s son, Tony, who has become as close as a brother. And he talks about how, later in life, he accepted Jesus Christ’s invitation to dance.“They are true believers in God and the Lord Jesus Christ,” Kathy says of Myra and her father. “I see the hand of God by looking at my dad. Jesus is Lord now.”And together, Rooster and the Lord are tough pair to beat. 78