Morris Jones, Jr.: Recuerdos

A JAZZ MEMORIAL SERVICE

Saturday, January 14, 2023

10:00AM

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church 1222 North Dorgenois Street New Orleans, Louisiana

OFFICIATING

The Venerable G. Kingsley Knowles

Archdeacon (ret.), Diocese of The Bahamas and The Turks and Caicos Islands

Reverend Jane-Allison Wiggin

Priest-In-Charge, St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, New Orleans, LA

ORDER OF SERVICE

PRELUDE

Courtney Bryan on keys and Steve Lands on trumpet

Johnny Mathis “It’s not for me to say” instrumental

Thelonious Monk, Coltrane “Trinkle, Tinkle”

Thelonious Monk “Monk’s Dream”

Horace Silver “Song for my Father”

Miles Davis, Coltrane and Cannonball Adderley, Philly Joe Jones, Red Garland “Milestones”

POURING OF LIBATION Ambassador

MILITARY HONOR GUARD FOLDING OF THE FLAG AND LAST SALUTE MARDI GRAS INDIANS STAND GUARD OF CREMAINS

THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD: RITE TWO Book of Common Prayer (BCP) pages 491-500

Lift Every Voice and Sing African American Hymnal (LEVAS)

PROCESSION (Please stand as the procession begins)

OPENING BCP 491 “I Am Resurrection...” (Celebrant-The Venerable Archdeacon G. Kingsley Knowles, brother-in-law)

Priest The Lord Be With You People And Also With You

COLLECTS BCP 493 (Con-Celebrant-Reverend Jane-Allison Wiggin)

HYMN “The Black National Anthem,” James Weldon Johnson, “Lift Every Voice and Sing” LEVAS 1

LITURGY OF THE WORD

Old Testament Reading Isaiah 25:6-9 (Brandon Watts, God Child)

New Testament Reading 2 Corinthians 4:16-5:9 (Linda Collie, sister-in-law)

GRADUAL HYMN “Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory” LEVAS 226

Gospel Reading John 5:24-27 (Reverend Jane-Allison Wiggin)

OBITUARY/EULOGIES

G. Maris Jones

Lidya Araya Eric Waters

Don Copelin Olivia Chase

Robert Williams

HOMILY (The Venerable Archdeacon G. Kingsley Knowles)

Apostle’s Creed (Book of Common Prayer page 496)

Prayers of the People BCP 497 (Linda Hamilton, Lay Eucharistic Minister)

OFFERTORY HYMN “Amazing Grace” LEVAS181

THE HOLY EUCHARIST BCP 355 (Archdeacon Knowles and Reverend Wiggin)

COMMUNION

“Bridge Over Troubled Water,” Aretha Franklin arrangement “How I Got Over,” Mahalia Jackson arrangement

Post-Communion Prayer (Reverend Wiggin)

THE COMMENDATION BCP 499 (Archdeacon Knowles) Terrence Joseph “I Know Who Holds Tomorrow” by Ira F. Stanphill Commendation Prayers

Blessing (Archdeacon Knowles) Dismissal (Reverend Wiggin) Canticle - Song of Simeon, Nunc dimittis (St. Luke’s Choir)

Recessional Drumming (Baba Luther Gray) Recess in silence; church bell tolls (82 times)

JAZZ FUNERAL PROCESSION (Tremé Brass Band)

REPAST in Gaudet Hall

Sir Nuumo Taalib El Amin

OBITUARY

MORRIS JONES, JR. was born at Charity Hospital in New Orleans, Louisiana, on Monday, July 8, 1940. He was the second born of five children and the only son of Earsly Mae Garig Jones and Morris Jones. Morris lived in the Magnolia Housing Project until 1945 when his family moved to Perdido Street between Salcedo and Gayoso.

He received his early childhood education at Fisk Elementary School and McDonough 30 School. At eleven, Morris received his first camera–the Brownie Hawkeye–as a gift from his Aunt Thelma Garig Williams, purchased in downtown Chicago, at the iconic Carson Pirie Scott & Co. From then on, Morris was first and foremost a writer with light. He fell in love with photography and has been devoted to it ever since, rivaled only by his passion for jazz. Morris maintained a brand commitment to Hasselblad and Nikon, though he did experiment with Fujifilm’s first digital camera because he could use it with his Nikon lenses. As a young man, it became Morris’s good fortune to meet and work with New Orleans photographer legend Marion Porter, who became an inspiration, a teacher, and a mentor in his life; Morris would later document a photography exhibit dedicated to Porter in the late 1990s.

Ever the enterprising person, Morris’s entrepreneurial spirit led him to secure his own route at the age of twelve, delivering groceries and medicines to the community by bicycle. He would often pay his sisters to perform his chores so that he could occupy himself

otherwise. He purchased his own wheels and drove himself and his date to his high school prom. Morris was a proud graduate of Booker T. Washington Comprehensive Senior High School, class of 1958. At Booker T. Washington, he ran track, became an acolyte of Miles Davis, and discovered the work of his favorite photographer Gordon Parks. Morris would later find himself standing next to Parks when he met Lena Horne at the March on Washington in 1963. At Booker T. Washington, Morris honed his skills in the art of sales and marketing. He continued to find success in business throughout his life. He was a much soughtafter date and was affectionately dubbed “Don Diego,” leader of “The Dons” (Don Copelin, Don Love, Don Juan, Don Quixote). This moniker stuck with him and he was greeted as such on any occasion where graduates of ‘Bookah Tee’ were present.

Morris enrolled in Southern University at Baton Rouge and began studying Zoology. He was then called to active duty by the President of the United States. He served with the U.S. Army from 1963 to 1965 as a paratrooper in the Airborne Division also known as The Screaming Eagles, having chosen this branch because they had the best-prepared food. Upon his honorable discharge from the military, Morris re-enrolled in college at Southern University at New Orleans, and graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration on August 5, 1975. Morris became the proud father of Atiim A. Jones on March 4, 1973. Morris was a champion of the critical importance of early childhood education and always treated

children as people—no baby talking or minimization of their ability to grasp the concepts of our world. He instilled in Atiim strong values of valor and the pursuit of knowledge from birth.

Intent on building a legacy, Morris went on to own, partially own, or invest in many other properties and businesses throughout his life. His Gemini Distribution became an umbrella organization, having subsidiaries including Gemini Records, a record and equipment rental store; a snack delivery business to New Orleans corner stores; Cousin Morris’s New Orleans Vegan Treats in Chicago and Northwest Indiana; advertising specialties; commercial photography for Essence Magazine, Life Magazine, New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, Essence Festival, Super Sunday, the Maafa Commemoration, the Free Southern Theater, the African American WWII Veterans Exhibit at the Ernest N. Morial Convention Center, the Willie Wilson Gospel Concerts (Chicago); and a host of weddings, funerals, graduations and other celebrations for which the community desired documentation. No matter his entrepreneurial focus, Morris always championed primary, secondary, and tertiary income to support his primary passion for candid and unkempt photography. Throughout his careers in community organizing, politics and sales, his love and obsession with photography remained ever-present. He always found a way to document each moment in his life with photographs. He was dedicated to his first love and it transcended everything he did in his life.

Ever the community builder, Morris gravitated toward other artistic individuals around New Orleans who would pursue the same. He co-founded the arts collective CULTURE BLACK in the 1960s. Throughout his career, Morris photographed anything that was significant to

Black folks in the city, both culturally and politically. As a documentarian, he photographed the movement work of political organizations including Afro-Americans for Progress at Dillard University in the 1960s. Morris was also a charter member of S.O.U.L. (Southern Organization for Unified Leadership) in the 1970s, which grew out of the Lower Ninth Ward Development Association. On October 11, 1998, he participated in a Great Day in New Orleans: A Historic Gathering of African-American Artists in Congo Square (Armstrong Park, New Orleans). Morris was honored to have his art on the cover of Life Magazine and, most importantly to him, the cover of the publication The Ties that Bind: Making Family New Orleans Style and accompanying photo exhibition of African-American family lifestyles in New Orleans displayed February through August 2000 at the Ashé Cultural Arts Center. Morris photographed numerous leaders and artists, especially jazz musicians, including Abbey Lincoln, Max Roach, John Coltrane, Dinah Washington, Ella Fitzgerald, Miles Davis, Dizzy Gilespie, Big Chief Allison “Tootie” Montana and Big Chief Donald Harrison. Morris’s biggest contributions to his community were as a memory keeper and a visual griot and, for his talents, he was recognized with the Mardi Gras Indians’ Keeper of the Flame Award in 2000. One of his proudest shoots was photographing then-President Barack H. Obama at a Town Hall meeting at the University of New Orleans Lakefront Campus on October 15, 2009.

After meeting at his friends Zeke and Linda Nash’s home, while hustling some dinner, years of devoted and attentive friendship and a perspicacious courtship–Morris proposed to Gillian Andrae Knowles on Christmas Day 1985 while visiting with her family in The Bahamas. They married on April 25, 1987 at St. Barnabas Church in Nassau, Bahamas, and built a union in love, care and mutual respect for 35 years thereafter. From this union

came his two brilliant and beautiful daughters Gillian A. Maris K. Jones and Giani A. Marisa K. Jones, born in 1992 and 1994 respectively. As a family, they survived Hurricane Katrina in 2005; however, Anthony Atiim’s death at the young age of 32 in the flood waters affected Morris deeply and he lost some of his vitality, vim and vigor thereafter.

Still, Morris further devoted himself to his daughters and protégées. He brought his children to work on many of his shoots and taught them everything he knew about his craft by letting them experiment with cameras. Morris mentored many individuals across the arc of his life. Nominated by his mentee Danielle Miles, Morris was honored to receive a 2013 Favorite Fathers Award from the New Orleans Fatherhood Consortium, Ashé Cultural Arts Center and Women in Fatherhood, Inc. on June 14, 2013. After the levees broke, Morris taught his craft to students at New Orleans Charter Science and Math High School and O. Perry Walker College and Career Preparatory High School, integrating photography into their foreign language curriculum. He also taught photography in a community program for children of incarcerated parents. His excitement and enthusiasm for his art were infectious and anyone who encountered him with a modicum of interest in photography or jazz would soon be caught up in one of his ongoing educational diatribes. He had a gift for finding a way to insert jazz and photography into every conversation. Morris was a learned man. He was a voracious reader and could hold a conversation with anyone on ANY topic. Morris could pontificate at length on any subject at any time. His recollection of historical events was unparalleled in its detailed accuracy. You always knew you were in the presence of greatness, generosity and genius when you were around him. Concomitantly, he had the gift of

making you comfortable and demonstrated great humility. He was a charmer who lived a charmed life. He was a loquacious and observant seeker. He was an artist and he was art—a titan, a legend.

Morris Jones, Jr., departed this life on Saturday, December 31, 2022, at the age of 82 years, to be with the ancestors. He is survived by his loving and dedicated wife, Gillian; two daughters, Maris and Giani; one sister, Thelma J. Bertrand; and his grandson, Anthony Jones. In ancestorhood, Morris joins his grandparents Lillian Augustine, Joshua Jones, Louis Garig, and Mary Delone; parents, Morris Jones and Earsly Mae Garig Jones; sisters, Muriel J. Williams, Sandra J. Larvadain and Elaine J. White; and his son Anthony Atiim Jones.

Morris leaves behind a host of family and friends including: Mother-in-Law, Evelyn Knowles-Cooper; Brothers and Sisters-in-Law, Linda Collie (Vernal), G. Kingsley Knowles (Sandra), Rudolph Cooper, Judy Cooper, Annischa Cook (Mark), Charles Cooper, Astrid Tinker (Lynden), Kelvin Cooper, and Moreene Cooper; nieces and nephews Robert Williams, Jr., Kevin (Germaine) and Anyelle Williams, Kemba White-Dupree (Camara), Norma and Earsly Larvadain, and Tyrone White; Annischa Cook Deveaux (Kendrick), Maradonna and Malaak Tinker, Kandra and Kea Knowles, Tabari Cook, Anthonya Cooper, Jason (Tyra) and Shawn (Jennifer) Pinder, Valentino (Danielle), Mario (Japeria) and James (Jennifer) Cooper, Justin Hepburn (Cicily) and Micahel Hepburn, Ashley Stubbs, Juanita and Marcia Johnson, and Lauren Jagdeo (Duran); Christophe, Christiaan Cartwright (Jessica) and Henry Cartwright, Christi Khia Cartwright (Chad) and Carter and Charlotte Wilcox; cousins Olivia Chase, Nona Ocloo, Dashan Rogers, Abra Middlebrooks, David Middlebrooks, Mya and Malyk Middlebrooks, Ruby

and Corey Simon, Vonda and Phyllis, Peggy Torregano, Greg Augustine, Whittona Jones, Loren, Khadijah, and Randolph Holt, Jr., Louis, Jacqueline, and Claude Morris, Stacy Morris Jones (Lance), John L. Morris, Jr., Carl Stockman, Taalib El Amin, Althea Cross Lasha, Tizona Watts (Darrell), Diane Baker, Garig McCool, Kim Cross, Kezia Lasha, Lisa El Amin and Aaliyah Willis, Sandra and Camille Johnson; grand nieces and nephews Joshua (Nicole) and Wesley Johnson, Darrell Watts, Jr. (Melanie) and Yasiela Watts, Brandon Watts (Analeshia) and Jaxon Watts, Charlene and DeMarco Campbell, Ronniesha Brown, Mykel Morgan (Ryan), Angel Rhodes (Javon), Cameron Williams, Sydnie and Royce Williams, CJ and Imari Dupree. Morris is also survived by a host of adopted family and friends including Sonya Sonia, Kelly Nash-Forrest (Rodney), Krystal Holmes, Dominique

Nash Watson (James) and Riley Watson, Eric Waters, Ronald Green, Harry Doughty, Bradley Nzinga, Symone Wilson, Danielle Miles, Lidya Araya, Richard Trice, Terrence Joseph, J.R. Thomason, Girard Mouton III, Irving Johnson, Gus Bennett, Bernie Saul, Paul Sylvester, Keith Calhoun, Chandra McCormick, Don Hubbard, Sydney Garrison, Robert Burns, Janice Clay, Janice Sawyer, Reginald (Annie), Denise, and JR Minnis, Carol Bebelle and members of Ashé Cultural Arts Center community, Backstreet, his church family, St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, New Orleans, and the McDonalds (The Office) on Carrollton Avenue; and the staff and healthcare providers at Davita Dialysis, Touro, and Touro Infirmary Hospital. Morris Jones, Jr., is survived by a host of additional family and friends, too numerous to mention in the space of this page. If your name was omitted, please forgive us.

RECUERDOS

FAMILY FIRST: BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER

GILLIAN A. KNOWLES | Life Partner,

Wife ♫ Operator, This is an Emergency!… ♫

Our song, ironically, became the siren that woke me up on the morning of his passing.

It’s hard to believe that forty years ago in 1982, Morris and I shared our first meal at Linda and Zeke Nash’s home. Zeke had invited me over to prepare curried chicken and before he left, Morris gave me his card and said, “call me.” I thought, “he has got to be joking! Who does he think he is? He’s too old for me! He thinks because he owns a record store and drives a lime green Datsun 280Z, I may be interested? Like really?...” Five years later I became his Gilly Dilly and in April 2022 we celebrated our 35th anniversary!

One Friday night later in 1982, I was hanging out with my Dillard girlfriend at A Touch of Class and Morris happened to be there having a reunion meeting with his Booker T. Washington Class of 1958 peers. That night he introduced me to some of his friends and he claims he told his classmates then and there that I was going to be his wife! Morris played the long game; as a surveyor in his paratrooper unit, he knew how to be patient. We

spoke occasionally via phone and he provided music for my graduation party in 1983, but we were clear that the favor didn’t include an invitation. He understood boundaries. We stayed in contact throughout my time in graduate school and he provided moral support and encouragement when I was feeling down. Living in the cold, gray winter in Columbus, Ohio, often left me unenthused about my school work. So, he would call me late at night to check on my completion of class assignments and chapters for submission for my thesis— making sure I had awakened, as promised, to work on them. It was during one of these supportive phone conversations that I playfully suggested that I would take care of him in his old age to repay him for the care and concern he showed me.

Morris had never visited The Bahamas so in December 1985 I invited him to spend the holidays with me and my family. On the flight over, Morris wrote a note on his plane ticket cover – “will you marry me?” I laughed it off. But sure enough, Christmas morning, after obtaining my

parents’ consent and assuring them he would be able to keep me in the lifestyle to which I was accustomed, he proposed with a marquise cut diamond, and I accepted. Morris was the proper gentleman and showman. My best friend! He often reminded me, “You promised to obey me when I married you,” and when we replayed the wedding video, there was the evidence. He never let me forget!

In the Spring of 1987, we married and welcomed his son, Atiim, into our home. I so appreciated the confidence and trust he placed in me to assist with parenting his firstborn. We were later blessed with two beautiful daughters, Maris and Marisa, whom he adored. Morris was the best parent ever, accompanying his girls on school field trips as a chaperone, attending PTSA and morning meetings. These were right up his alley and he would congregate with other parents where he pontificated and commiserated on the issue of the day. He frequently thanked me for giving him the best things in life he could ask for: his precious daughters and welcoming his son into our family life.

On our first anniversary, I gifted Morris the traditional paper gift in the form of a check for $2,500 to help purchase the body of the Hasselblad he wanted to use to boost his wedding photography business. He was

over the moon! A new axe! Morris put everyone to work if they let him. I accompanied him on many shoots and learned more about f-stops, white balance, ISO, available light and flash photography than I ever wanted to know. He was detail-oriented and planned and executed his gigs with military precision. We always arrived 1-2 hours prior to the appointed time so that he could set up for a shoot. He routinely brought more equipment to the shoot than he required because he always wanted to have a “backup to the backup.” He planned for every contingency. Everything had to be perfect. He had in his mind’s eye what he wanted and was never deterred. He would shoot 120 frames on the bride alone until he got the shot he wanted for her display portrait. The quality of his work is unparalleled! As frustrating as it may have been sometimes to work a shoot, when I saw the final product, it was always worth it. Once Maris and Marisa came along and were able to work gigs, he took them with him and I had a reprieve. He also put our godchild Kelly and niece Denise to work. If you were in his world, he put you to work! He gifted cameras to his loved ones so we could document life/EVERYTHING.

Morris was the best cook, often preparing fricasseed chicken and beef stroganoff and New Orleans Gumbo.

We hosted Thanksgiving Dinner in the Jones family holiday rotation and he always told his sisters, “Don’t bring anything. I’m taking care of this. Just come ready to eat!” Preparing Thanksgiving dinner was a production and he had us all with delegated tasks as his holiday staff. He enjoyed giving directions.

Everything was always in HIS time. He was the patriarch of the Garig/Jones family and has left a void. His shoes will be hard to fill. Family adored him. He was my calm in the midst of a storm, always with words of wisdom and jewels, a voice of reason when I was having a meltdown! “Always trust your family, we are all we have.”

Morris loved being around family and friends and was ready to regale us with stories at the drop of a hat. My center, my buddy, best friend, partner, lover, husband, father of my children, teacher, mentor, sounding board, my everything! I miss him so much! Even when I was irritated with him for being uncooperative as he became physically challenged and dependent on us, I loved him and felt his struggle. Our family and friends knew him as Uncle Mo, Mister Mo, Brother/Brudda Mo! I will miss him teasing me about Roulé, Boulé, Doulé. Morris blended in

with my Bahamian family and oftentimes when we were traveling from one island to the other folks thought he was a raw born Bahamian!

He was our protector – checking for who was at the front door even after he became wheelchair-bound. We often jokingly questioned whether he was protecting us or just trying to beat one of us to the door so we would not see that he had a package delivered with more purchased photo equipment.

His legacy is his love for his girls, knowledge, wisdom, love of music and photography he imparted to us. He was a walking encyclopedia; he was his own man; he had the ability to work with folks from all walks of life….He did it his way!

Thanks Linda and Zeke for introducing me to Morris and setting me on the path for 35 years of marriage to my Mr. Morris Jones, Jr., and inviting him to your Heavenly end-ofyear party at 0740hrs EST, December 31, 2022.

Rest in Peace and Rise in Glory. I’ll miss your daily phone call/voicemail, “This is Morris Jones, Jr., with a time check.” I love you…

VOCABULARY, NOMENCLATURE AND VERNACULAR

BRANDON WATTS | God Child

My Parran, Morris Jones, Jr. Uncle Morris,

All that you’ve seen from behind the lens. The memories you’ve captured. The stories in your work and your lessons will continue to educate us all.

A quick story on my Godfather, Uncle Morris. When I was a little kid, younger than my son’s age, I would throw temper tantrums routinely that usually worked on everybody, but not Unc….I wasn’t getting my way with him so I did my classic fall back to the ground, kicking and screaming…. Uncle Morris said, “Boy, you better get up or imma leave you outside,” as he proceeded to step over me, and go inside. I was in shock...I immediately stopped crying and ran inside behind him. In true Morris Jones, Jr., fashion he was teaching his godchild about life as a Black man...

life will walk right over you and keep going when you’re blinded by your emotions. Life isn’t fair and no matter your circumstances, you are capable of learning what you need and apply it to change your life and for the ones you love.

You showed us how to take life head on and keep going forward by any means. Thank you for all the lessons and talks Unc, I will truly miss them. To our family’s historian, photographer, mentor, philosopher, and the greatest Parran in the world.

Get your rest, Doctor!

ROBERT BURNS | Booker T. Washington

Morris and I have known each other since we were about fifteen or sixteen years old and we have been best friends forever. More than best friends forever, we’ve been like brothers. We met at Booker T. Washington High School.

A few years after graduation, in 1962, we went to New York City to live and work. When we were around twentyone years old, Morris and I went to register to vote at New Orleans City Hall. We were sophomores in college at Southern University at New Orleans, and they refused to register us to vote; they tried to deny our right to vote with a test. He used to tell that story all the time. We were refused the first time around, but we were encouraged by teachers to continue to try and register. When we went back we were able to register. We formed CULTURE BLACK in the 1960s, an organization invested in Pan-African culture and connections, together with curator Nolan Clarke; Walter Webb, one of Morris’ best friends from Perdido Street; and John Scott, the art director at Xavier University of Louisiana.

LAURA ROSANNE ADDERLEY, PH.D. | Mental, Verbal Match

Since my dear friend and mentor made his transition to the nearer presence of God, I have already lost count of things I have mentally filed to discuss with him at our next opportunity. I am not sure how I feel about some of the aesthetic choices in the public square adjacent to the Slavery and Resistance Museum in The Bahamas. I need to assess the political, intellectual, productivity and karma implications of a pending move to a different office at my workplace. The list of local, national and international political matters for which I seek his input is far too long. Visiting with Morris Jones, Jr., for me, or for anyone I imagine, was never a casual encounter; it was an experience for which you brought your mental files. And you would come away enriched, wiser, happier, knowing a lot more than you did when you arrived; and feeling more confidence in both your responsibility and your ability to go out and live richly and to live well. There is no one from whom I have learned more about New Orleans

or the nature of history, or politics, or Black experience than Morris Jones, Jr., my forever favorite New Orleanian. Rest in peace friend. You have guided us well. We will do our best to minimize nonsense, maximize wisdom and grace, and to nurture Black, beautiful and selfdetermined goodness in this world. (Thank you also for always reminding us that there are few things as exquisite as a well-composed image. We who knew the expansive breadth of you, hope we will continue to remember all that this means.)

TAALIB EL AMIN | Cousin-in-Law, Friend Tribute to a Giant Among Men

Exalted Ancestor Morris Jones, Jr, You are: a beloved husband, father of three brilliant stars, brother, uncle, cousin, son-in-love, brother-in-love, mentor, scholar, economist, photojournalist, entrepreneur, teacher, intellect, friend, lover of your people and much more! My personal Mzee (elder) for over 25 years. Mere words cannot capture the impact you made on those of us you encountered in your long journey on the earth. Your job, well done!

Let us forever speak his name, Morris Jones, Jr., keeping his messages alive among us and those who follow. Strive to remember the lessons, the deep knowledge and insight he shared on so many subjects, the encouragement and training he gave to so many young people and the powerful love he showed for his family and friends.

Gillian, Maris, Marisa, I love you, ladies. Brother Elder Morris, Namaste! I salute the divinity in you! May your spirit soar, forever!

Your Lil’ Brother, Ambassador Sir Nuumo Taalib El Amin

THROW SPAGHETTI AT THE WALL AND SEE WHAT STICKS

CAROL BEBELLE | Ashé Cultural Arts Center

Morris Jones, Jr. : Wise and Wonderful

Morris Jones, Jr., was a husband, father, photographer, community teacher, history sharer, mentor and a friend. He adored his family and saw photography as a means to be in relationship with the world. He had the ability to see reality in its light and darkness. A conversation with Morris was always a valuable life lesson. He was wise and full of wonder and he shared both generously. Some might say that Morris was understated and very approachable. When you were with him, he was totally present to you and the conversation that you were having with him. Morris had this interesting way of making whatever you contributed to the conversation appear to be a valuable addition to his knowledge space. We are smarter and more insightful because we knew him. His easy style of loving us is a lesson for us all.

VERNAL COLLIE | Brother-in-Law We Knew He Would Succeed

We have happy memories of the times we spent with our dear brother-in-law, Morris Jones, Jr. We shared lots of love and laughter.

When we met Morris, we immediately knew that he was a fighter! The first challenge he had was going to ask for Gillian’s hand in marriage. That was a rough one, but we knew he would succeed because he was so tall, goodlooking, well-dressed, charming and pleasant.

We loved Morris as a brother. He was such a cool guy! When he came to The Bahamas, he found opportunities to communicate with Gillian’s family. We remember that infectious smile as he spoke, with such pronounced words. For hours he could sit and talk on various topics including family, history, economics, politics and religion.

What a wealth of knowledge he had!

For many years Morris traveled to The Bahamas, especially during the Christmas holiday, but never without his camera. He was a ‘master photographer.’ On each occasion he took hundreds of family photos that were developed and distributed. When Morris became ill and was unable to travel, his camera still came. Gillian, Maris, and Marisa kept his legacy alive!

Even though Morris had so many health challenges, he was always so jovial. He put up such a good fight and fought his battle to the end! We knew he would succeed! He was so blessed to have had three very strong women by his side. Gilly, Maris and Rissy, you have loved Morris to the end and have done a fantastic job in caring for him.

We are so happy that we crossed paths with Morris Jones, Jr. He has gone on to reap his reward. May his soul Rest In Peace!

really know each other until first grade in 1946, at a little segregated elementary school named Fisk Public School on Rendon Street, a couple of blocks from Jefferson Davis Parkway, which has been renamed Norman C. Francis Parkway. We had history.

After leaving Fisk, Morris and I parted for a while. He went to Booker T. Washington High School. I went to Walter L. Cohen. He went to Southern University. I went to Dillard. We both were in the military—he, a paratrooper with many jumps, myself a clerk with my feet on the ground. I would often tell him, “I’m not getting on a plane because the only person I believed belonged in the air was Clark Kent,” and he would laugh. We had history.

RICHARD TRICE | Photographer, Friend, shot the first “I’s da boss” photo

We Had History

Both Morris and I were born in the same year; he in midsummer and I in early spring. We lived three blocks from each other on Perdido Street, not far from a little known street called Jane Alley, that ran only one block, from Gravier to Perdido Street. Little known to others, it was the birth street of Louis Armstrong. Morris and I didn’t

We didn’t connect for a while, until we met one night in 1989, in New Orleans East in the drug store, and we talked for about thirty minutes, while his wife waited for him in the car. After that, we got together quite a bit because we both were serious about photography. At times, we would go out on assignments together. One time he was with me at a photoshoot, I got sick and he had to finish it for me. We had history.

Later on, after we couldn’t do what we loved with our art, we would talk on the phone about new photography equipment coming out and the pictures we were taking of our furniture. The thing I regret most is that we didn’t see each other enough because I moved to St. Charles Parish and he was still in New Orleans East. But he will always be in my heart because we had history.

DO YOU KNOW WHO THAT IS? (LOOK IT UP)

KELLY NASH-FORREST, PH.D. | Star Child

Mr. Mo,

You were one of the elders of the village that raised me. You were someone who knew what and who I could be before I even knew what it meant to shoot for the stars. You never let me forget that as a child, sitting on your lap and reading books to you, I declared “now listen very carefully.” You would always remind me that I said this and that my instructions to you would have profound meaning throughout my life. Despite the lesson I thought I was teaching you at that young age–I later settled into the role as the listener and the student. I listened as you taught me how to find beauty in everything through the lens of a camera. I listened, still, as you fostered in me all things New Orleanian, filling in the gaps my parents had because of their origins outside of the city. I listened still,

as I watched and learned how to manage those “multiple streams of income” you made sure I created while sitting atop boxes of pickled pig lips in the back of your van. And I listened as you documented every step of my journey so that I could better tell my own story. From my research in lasers to studying nanoparticles to pursuing patents, I listened, as you always shared with me a story, a quote or an image that helped me understand that I needed to go even further, beyond what I could have imagined as that little girl enamored with “teaching” her father’s friends through a book reading.

I listened very carefully and I am forever grateful that I have you as my “Other Daddy.”

Love, Dr. Kelly Nash-Forrest a.k.a. Kelly-Welly

PRIMARY, SECONDARY & TERTIARY INCOME

DANIELLE MILES | Mentee

I’m a Little Taller Now.

Baba Morris,

Words cannot express how lucky I am to have been “adopted” by you. When people would ask who you were, I’d say, “My mentor, but more like a god-father. He’s like a dad! Always got my back.”

You’ve had such a heavy influence on my life in general and as a photographer. You’ve shown up for me every single time I needed without me having to ask. You’re the reason I say “good morning,” no matter the time. The reason I had begun to put my camera around the necks of my god-children, and my new nephew and explain what it means to be a “light-writer.” Most importantly, you made sure I never gave up on running my business. Anytime it got tough, you’d explain that I needed to secure a primary, secondary and tertiary source of income. I’m still here, in business, 20 years later, thanks to that advice and your support. You taught me and all around you how to be supportive of each other. You taught us how to build a solid cooperative community. You taught us to challenge ourselves and each other to be our best.

I am so grateful for how you’ve shown up for your people. We’re standing a little taller now that we have your shoulders elevating us. So, Baba Morris, I give thanks for the height you’ve given us. We are all wiser and our paths more clear because of you.

I’m gonna give em hell, Baba. I promise.

-danielle “lil bit” miles

RONALD GREEN | Friend

My Friend, Morris Jones, Jr.

I was introduced to Morris by a mutual friend in the Spring of 1990 at the New Orleans Jazz Festival. Over the past two decades, Morris and I became very close friends. We spoke daily about different subjects such as jazz, cameras, sports, and other things. Morris had a wealth of knowledge on those subjects. He always had a story to tell you about things that happened in certain time periods, such as politics in the 1960s. During crises such as Katrina, we always stayed in touch with each other. Morris and I had many mutual friends who shared my thoughts on his outstanding character. He was kind, loyal, and always had the ability to lift your spirits. He adored his family and always told stories to make you laugh about his wife and daughter’s vegetarian cooking. Morris took a lot of pride in his daughters. He talked frequently about their academic accomplishments. Morris and I would meet for coffee with the fellas frequently and we always kept his dietary restrictions in check. I miss my friend, but his memory will always be in my heart.

-Ronald H. Green

PAT OF BUTTER, SPLASH OF WHITENER

HARRY DOUGHTY | Drinking Buddy

I knew Morris for over four decades. Whether we were visiting the home of our dear friends, Zeke and Linda Nash; listening to music at his record shop; sipping on our favorite beverages at Ja`Kel’s or at Morris and Gillian’s wedding in The Bahamas, Morris was Morris and there was never a dull moment with him. The last time I saw Morris was at the funeral of a mutual friend. Morris had a dialysis appointment after the services. Instead of waiting for his prearranged Uber driver, Morris decided that I should take him to his appointment which allowed us to spend some quality time together. Despite his health challenges, his intellect and memory remained intact. With Morris, there was no such thing as a 5-minute phone conversation. We had many mutual friends and our phone conversations would go on forever. With each conversation, I always learned something new about Morris, his life experiences and for this I am forever grateful. While I will miss our conversations, I will always cherish our relationship because we chose each other as friends.

-Harry

“It is a chance that make brothers, but a choice that makes friends.”—Unknown

J. Doughty, Sr.

TAXES

Morris Jones, Jr., was a photographer who captured the moment as well as understanding the importance of that moment. The results of his photos were not the norm. His approach was different. He had mastered the use of light and composition. Whether it was photographing a wedding or a protest, it was going to be a Morris Jones, Jr., photo. He had a dogmatic approach in taking his photos. He knew what and how he wanted his photos to look once processed. He knew the meaning of previsualization. Morris’ legacy is that he did it his way, with no apologies.

KEMBA WHITE-DUPREE | Niece

A Mighty Oak!

When I think of Uncle Morris, I think of gifted eyes that captured precious moments for decades, cleverly stringed words, mischievous and playful teasing, a creative businessman who could rebound from anything and a loving Uncle Dad who assisted in raising all who valued his wisdom.

Morris Jones, Jr., don’t EVER drop the Jr., as it is the part of his name that distinguished him from his father. He was adamant about being identified as Morris, Jones, Jr. “If they mispronounce your name, correct them every time!”

Consistent forward movement is a must if you want to make progress. It doesn’t mean that there won’t be adversity, setbacks, and or disappointment. However, if you want to see the progress you must keep moving forward.

In my four and a half decades I witnessed Uncle Morris transition from his first marriage, co-parent his firstborn, transition into his forever marriage, and parent his second- and third-born. He has lost three siblings and his son and with every loss, he never stopped. He kept moving forward. Why? You can only see progress if you are persistent about making progress happen.

A mighty oak with strong roots produces strong forests.

This is who WE ARE!

ERIC WATERS | Fellow photographer

ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS STAY BLACK, DIE, AND PAY

MEDITATE ON THAT IN THE MANNER OF THE BUDDHA

OLIVIA CHASE | Cousin The Bantu Way

Photographer. Entrepreneur. Historian. Economist. Rhetorical alchemist. Family patriarch. Deeply philosophical. Utterly self-possessed. Set-apart.

Morris Jones, Jr., was all of that and so much more. And he was an authentic Africanist. I say that because Morris’ life reflected a deep synchrony with the powerful, universally-acknowledged concepts of Bantu-Kongo cosmology. Because:

• He was a wholly-unique muntu (a human being possessing a set of concrete societal relationships);

• He understood his debt and relationship to his immediate and more distant ancestors and he honored them in so many ways;

• He understood his obligation to family;

• He understood his place and purpose in his immediate beloved community and the broader world;

• He innovated a unique set of aphorisms, important for the conveyance of custom, culture and wisdom;

• He became an Nganga (a human being who has been initiated in the African way of thinking who is a specialist in perceiving the world); an extraordinary feat as Morris appeared to have achieved this without traditional initiation;

• He understood the power of Zola (love) to bring healing and restoration to his fellow muntu.

Morris has entered the state of the greatest change of all changes. He has left the physical world to re-enter the world of living energy to become an honored and spiritually deified ancestor.

Welcome to your new realm, our beloved Morris. We know you are making your presence felt.

YOU GOT SOMETHING TO WORK WITH

GILLIAN MARIS JONES, PH.D. CANDIDATE (ABD) | Child

Where I Am From

I am from bookshelves, from Hasselblad and CorningWare.

I am from the bathroom turned darkroom, windowless, anticipatory, the dim red glow summoning apparitions on submerged high gloss sheets.

I am from crepe myrtles, petals peppering any and everything beneath them.

I am from Junkanoo and forthrightness, from Gillian and Morris, Knowles and Jones.

I am from loud-mouthed laughter and stopping by unannounced.

From “Don’t trust white people” and “What you think I got you for?”

I am from church hats on Sundays, from islanders sharing the peace through their colonial religion.

I am from New Orleans and Nassau, a stolen body on stolen lands making groceries and making do—gumbo and peas ‘n’ rice.

From the grandmother who didn’t finish 6th grade, changed islands, and worked as a maid and business owner to raise twelve children. From the grandfather who sold World’s Finest Chocolate and insurance to make ends meet, and all the Ancestors who walk with me, names unknown.

I am from the flooded house where family albums survived, afloat in a plastic storage bin, pages of pictures warped and worth way more than a thousand words.

My name is Gillian Maris Jones. I am Morris Jones, Jr.,’s oldest daughter, “biological type,” as he would say, because Morris Jones, Jr., had many daughters who he trained, championed, and engaged with intellectually. My father made his own army of griot photographers across four generations and countless professions. Regardless of blood relation, we are eternally bonded because we are his daughters. We were the ones who were told to “pay attention”; we were the ones who argued with him and took notes.

I am just as in love with New Orleans as Morris Jones, Jr., was because my daddy made the city streets come alive with his constant flow of stories and anecdotes, winding like the Mississippi River, about the changes he had observed on one block over the course of his eight decades living in New Orleans. He made sure I knew where I come from and who my people is. Morris Jones, Jr., entrusted me with our genealogy.

I learned to “be his eyes” for him when his sight waned. His vision broadened and he called his daughters to

tell them everything he knew about the past with his “Recuerdos.” He called to direct us towards embracing our creative impulses, our leadership capacity, and instill in each of us a love of our people and our stories. Morris Jones, Jr., invested in the Black women, girls and gender expansive beings in his life through artistic, entrepreneurial, and research skills building; lectures on economic systems and military strategies; exercises in critical thinking; and a seemingly bottomless font of loving pride in anything one of his daughters had done.

My father, Morris Jones, Jr., shared everything he knew generously with his whole family, his village. That knowledge burns bright in me, my sister, his nieces and grand-nieces, his cousins, and every single one of his protégées—his daughters. We are his living legacy. We will continue to walk with his wisdom within us, knowing “we got acres of diamonds right under our feet.” Though my daddy could be quite the male chauvinist, he trusted the women in his life to lead us out of survival and into perpetuity. So as long as there is breath in my body, y’all gon know I’m Morris Jones, Jr.’s daughter!

Death, the Surreal & Photography

There is no separating photography from Morris Jones, Jr. And to me there is no way to separate photography from the surreal. And the surreal from death. André Breton once said, “Our brains are dulled by the incurable mania of wanting to make the unknown known, classifiable.” And to be sure, there may be no other better description of death. Part of the power in photography, and the power my dad extracted from this primary passion, is the ability of the photograph to manifest a “convulsive beauty,” Breton’s term for this abrupt encounter with the conscious, unconscious and subconscious psychic intensity in provocative forms of unrestrained, yet filtered, captures. Photography, as a medium, has a unique ability to force a rupture in the surface of perceived reality. It is not a wonder how photography evolved to be a Surrealist medium, as it allows the photographer a tacit level of automatism through means inherent to the medium—the mechanical process of shooting a camera, the chance

characteristic of photograms, and the opportunity for creativity beyond the human hand, made possible through the mechanic and chemical reactions from the shutter release to the enlarger to the developer, stop bath, fixer, and final bathing in water.

To be sure, my dad always had an attraction to the meeting place of pragmatic logic and the candid and unkempt. “Put your chin down just a little bit, can you make a slight turn to the right?” And after he’d given his directions, he’d always take at least three shots. It would make sense that with each shot he could get closer to controlling the meeting of the conscious and unconscious, the reality of the moment captured and the suspended space in which the capture becomes surreal, soul-capturing and in a sense representational of a small death. Photographs capture singular moments that occur and are thus impossible to recreate, in this regard they parallel dream and dreams capture the other lives lived beyond death.

GIANI MARISA JONES | Child

He was able to evoke the role of the unconscious in the quotidian, making familiar images surreal in my opinion; as time’s arrow marched on and those images became more still, muddled by the traumas and confabulated memories of such events as Hurricane Katrina, the loss of a firstborn son and the loss of pieces of his physical body you’d think would be critical to a photographer: legs, and more resolutely, eyes. But, if you know, if you realize…the image is a pure creation of the mind. It cannot be born from a comparison but from a juxtaposition of two, more or less, distant realities. And, when you have truly studied your craft, it is possible to advance without what some deem as critical components. So, with these juxtaposed distant realities of the blind photographer, my father was able to further foster the strength of his images and its greater emotional power in the poetic reality.

In summary, photography draws on the unconscious by means of automatism, enabling the artist to liberate himself – even against his will – from the restraints of the conscious mind, to abandon any obstructing cultural preconceptions, any artistic plan or moral censorship, and operate in an immediate, direct manner. This threshold of perception empowers the uncanny intersections of ideas and concepts, and the union of dream and reality, indeed the surreal. A perfect medium for a Black man coming of age in the Civil Rights movement, especially a man as genius and defiantly intelligent as my father. His medium, his craft and the study thereof, enabled him to transcend until his final day, where he became still. In the hour of his death, suddenly trapped in a moment of mortality, vulnerability, and mutability of time’s relentless melt; the moment of his death would be impossible to recreate, just like every other image he composed.

GIVE ‘EM HELL, LAYTA

PROVERBS: Morris in His Own Words, Aphorisms from Morris Jones, Jr.

“Good Morning.”

“How’s your mental outlook today?”

“Acres of diamonds right under your feet!”

“You got something to work with.”

“Tree shakers and jelly makers.”

“What you think I got you for?”

“When we gon open this restaurant? I’ll run the business. You just gotta turn in the

“The white kids was taking the rind of the watermelon and rubbing it on their faces. They weren’t any different from us.”

“It’s psychological warfare out there.”

“Logistics.”

“You got to send an invoice.”

“Ahhaha, yeah the check is in the mail huh?”

“Put it in writing.”

“One guess, the first two don’t count.”

“Print a thousand copies!”

“I tried poverty once; I didn’t like it.”

“They don’t know shit from shinola.”

“Don’t take no wooden nickels.”

“Who’s ya daddy?”

“You MY daughter!”

“I’s yo daddy gal.”

“Transference, identification with the aggressor, and blaming the victim.”

“Ohh you at the j-o-b.”

“You know it’s bout to start the great Negro holiday.”

“I know you think you big money grip.”

“This not even enough to fit in my eye.”

“Secondhanded.”

“Blasé blasé blasé.

“And blah, blah blah, blah blah.”

“I know you think you know everything.”

“Scattalynia.”

“Kommen sie hier bitte.”

“Meine Kinder.”

“Gimmie gimmie gimmie, let me, can you spare.”

“I’s da boss.”

“Rissy poo stinkola doo doo.”

“Sploogaloogum.”

“Look here for a minute.”

“Why your hand always palm up, not palm down?”

“Sunday is the most segregated day in America.”

“Gimme some skin black.”

“Aight doctah!”

“Read that for me.”

“Pay attention!”

“At ease, soldier.”

“Don’t get caught up in the paralysis of the analysis.”

“You know I had the covitus.”

“You got the covitus shot?”

“Alright, well die then! Hahaha!”

“You coming in Black Beauty or the Subaru?”

“Get what you want.”

“I had everything I ever wanted.”

“Quit acting like them coconut busters.”

“You going to The Holy Land.”

“That’s an idea.”

“Hey, tiger!”

“Gimmie some sugar lil mama.”

“Make sure it got the sahsauages and swimps. None of them weenies.”

“Put it in ya machine!”

“Give me the cash equivalent.”

“Take care of business.”

“That’s what they try to pull when you show up and you got a paint job.”

“Bring it with volume and velocity.”

“Put on 85 to Africa.”

“As long as it’s US currency.”

“Dying cockroach.”

“If you can’t dazzle ‘em with brilliance, baffle ‘em with bullshit.”

“Good morning, look, this is Morris Jones, Jr., I’m calling with my departure time from the Davita dialysis center today (day, month, date, year). The time will be 3:10pm. Allow 10 to 12 minutes for them to take the sticks out and I will meet you downstairs in the Prytania circular drive. Thank you, goodbye.”

HONORARY PALLBEARERS

Christiaan Cartwright

Vernal Collie

Mark Cook

Harry Doughty

Camara Dupree

Taalib El Amin

Rodney Forrest

Ronald Green

Giani Marisa Jones

Terrence Joseph

Danielle Miles

Kelsey Nash

Bradley Nzinga

Lynden Tinker

Richard Trice

Eric Waters

Brandon Watts

Symone Wilson

Robert Williams

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The family of Morris Jones, Jr., extends sincere gratitude to the family and friends that welcomed him into their lives. The time you spent with Morris made his years more enjoyable and richer, befitting this beloved Patriarch. Perhaps, you found commonality with him through his passion for music and photography or even allowed him to regale you with one of his stories. Your kinship, support and love cannot be measured. He will be missed dearly but your expressions of sympathy are appreciated and will always be remembered.

CHURCH: Priest-in-charge and Members of St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, especially Elvia V. James, Junior Warden and Trevor G. Bryan, Senior Warden

FUNERAL ARRANGEMENTS ENTRUSTED TO: Rhodes Funeral Home 3933 Washington Ave. | New Orleans, LA 70125

OFFICIANT: The Venerable Archdeacon George Kingsley Knowles Diocese of The Bahamas, and the Turks and Caicos Islands

MUSICIANS: Courtney Bryan, Steve Lands, St. Luke’s Episcopal Church Choir, Baba Luther Gray, Bennie Jones and the Treme Brass Band, Camara Dupree, Jr.

MARDI GRAS INDIANS: Alphonse (Spy Boy) Feliziano, III and Company

NOTA BENE: In lieu of flowers, and in alignment with the values of our patriarch Morris Jones, Jr., The Jones Family invites you to invest in the business of his youngest child and primary caregiver, Giani Marisa Jones. Contributions may be sent to: Zelle: GianiMarisaJones | Venmo: @Giani-Jones-1 | CashApp: $GianiMarisaJones. Visit newnegroes.com, or scan QR code to peruse Giani’s creations, commission designs, and purchase wearable art. Follow @newnegroes and @giudiebrown on Instagram.

Use your phone’s camera to scan the QR Code to the right to view the program book.