Keeping Up With The Joneses
James Earl Jones, his father Robert Earl Jones, and the brief window of time I shared with each of them
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Robert Earl Jones stands near a high-rise window, quietly apart from the other guests. I stand across from him. In a few days, I’ll be on the telephone with his son James Earl Jones, who is gearing up for the role of Oedipus Rex on a New York stage. But that comes later. For now, there is only this moment by the window. And as everyone knows, each moment is a window on all time.
The expanse of glass that forms the particular window framing Mr. Jones and me displays a sweeping view of the City That Knows How. The TransAmerica pyramid, tall and white in the distance. The spiraled egg-shaped dome of city hall. The flickering lights of the Oakland Bay Bridge. A cable car making the steep climb up Nob Hill. Somewhere out there is my renovated 1920s flat at the top of Russian Hill, but I can’t see it from here.
What I can see is a certain down-home aspect to Robert Earl Jones, which he makes no effort to hide. He is originally from Tate County, Mississippi. His sharecropper origins are a striking contrast to our reason for being here. It’s a social event hosted by a member of the San Francisco Arts Commission. Mr. Jones is one of several inductees into…
