R.I.P. to a great newsman and friend

Eddie Jones wasn't the kind of journalist who made headlines or who was heralded by all of the media pundits.
Eddie was a workingman's journalist, the kind who rolled up his always neatly starched white sleeves and jumped into the fray.
Eddie was 85 when his heart finally gave out on him Sunday, April 5, in Nashville.
In a lot of ways, he was an anachronism. He began his newspaper writing career as the Nashville Banner's television reporter, when he didn't own a set, in the years after World War II.
It should be mentioned that he was a WWII fighter pilot, seeing much action, particularly in the skies over Italy. It was just a few years ago that he made a trip back to the land that he had helped liberate from the fascists. I'm sure he enjoyed a touch of the grape while there.
Early on in his newspaper career, he covered the rise and fall, in quick order, of Hank Williams. He rode the jam-packed special train from Nashville to Montgomery to cover the funeral proceedings.
He left journalism for awhile to head the Chamber of Commerce and then to run for mayor of Nashville, a race he lost.
Then he went back to his true love in 1987 when he became editor of the Nashville Banner.
I went to work for Eddie a year later and stayed on his staff until the Banner folded ... or was folded ... by The Tennessean, senior partner in the JOA.
Eddie quickly rebounded, going to work as the "go-to-guy" for a large P.R. firm in Nashville.
I went on to work for The Tennessean, where I stayed until I applied for and was accepted for a buyout in the summer of 2007.
But my heart always belonged to the Banner, which was a local newspaper in the truest sense. It was not a USA Today wannabe, where six-inch stories and graphics and pie charts took the place of words with soul.
Instead, it was a paper that tried its best to actually cover the cares of the community it served.
Oh, we weren't always right. It was a newspaper we were putting out, not the Great American novel. But we scrapped and fought and were by far the better NASHVILLE newspaper.
Eddie was the kind of editor who stood behind his staff rather than stabbed his staff in the back.
When I was in charge of political coverage, sometimes we pissed off the politicians. They would come to Eddie. Instead of caving in, Eddie would call me into his office. Often with the "offended" ... and by the time the meeting was over, there were handshakes all around.
He also encouraged me to write a slice-of-life column, detailing the concerns of the common man in Nashville. Yes, it was gritty and yes the people I wrote about weren't in the demographic charts of those who figure into the newspaper coverage formula these days.
But he knew these people mattered. I didn't have to explain to him that the purpose behind my column was to show that we are more alike than different, that we share the same hopes, dreams, fears and ambitions, whether we are living in a tent city, a tenement or a luxury condo.
Probably my favorite night as a journalist came in the winter of 1993, when he and I flew up to Washington to visit with the delegation and to sign up the services of a Capitol Hill-oriented news service.
That night we left the hotel, a block from the White House and went to a nearby lush haunt. I don't know the name, but it was filled with the politically wealthy and healthy.
We began the night with a Heineken. Then a scotch. Then wine with our steak dinners and brandy afterward. the beverages were enjoyed thoroughly. But while we took our time over the food and drinks, I listened to Eddie tell me story after story about Hank Williams, Gov. Frank Clement, the struggles of the World War II Flying Ace and more.
And he was just as enthusiastic about my own stories, of my time spent in the business, of my own adventures with guys like Muhammad Ali, O.J. Simpson, Magic Johnson, Johnny Cash, Gov. Lamar Alexander and a group of guys that are known still as the News Brothers.
If Eddie had wanted to, he could have been a part of that fraternity of my friends who reported and drank our way to prize-winning journalism with a fight-for-the-little-guy attitude back in the early 1980s.
He was a boss. But he was a great man, too.
In the years since the Banner folded, I have often called him to seek his counsel and just to smile.
Yes, journalism didn't always fit into a bland mold of regurgitated pablum that is slanted to protect the image and feelings of Korporate Amerika.
Eddie, who fought the war to make sure every little guy retained his rights, never lost touch with his East Nashville roots.
I loved the guy. May he rest in peace.
Thanks, Eddie.