William C. Jones

From the Boston Globe, November 15, 2002
(Bill Jones passed away on Monday, November 11)

William C. Jones, 73
‘Unofficial mayor’ of Cambridge

By Emma Stickgold, Globe Correspondent, 11/15/2002

For the first time in recent memory, William C. “Jonesy” Jones’s name did not appear on the ballot for Cambridge City Council this past election. A debilitating stroke had finally taken a toll on the “unofficial mayor” of Cambridge and on Monday, he died of pneumonia at the Vernon Hall nursing home in Cambridge at the age of 73.

A walking repository of the city’s rich history, Mr. Jones strolled into Cambridge City Hall at around 9 a.m. nearly every day, wearing a brown hat and herringbone jacket and sneaking in his Labrador retriever. He traveled from department to department engaging in casual conversation. To be sure, “He always led the conversation,” said fire captain Larry Ferazani, a longtime friend.

He was careful, however, not to overstay his welcome - usually moving on after 10 to 15 minutes per office. Department employees would often stop him in the halls with a question about a piece of Cambridge history, and he would cheerfully supply an answer. Over the years, he earned the same VIP status as many city councilors, gaining access to restricted rooms, and was often referred to as the “tenth city councilor.”

Mr. Jones ran for office 10 times, starting in 1963, according to Teresa Neighbor, head of the city's Election Commission. But he never won a race.

In 1999, he told the Globe that he ran for office, in part, because “we have too many white-collar workers in the city who don't belong in Cambridge.” He said he hoped “to clean up Central Square - Central Square is filthy.”

The Cambridge native attended two years of high school and two years of night school.

“I grew up the hard way,” Mr. Jones told a local paper in 2000. “The closest I got to college was walking through Harvard Yard.”

Nevertheless, “he seemed to always have a wealth of knowledge,” said Cambridge City Councilor E. Denise Simmons.

His suggestions were often helpful and many appreciated his brevity. “His comments were penetrating and useful,” said former Cambridge mayor Francis Duehay.

Mr. Jones watched city politics like a hawk, and was usually among the first speakers when the City Council opened up each meeting with comments from the public. He often complained about Cambridge jobs that were held by non-Cambridge residents, or about the high rent that kept many of his friends from living in the city.

At times, he was not in the council chambers when his name was called from the list of speakers, but city hall staff would run around the building to find him.

“He would come flying through the door, and it was always with great burst of formality,” Duehay said.

Others noted his unpredictability.

“You never knew where Jonesy was going to come down on stuff,” Mayor Michael A. Sullivan of Cambridge said.

In 1999, the City Council recognized his years of unofficial service by naming the podium used for public comment after him. At the time, they presented him with a new overcoat, because he often complained that he was cold in spite of warm weather. “I have this feeling he didn't like it,” Duehay said, noting that apparently Mr. Jones preferred his worn-out, tattered coat.

“He was an enigma,” Ferazani said, and indeed Mr. Jones’ background was a mystery to many. His employment was definitely a matter of speculation. For a while, he drove trolleys, according to Duehay, but the rest is hard to piece together.

For the last two decades, he bought and sold antique fire engines, storing them in the lot of a friend's Somerville liquor store. Al Nevaras, owner of Seven Hills Liquor, said that every time he turned around, there was another fire engine in his parking lot. Mr. Jones also frequently visited the city’s fire departments, where he would regale firefighters with stories of Cambridge’s history. He would advocate for them in City Council chambers, pressing for new equipment or better pay.

Mr. Jones was also a parade enthusiast and loved to tell his City Hall friends about the various parades he marched in across the state. As business manager of the North End Roma Band, he marched alongside band members in dozens of parades, shaking the hands of those he passed along the streets.

“He likes to try to come off as a tough guy, but he’s really a softy who cares a lot about those who have struggled in our city,” Councilor David Maher told the Harvard Crimson student newspaper two years ago. “In many ways, he’s the conscience of the city.”

Mr. Jones leaves no known survivors. His friends at City Hall arranged for a Mass to be said in his honor today at 11 a.m. in St. Mary's Church in Cambridge, followed by burial in Cambridge Cemetery.