Cabby’s Widow Has a Message for a Killer

Maryola Jones wants the person who murdered her husband and robbed him of a paltry $50 to know how the killing has devastated her life.

Jackson Jones, 50 and a veteran cabdriver, picked up a fare shortly after midnight April 27. He was discovered in East San Diego at 12:43 a.m., slumped over the steering wheel of his leased Yellow Cab, shot twice in the head and once in the torso.

It was the only time Jones had been robbed during his more than 30 years as a cabdriver, working in San Diego, Seattle, Las Vegas and other cities.

Over the years, cabbie murders have become a common ingredient in San Diego’s menu of street violence. Jones’ death received wide media coverage the day his body was discovered near Crawford High School.

But he quickly became just another anonymous crime statistic, and just as quickly the case disappeared from the public eye. The killing of Jackson Jones became just another homicide investigation for San Diego police detectives, who had neither witnesses nor suspects at the time of the shooting.

In the midst of her grief, Maryola Jones decided her husband was not going to be just another forgotten murder victim. Jones, 47, wanted her husband’s killer to know that in the brief time it took the killer to pull the trigger three times, that person also shattered her 30 years of happiness.

Maryola, who prefers to be called Mrs. Jackson Jones, is still adjusting to living alone, after almost three decades of inseparability from her husband. A soft-spoken woman, her soft, dark eyes mask the anger she feels for her husband’s killer.

To his adoring wife, Jackson Jones was “my honey” from the moment the two met in San Bernardino, back when she was a mere 17-year-old. Jackson was a cabdriver then, too. In the beginning, Maryola was Jackson’s “baby girl.” But after the couple’s daughter, now 28, and son, now 26, were born, Maryola became just “baby.” The Jones also have two grandchildren, both 8 years old.

Jackson, enterprising and a hard worker, made a comfortable living for his family. Maryola, who never learned to drive, depended on her husband for just about everything. According to accounts by both police and friends, he was an honest and generous man.

He worked split shifts during peak hours but would stop cruising the streets at 7 a.m. so he could come by the couple’s College Area apartment at 7:30 a.m., pick her up and drive her two blocks to a bus stop. Maryola would ride the bus to her job with the San Diego Community College District.

“I just want to know who did it, and why they did it. All they had to do was take the money. If they had fought him like a man, the police would’ve been picking up somebody else’s behind off the street. Whoever killed my honey probably doesn’t care to know how he has destroyed my life and the lives of other people,” she said.

The mementos on display in Maryola’s apartment reflect the closeness she and her husband nurtured over the years. Of course, she was also left with memories.

Like the time that Maryola’s bus was running late, and a panic-stricken Jackson drove his cab from stop to stop along bus Route 34, boarding each bus looking for his wife.

“It was raining. I knew I was late and I knew he was worried. The bus pulled over and in jumped my honey, shouting, ‘Baby, are you in here?’ I didn’t know whether to get angry or laugh,” she said.

While Jackson doted over his wife, it is also apparent that he cared deeply for others. The Jacksons were regular contributors to an organization that helps feed and clothe hungry children.

Psychologist Janet Lindner, who has known the Joneses for nine years, described them “as an unusually lovely and caring couple.” Maryola had previously worked as a nanny for Lindner’s three children.

“They didn’t make a whole lot of money, but they gave a great deal of it to the needy. She would cook for the homeless and feed them. They were really good citizens,” Lindner said. “They were very dedicated and attached to each other. What happened to him was incredibly tragic.”

Maryola says her husband’s death will also be felt by others, particularly people who need a helping hand.

“He was always there for me. I could always count on my honey. But others could count on him also. We used to go to Balboa Park to feed the homeless. My honey never turned his back on anyone who needed help. That’s why his death is so senseless,” she said.

She recounted an incident that occurred a few weeks before his death, when Jackson drove a pregnant woman and her 3-year-old daughter to a hospital and refused to charge them.

“He walked her into the hospital and held her hand while she waited for a doctor. The little girl gave him some miniature plastic flowers as a gift, and he brought them home with him.”

Maryola keeps the flowers, no bigger than a paper clip, next to the urn containing her husband’s ashes.

Because she is color blind, Maryola also depended on her husband to help her pick out clothes and furniture. In fact, Jackson was also an accomplished decorator. He decorated the couple’s apartment and enhanced it with furniture that he designed and then made himself.

“My honey was not ready to go. We still had many things that we had planned to do,” Maryola said.

She said she will also miss the gifts and cards Jackson gave her on special occasions.

A few days after Jackson’s death, Maryola was going through one of his drawers. Under a neat pile of clothes, she found a strand of pearls and a card he planned to give her on Mother’s Day.

“I don’t know when he bought them or how long they were there. But when I found the pearls, I broke out laughing and told him, ‘Honey, how many times have I told you that you can’t hide anything in this house?’ ”

“I’m not alone in the house,” Maryola said. “I know that he’s still here with me. . . . I sleep with his picture and Bible next to the bed. His slippers are still by the couch and the bed, where he kept them. Sometimes I can still smell his cologne and the scent of his shower soap.”

Maryola said she knows what her husband’s last thoughts were before he died. They were together for so long that often one knew what the other was thinking, she said.

“When he found out he was in trouble, I know what his last thoughts were: ‘I’m sorry, baby. I love you.’ And then he started saying his prayers. Those were his last thoughts.”