David Jones, Gone Too Soon

The Bay Area wine writing community is mourning the passing of David Jones, arguably the hardest-working—if not the most famous—of our fratern/sorority. David died in his sleep June 3 after a year-long fight with ALS—Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, an incurable wasting syndrome more romantically known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease.

David was smart as a whip, more energetic than a firecracker, possessed of one of the most astute palates on the planet—and one hell of a nice guy. He wrote for more magazines and ‘zines than anyone could count, judged up and down the state, and played an essential, under-the-radar role with an outfit called WineWorks, the plumbing and wiring that got so many writers together in one place with so many wines over the years for tastings that nobody could pull off on their own.

When the ALS diagnosis was confirmed last year, several dozen of David’s friends, family, and colleagues got together for a kind of “pre-memorial.” What good would it be, we all asked, to assemble ourselves and toast David without David being able to drain his glass, too? And open up some bottles from his own private stash? The setting was the Presidio Wine Bunkers in San Francisco, one of David’s many ventures, in this case turning former munitions storage areas into roomfuls of temperature- and humidity-controlled repose for fine bottles. Make wine, not war, indeed. There’s a fine chronicle of that day on Jo Diaz’ blogsite.

The thread I remember running through the tributes, between all the hugs and tears, cackles and popping corks, was that David embodied a unique combinations of razor-sharp wine tasting skills and generosity of spirit. That was certainly my experience as an apprentice wine scribe, befriended by David just because hw was in the befriending business. We would always catch up with each other at tastings, check in, offer opinions about what on the floor was tasty and what was questionable, whether we agreed or not. I got to the point where, without David, it didn’t seem like a real tasting.

Two years ago, I was pouring my own homemade stuff at the big annual Rhone Rangers tasting at Fort Mason. David happened by, tried a couple of our humble efforts, then asked for my Syrah/Petite Sirah blend. He gave it a swirl, a sniff, a dip, thought about it. “Well, he told me and everyone else in hearing range, “there’ some volatile acidity there”—absolutely on the mark, and the start of what I feared would be a list of amateur winemaking faults.” But,” he said, giving another swirl and sip, “it actually helps lift the aromatics. Good job!” There it was again—ruthless palate, bighearted spirit.

The last tine I saw David was in late April at the Wine Literary Awards tasting in San Francisco. His muscles were turning into ropes, he got around only with a four-pronged cane for support, his facial muscles were so constricted it was hard to hear what he was saying. Not the kind of encounter you start with, “Hey, David, how ya doin’?” But I did ask him how his taste buds were holding up, and he smiled and said, “Just fine.”

We will miss those taste buds more than most. If you know David, and haven’t had a chance to toast him yet, or even didn’t know him, now’s the time. Savor the moment, because the next tasting won’t be the same.

Comments

[Alder Yarrow]

This breaks my heart. I just saw David at a tasting a couple of weeks ago. I watched the deterioration of his body, but no lapse in his spirit over the past year or so. We didn't know each other well, but we always stopped to chat at tastings. He was a gentleman, and will be missed.