Hugh Francis Jones

Oct. 17, 1938 - July 22, 2024

He had the brogue, the twinkle in his eye and beautiful thick black hair. With all that, he was a very intelligent, witty and charming Irishman born in Cobh, Ireland, the beautiful seaport of the republic of Ireland, where he lived until 12. His dad Barry and mother Birdie built a house for them in Cork where he studied with Christian Brothers and played rugby. After graduation he went to Shannon College studying hospitality, first in his class, and spent a year in Switzerland at grad school in Lucerne where he mastered German. He and his buddies took scooters over the Alps to Rome and then back to Switzerland. He then traveled to England, working at the Savoy in London and Oxford, England at the Randolph. He was invited to work in Montego Bay, Jamaica, eventually managing the Barclay and the Dorset in New York City. Soon thereafter, he managed a private club on Wall Street and moved to Westchester County to manage Scarsdale Country Club and finally Siwanoy Country Club in Bronxville, N.Y. where Hugh Jr. was born. Eventually he started his own management consulting firm in hospitality. We met in New York City in German class at Goethe House and married in D.C.

As the good dad that he was, he taught soccer on weekends for Hugh Jr. and Michael. He also took the boys to New York for the midnight run to feed the homeless.

We stayed in his house in Ireland several summers and met all his friends, Noel Heffernan and Mahon Lee, who told us wonderful stories about their childhood. How to go to the movies and play golf with absolutely no money. His sister Rose and her three children Angela, Chris and Mark joined us in Ireland as we went yearly to London, staying with them. One evening in Ireland we went fishing and lost track of time, because the sun does not set until after midnight. Ireland is close to the Arctic. It was after midnight when we finished and brought home a load of fish for breakfast and dinner.

Every New Year’s Eve Hugh drove us into New York City to see the decorations up close. He let us out of the car to see the Rockefeller tree and skaters on ice. We then drove down Fifth Avenue to see all the department store windows without waiting in line. Off to Battery Park to catch the boat to Jersey to see the West Side Manhattan Christmas lights, rushing home before midnight to watch the countdown on TV. Hugh made fun out of everything.

Hugh took us on several trips to Mexico, since he was also a travel agent. The boys rode on the backs of huge turtles and snorkeled. And last saw Rose in Mexico where Hugh and Rose danced together. So many, many trips to be with Grandad, Michael Feighan, in Washington D.C. visiting all the monuments at night to cartwheel in front of the Jefferson and Lincoln statues. What fun that was, and to swim at Congressional and watch the Fourth of July firecrackers in the distance.

When Grandad was dying in D.C. Hugh let me stay by his side for five weeks in Georgetown Hospital while he drove the children down every weekend from Greenwich to be with us. Hugh also painted the entire interior of our big house all by himself.

Hugh and his family were always dog lovers. He rescued an old beagle, Cookie, who adored him and then there were Daisey, Beau, Boomer, Bear and now Calvin. Calvin he dutifully walked constantly all over Chatham. We also heard about the Sunday pub walks with Bran, Hugh’s dog back in Ireland, with best friend Jim Murphy and dad Barry, who drove all the neighborhood dogs, collecting them in the closed trunk with rotted out parts for air, dropping them off at the main pub while somebody had already dragged a piece of meat from the main pub to the destination pub, where all the dog owners went for the pick up and, of course, a good tipple before driving back home, which was every Sunday. Every Sunday.

Hugh was a true believer and fervent follower of the faith. He is the one who put the Creche at 483 Main, our commercial property, every Christmas without fail. He was a Knight of Columbus.

The night Hugh died as we sat resting on the back porch, a little bird sang his heart out and wouldn’t stop. I never saw him, but sing he did, with all his heart, a very happy song at dusk for over a half hour. I knew then Hugh, my best friend, my good husband, good father, good friend to all and lots of fun, was finally free and happy again.

Donations in Hugh’s name are welcome for the Cape Cod Art Museum in Dennis, sponsored by the Alzheimer’s Association, 2095 Main St., Brewster, MA 02631, with sincere thanks. Mass in Hugh’s honor will take place on Thursday, Aug. 22 at 10 a.m. with Father Sullivan at Our Lady of Grace on the hill on Routes 137 and 28.