James Jones is a mystery. To me, to you, to the rest of surfing. He always has been. Fantastic surfer, incredibly solid on his feet, courage and style to burn, a two-time Duke Invitational winner, switchfoot ace, so at home in the tube he could redecorate the place, and of course the first great Waimea tuberider. Handsome, too. Jones looked like Bobby Sherman's tough little bro.

Yet he's rarely mentioned in the same breath as the Rushmore-sized North Shore surfers of the early- and mid-'70s: Hakman, Lopez, BK, Reno, Aikau, Hawk, Russell. Is it because Jones was a bit aloof? Kind of above it all? Maybe. Then again, so was Lopez, and the aloofness did nothing but gild his legend. What else? Sense of humor a bit undeveloped? Mustache not full-on enough? Jones was known to be a drop-in artist, but that was almost a requisite for surf-stardom, then and now. For a moment I thought maybe it was the nickname, but nah. "Booby" was an awkward fit, but not a reputation-buster. Hell, Gordon Clark commanded a surfing empire while answering to the name "Grubby."

In a just world, James Jones' star would be a few degrees higher than it is. But he got Midget'ed somehow, somewhere, and here we are. Jones turns 62 on Tuesday. Do him the service of watching the clip, below. If the first and third waves don't fill your heart to bursting with surf-caste pride and honor, rip the epaulets from your jacket, break your sword, and be gone. 

THE UNKNOWABLE BOOBY JONES

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