Prep star Reggie Jones pursues dreams despite troubled past

KENT — In his heart, she is always there.

Especially on game nights, when the crowd is sparse but spirited. Reggie Jones glances toward his personal fan club in the French Field bleachers, a family love-fest that makes up a big chunk of the Kent-Meridian cheering section.

Amid Grandma and Grandpa, his two young sisters and a throng of cousins, he pictures her sharing the moment. Arms waving, legs jumping, lungs screaming, "Go, Joey, go!" As proud, and loud, as any mother could be.

This is senior night, the final home football game, a chance for the players to pay tribute to the loved ones who helped them get here. Reggie Jones — Joey to everyone in his family — wishes he could present the red roses to his mom and stepfather, give them hugs and kisses, then go out and lead Kent-Meridian to its first victory of the season.

Instead, Grandma gets his special thanks and two roses, and Kentridge gets the victory, 13-0.

Far away, Mom watches TV in her room, awaiting a glimpse of Reggie on an 11 o'clock highlight clip that never comes. It's as close as she can get to being there.

Tonya Jones' room is in the Washington Corrections Center for Women in Purdy, where she is serving a 14-year sentence for the second-degree murder of her husband, Donyea "Donny" Jones, Reggie's stepfather and the man he called Dad.

This is their story, a story of grief and growth. It is a tribute to the spirit of a boy who refuses to let a nightmare from the past prevent him from pursuing his dream for the future. It's a story of the unbreakable bond between mother and son, each striving to make the other proud, despite the prison walls that separate them.

Reggie's dreams

Reggie Jones plays football with passion and purpose. He plays not only for himself, but for his mother and little sisters, ages 10 and 7. His sprinter speed and all-around athleticism make him college material as a defensive back, say his coaches and others around the tough South Puget Sound League.

But Reggie's dreams go beyond that.

"My overall goal is to go to the NFL, play pro, set a good example for my sisters," he says, football in hand as he sits on his bed.

Don-yea, who turns 11 next month, and Nyree, who had her seventh birthday in September, adore their "bray-bray" — their endearment for brother. He teases and teaches them and tries to be more than just a big brother.

"When this all happened, I grew even closer with my family," Reggie says of the tragedy in October 1999 that changed all of their lives. "My little sisters, they needed somebody, like a new father figure to hold onto. It was time for me to step up and take that place, show them I love them and do what I could do to show them the right way to go."

He has sketchy memories of that terrible night four long years ago when everything went wrong. Reggie and his family were living in West Seattle, not far from the home of his grandparents, Joe and Dorothy Swift, in Normandy Park.

According to court documents, Tonya and Donny had a tumultuous relationship that included drug and alcohol abuse and frequent fights. An argument on the night of Oct. 9, 1999, ended in Donny's death from severe burns. Before he died, he told police that Tonya poured gasoline on him, then threw a match at him when he tried to walk away.

Reggie's nightmare

All Reggie remembers is the sound.

"That night, for some reason, I had my sisters sleep downstairs with me in my room," he says. "I guess it was God or something. All I remember is hearing a big 'boom!' "

Reggie ran upstairs and saw his stepfather on the ground in flames.

"He was saying, 'Help! Help!' " Reggie says. "And I couldn't really do anything."

The next few minutes were a blur, with Reggie hustling his sisters outside. By then, police officers were on the scene.

"They had my mom and I gave her a hug," Reggie remembers. "Then they pulled us away."

Reggie took his sisters to a cousin's house nearby.

"Maybe I can just go to sleep," he thought. "Maybe this is all a dream."

But when he awoke the nightmare was real. The next morning, Reggie learned that Donny, his stepfather and his sisters' biological father, was dead.

He remembers feeling strangely unemotional as his sisters sobbed.

"It was too much for me, I guess," he says. "I couldn't cry, plus I had to be strong for my sisters and just try to hold it in."

Two lives doing time

The nightmare had just begun for Reggie and his family. Three days later, his mother was charged with first-degree murder. She maintained her innocence, and during interviews with detectives said that as she and her husband argued, gasoline spilled on both of them. She claimed she never threw a match at her husband, calling it an accident that occurred while she lit a cigarette. Jurors didn't agree. She was convicted of a reduced charge of second-degree murder in November 2000.

For Reggie, the guilty verdict was like another "boom!" sounding in his head, tearing apart his family's life. The emotions he had held inside came spilling out.

"When they found her guilty, I just busted out crying," he says. "I just opened the (courtroom) door and left. I knew she was going to have to do some time."

He vaguely remembers speaking on her behalf during sentencing. With tear-stained cheeks, he talked about how much he needed his mom in his life. Despite his pleas, Tonya was sentenced to 14 years. She has lost two appeals and holds little hope of getting out before Nov. 24, 2012, her earliest possible release date.

Nine years seems like an eternity when you're 17. Reggie prefers not to think in those terms and sometimes talks about his mom coming home "hopefully soon." In the meantime, the void is filled with phone calls and letters and visits both of them wish were more frequent.

Reggie was used to seeing her more regularly at first, but in recent months his life has been full of football, school and the stuff that dominates teenagers' lives, like occasional dates and hanging out with friends. Tonya doesn't want it any other way.

"I want him to have a life," she says during an interview last month at the corrections center. "If that means I have to be on the back burner, just knowing he loves me, that will have to be good enough for me. ... He's trying to do something with his life. He's trying to make it."

Making up for lost time

Tonya hadn't seen her son since March 15, his 17th birthday. Reggie hoped to surprise her, but Tonya learned of the visit the day before from a prison administrator.

She spends five hours braiding and curling her shoulder-length hair. At a slender 5 feet 2, she easily could pass for Reggie's older sister, though she just turned 37.

Reggie, accompanied by his grandfather, Joe, waits for his mother in a small lunch room. Reggie's back is turned and he is loading his plate when an officer escorts Tonya, dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, down the hallway. The instant she sees him, her eyes fill with tears.

"There he is, that's my baby!" she tells anyone who will listen.

She fidgets as she waits for her son to see her. When Reggie finally turns, his eyes light up and a smile spreads across his face. He holds her in one arm, balancing his plate in the other.

At nearly 6 feet, Reggie towers over his mother, but the embrace comes easily — she on tiptoes, he bent at the waist. They hug and kiss and giggle. Mom can clearly not get enough, touching and stroking his shaved head.

There's an embrace and kiss for Grandpa Joe, too, who is a regular here. Joe visits every Wednesday, knowing various routes like the back of his wrinkled hand, and bringing the girls most weekends.

Over the next two hours, Tonya does most of the talking, dark eyes sparkling, big smile flashing. She is both thoughtful and playful. It's easy to see why Reggie has such an easy way with words.

"He loves to talk ... ," says Tonya. "I love to talk, too."

Even so, it's not easy for her to talk about all of the things she's missing, especially Reggie's football games. Tonya coached cheerleader squads and bent the ears of his coaches to make sure they never took it easy on her gifted son.

"I never wanted anyone to hand him something he didn't deserve," she says.

Waiting for a glimpse

Friday nights are game nights, and Tonya tunes the TV in her cell to the 11 o'clock news and coaxes her roommate to do the same.

"I look between the televisions and I try to get a glimpse of him, just to be a part of it," she says.

Saturday mornings, Tonya hangs on every word during a weekly TV recap of area games. Kent-Meridian, 0-9 entering its final game this week, is seldom shown. Cameras are there for the Royals' game with eighth-ranked Kentlake, and Tonya is ecstatic when she hears her son's name. Then she realizes it is teammate Brandon Jones. Reggie missed that game with an ankle sprain.

Grandma Dorothy often sends newspaper clippings about Reggie's games. Tonya puts them on the bulletin board in her room, which is covered with family pictures, or in the scrapbook she keeps.

Reggie keeps his mom a part of game nights by conjuring up memories of what used to be.

"Her and my grandparents and my little sisters and my dad, they were always there in the stands," he says. "Sometimes, I look up there and try to visualize where she would be at. I look up at my grandpa and my little sisters, my family, and I kind of like put her in a spot in between."

Tonya has come to accept she won't be in those bleachers for a while.

"I try not to shed too many tears in here," she says, "but I do cry once in a while. I cry when I see my kids, especially."

After seeing his mom, Reggie realizes how much these visits mean to him.

"There was something missing," he says. "When I saw her, it just filled me back up. It brought joy to me, and when I went to school Monday, I felt happier."

Ankle and shoulder injuries have kept him from matching last year's statistics — nearly 175 yards of total offense per game for a 1-8 team. But Reggie still has reasons to dream big. He has talked with coaches from the University of Oregon and hopes for a scholarship offer.

Reggie also made a name for himself in track as a junior. He was a potential state medalist in the 200 meters before false-starting in the finals of the subdistrict meet, but placed fifth at state in the triple jump. Early this fall, Reggie looked like he would pick up where he left off last football season, rushing for 162 yards in K-M's opener against Auburn, including a 90-yard touchdown run.

"I've been impressed with him the past two years," says Auburn coach Gordon Elliott. "He's a great athlete. ... I've recommended him to (college) coaches who have come through the league and asked about players to watch. I think he can play at the next level."

Showtime for Reggie

Reggie already has a nickname to take to the next level: "Showtime."

"I like to show off," he says, pointing to the phrase, "When it's my time, it's Showtime," he wrote on one of the five footballs he picks up every morning and carries with him all day.

Especially on defense, which is where coaches envision him playing in college. On offense, he switched from running back to quarterback at midseason to help the struggling Royals.

Kent-Meridian has a chance to win its first game of the season Thursday against Emerald Ridge.

Just as he hasn't given up on his mom, he never thought about abandoning his teammates by transferring.

"I didn't want to be the kind of person who went to a different school just because they were winning," he says. "I'd rather stay with the team I'm on and try to make them better."

Reggie wants to make a better life for everyone in his family, which helps fuel his desire to play in the NFL. His final thoughts before drifting off to sleep most nights are his two great longings — playing pro football and having his mom around to say goodnight. For now, both dreams must wait.

Taped to the headboard of his bed is a picture of him with his mother when he was 5. It was taken the day Tonya married Donny.

"I look at that sometimes and think about what it would be like if we were all together still," he says. "At least her and me and my sisters. I know my dad's gone, but what if we were together?

"Once I go pro, I'll be financially set and have my grandma and grandpa financially set and have her (mom) and my sisters financially set. I just start to smile sometimes. Other times, I just start to cry because I know she's not there for me."

Tonya was 18 when she got pregnant. She never finished high school, eventually earning her GED in 1996. Reggie's father, Reggie Benford, was 24 and stationed at Fort Lewis at the time. He left six weeks after Reggie was born, according to Tonya.

A year later, Tonya married Paul Jones, which is where Reggie gets his last name. Tonya and Paul divorced after a year, and in 1990, she met Donny Jones. They were married in 1991 and eventually had two daughters, Don-yea and Nyree.

"I looked up to him," Reggie says of his stepfather. "He was there for me, at all my games. He looked out for me. That was the only man I knew who was my dad, other than my grandpa. That was the man I looked up to."

A man he knows is gone forever.

"I think about him sometimes, but not as much as I do my mom, because she's still here," he says. "You have to move on."

And no matter what the jury said, no matter what anyone else tells him, Reggie believes his mom.

"I never asked," he says. "I just always thought she was innocent."

Making a life

Reggie and his sisters have a comfortable life with their retired grandparents, who admittedly spoil them. Reggie has an expensive taste in clothes, which Grandma regularly indulges. Their home is large, well-furnished and filled with family photos. Many include Tonya.

Joe, 62, a former sanitation worker now on disability, calls his grandchildren "my little angels." Dorothy, 58, worked at a variety of jobs before retiring and now finds herself a full-time "mom" again. Reggie lists her in his bio in the Kent-Meridian football program as the most influential person in his life.

"She's showed me it's not just about you," he says. "She's taken on other responsibilities, like being a parent all over again."

It took years for Reggie to accept what happened between his mom and stepfather. Finally, last year, the emotions came spilling out.

"I was talking to my grandma and I just broke down and let it out and cried," he says.

He also opened up to his best friend, Toneil Pinkney, a former teammate now at Rainier Beach.

"He tries to make it as positive as he can," Pinkney says. "He'll say, 'If I can do this or do that, my mom will be proud of me.' "

Inspiring each other

Tonya Jones flashes that infectious smile when she talks about how well her son is doing, athletically and academically.

"I thank God he's taken it upon himself to not only make me proud and his grandparents proud, but to be strong for his sisters, someone they can look up to," she says.

She talks about him regularly to fellow inmates, sharing the newspaper articles. She says Reggie has become an inspiration to many inmates.

"It gives them hope that their children can go on and do something," Tonya says. "He's bringing hope to some of these women who don't even know where their children are or don't know how they're doing. He's bringing life to them, too."

Tonya wants to make Reggie proud as well. She says she has earned more than 300 certificates of achievement while in prison and sends them all home. She has discovered she has some artistic talents and sent home a poster-sized family portrait sketched in black and white in which she is surrounded by her family. She has written poetry, songs and taught herself to play the keyboard.

"I'm not going to allow the time to get me. I'm going to get the time," Tonya says. "That means being the best mom I can be behind these walls.

"I don't want to come behind these walls and walk out a nobody. I mean, I always thought I was somebody. I always thought I was a good mom. But while I'm here, I'm doing everything I can to become a better mom and be a good influence."

Tonya turns to Reggie, lays her cheek on his shoulder and rubs his head, one drawing strength from the other.

"I strive on you and I want you to strive on me," she tells him. "I want you to know I'm not just here doing time. I want to keep growing."

And she wants Reggie to realize his dream of playing professional football.

"I want to yell, 'Go, Joey, go!' again," Tonya says.

Reggie wants nothing more than to hear it.

Sandy Ringer: sringer@seattletimes.com.