Life. Changing.

This wasn’t the ending he would have expected — taking his last breath while lying on his back in a helicopter in the skies somewhere between Goldsboro and Raleigh.

But nothing about the several years before Arnold Jones was airlifted to Rex Hospital had lived up to the narrative that preceded them.

He was, at one time, a seemingly unimpeachable figure in Wayne County — the namesake of a beloved public servant whose portrait graced the wall of a courtroom his son, too, would ultimately rule.

But after a fall 2015 investigation and, two years later, a plea agreement with federal prosecutors, all that changed. 

So when Jones was in that helicopter after what he thought was just a fainting spell turned into a life-threatening emergency, the voice he heard in his head was not just talking about his health.

He would later realize his father was talking to his son about his life.

“I’m in that helicopter and I could hear him tell me, ‘It’s gonna be OK. There’s nothing to it,’” Jones said, his voice breaking. “I think about him, what he’s taught me.”

His father’s portrait might no longer sit above him inside the Wayne County Courthouse, but his presence — his guidance — lingers. And it pushes his son to continue to be the type of man worthy of the name Arnold Jones.

“My brother told me not long ago, ‘Daddy didn’t raise any quitters. He raised fighters,’” Jones said. “That’s what I’m doing. I’m not looking back. I’m done looking back. It’s time to move forward.”

•

After losing his Superior Court judge re-election bid and his chairmanship of the North Carolina Innocence Inquiry Commission and agreeing not to run in future judicial races, Jones was at a crossroads.

“I was probably the least confident I have ever been in my life. I didn’t really have a place,” he said. “And, frankly, I was a little hesitant about going back into a law practice. I didn’t know what to expect or how I’d be received.”

But he started getting phone calls “almost as soon as that was over” requesting he return to practicing law — and agreed to represent a few people whose cases piqued his interest.  

“It was different things, and it was interesting,” Jones said.

So interesting that he decided to open a practice in downtown Goldsboro.

He would return to the Wayne County Courthouse and, on one occasion, was even asked by a judge what he would do to resolve a legal matter. He found that he was still respected by his peers, the past be damned.

“Last year was a great year. I was surprised, blessed, overwhelmed,” Jones said. “It was incredible.”

But his work became a way to avoid the other stresses in his life. It consumed him.

“And by last fall, I felt tremendous stress to the point where I was like, ‘When am I ever gonna get through this nightmare?’ I was working myself to death. I thought, ‘I can’t keep doing this,’” Jones said.

 He didn’t know how right he was.

•

Jan. 2, 2019, could very easily have been the date of death inscribed on a tombstone under the name Arnold Jones II.

He was in Planet Fitness with his brother “feeling great.”

“I ran three miles. I climbed stairs at a pretty good clip. I lifted some weights,” he said. 

But as he stood there talking shortly after he concluded his workout, he felt faint.

“So I laid down on the floor. I was clammy and sweaty — not from working out — and so they called an ambulance,” Jones said. “They check my blood-pressure and I’m 50-something over 30-something. If I had been at home, I would have thought I was having a fainting spell. I would have laid there to let it pass and I would have passed.”

When he arrived at Wayne Memorial Hospital, doctors recognized the severity of the situation. They loaded Jones onto a helicopter and sent him to Raleigh with five blocked arteries and a date with open-heart surgery — if he lasted that long.

And in that moment when he heard his father’s voice, he knew that if he made it, he’d reclaim the Arnold Jones he used to be.

“When you’re in that helicopter, when you know you’re that close to death, it doesn’t matter what you do for a living. When you’re lying in the helicopter and you know that next breath might be your last, that’s when it hits you,” he said. “When you get that breath back and you’re given that second chance to flat out live, you go and live it to the fullest.” 

•

After his surgery, Jones found comfort in the presence of his daughters. They might have been old enough to have their own lives and responsibilities, but they showed up at that hospital every day while their father recovered.

He realized that they, not a title or a robe, were his legacy.

He also thought more about the lessons his father taught him growing up — about what the elder Arnold Jones might say when presented with a second chance at life.

“And here’s what my dad always taught me and my brother. It’s real simple, but it’s real deep,” Jones said. “If something goes wrong, acknowledge it and then move on. Because once you acknowledge it, whatever it is — whether it’s a health situation, a job situation or something with a relationship — if you acknowledge it, you can move on. As long as you deny, you can never get through it.”

So he would live without regret. And when, months later, he was recovering at his home and heard a radio personality offer to take calls from people interested in hosting a baseball program, Jones picked up the phone.

“This guy says, ‘We’re trying to build our network. If you think you’d like to be part of our team, give me a call. Here’s my number.’ So, I called the guy,” he said. 

They talked about life and Jones’ love of the Yankees — how in his 20s, he announced high school football games.

“I said, ‘Does that count (as experience)?’ He said, ‘It’s good enough for me,’” Jones said. “He says, ‘OK. We’ll set you up.’”

And what started as a test run a few days later is now a regular gig — with nearly 1,000 people tuning in to hear “Arnie’s Fantasy World of Sports” every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. 

“The podcast, it’s a lot of fun and it’s right there in line with how I’ve decided to live my life moving forward,” Jones said. “To the fullest.”

But doing his podcast wasn’t the only thing occupying his time during his long recovery.

Several months before his heart nearly failed, he had entertained the “crazy idea” of selling real estate after learning that attorneys could have certain pre-exam class requirements waived.

“I thought, ‘Why not?’” Jones said. 

He applied in November and after he passed the background check, was granted a six-month window to take — and pass — his exam.

“I’m thinking, ‘No problem. This is November. I’ve got until April,’” he said. “Well, then Jan. 2 happened.”

It was February “before I’m finally able to lift my head long enough to study” and he did the best he could to prepare.

He took the test a month later.

“I pass the thing,” Jones said. “Now I’m really excited.”

And after an interview with the North Carolina Real Estate Commission, in July, he was notified he would be receiving his license. 

“This is something I feel like I can do. I feel like I can be fair to people. That’s what I’ve spent my life trying to do,” Jones said. “And if anybody understands the geographic area of Wayne County, I certainly do. And, I want to make sure, if people are buying a house, it’s the biggest thing they’ll ever buy, that they’re treated fairly. I think I can do all that.”

But first, he would need to find a real estate “home” of his own.

“Unlike a lawyer, you have to work under someone during a probationary period. So, I thought, ‘Who is someone I could work with who has the community’s interests first and foremost, whose ethics are No. 1?’ So, I called Judith (McMillen).”

She hired him.                                                              

“After everything I’ve been through, this is just proof that when a door closes, sometimes you have to find a door to open,” Jones said. “It might not be right in front of you, but once you find that door, you open it, and you enter it the right way — because that’s the only way.”

 •

He won’t say “never,” but Jones is fairly convinced he will never be a judge again. He won’t sit behind the bench — the portrait of his father hanging nearby.

But in reality, he doesn’t miss the title or the respect that came with it. If anything, it’s the people — the daily contact with the community — he’s been longing for since the fall of 2015.

“In life, there are always going to be those who support you and those who don’t, but I would have to say that the courtroom staff, the judges, the lawyers, I do miss that camaraderie,” he said. “But I really think real estate can fill the void. It’ll bring back that contact with people in the community. 

“And I’ll be able to help people again. If I couldn’t help, I wouldn’t do it. I’m not doing it for the salary. I really want to get out there and make a difference. That’s what I’m gonna do.”