MULBERRY — Even a half-century later, the impact of former USF men's basketball player Arthur Jones can't be denied. He helped to establish the fledgling program and was one of its first big stars. At 6-foot-4, 220 pounds, he was a sturdy interior presence, an astounding leaper who played well above the rim and a quiet, reliable leader who was named team captain.

He fell just short of becoming USF's first 1,000-point career scorer — statistics from the freshman-only 1970-71 debut season didn't count — but his name remains near the top of many categories in the Bulls' record book. You can look it up.

But there's more — much more.

Jones, an All-State basketball and football standout from Polk County's Mulberry High School, was the first Black student-athlete in USF history, a notable distinction that has not been celebrated, formally recognized or widely known.

Until now.

On the first day of Black History Month, when the Bulls face the East Carolina Pirates in Wednesday night's American Athletic Conference game at the Yuengling Center, Jones will be honored at halftime. He'll step onto a USF basketball court for the first time since 1974. His family, friends and former teammates are excited that Jones will again hear the cheers of a green-and-gold crowd. And guess what? It's on his 71st birthday.

"I never played with or against anyone who was a better athlete than Arthur Jones,'' said former Bulls player Bill Lear, the first player ever to sign a USF men's basketball scholarship, who became Jones' roommate and lifetime friend. "He could do it all. He was a consummate team player. He never let anything get to him. He always played with heart.

"For us other guys, Arthur was the best pick-setter you could want. When somebody ran into Arthur, they were stopped cold. He was that solid. He was that big. He scored the blue-collar way. He didn't have a lot of flashy moves.''

For the Bulls, though, Jones was flashy enough. And his family became unforgettable.

Annie Belle Jones, his mother, worked as a hospital nurse. She never missed a game, hurrying home from her shift, changing quickly, her other children in tow as they headed to downtown Tampa and Curtis Hixon Convention Center, USF's first basketball home. On one night, the Jones family was running late.

"We had to park underneath the building and the policeman was waiting for us,'' Jones' mother said. "He said, 'You've got to hurry up and get in here so we can start this game!' I said, 'What? The game should've started 10 minutes earlier.'

"But we got in that building, got in our seats and somebody looked up and said, 'The Joneses are here now. Let's get started.' And everybody cheered and they started the game. That was amazing to me. They treated us so well. I enjoyed the USF games so much.''

On the surface, there would seemingly be obstacles for any Black athlete at a Southern school in the early 1970s.

Not far from USF's home court, just a few years earlier, there were "Whites Only'' signs over a bank of water fountains. In 1967, after a fleeing Black crime suspect was shot and killed by a White policeman, riots broke out in Tampa's Central Park neighborhood. An eight-block section of Central Avenue, often called the "Harlem of the South,'' was burned to the ground and much of the city's prominent Black business district was gone.

In 1971, there was anger and uneasiness when all-Black high schools Middleton and Blake were eliminated and Hillsborough County's public schools were integrated.

At USF, Lear said Jones faced some predictable prejudice and discrimination, particularly on the road at other Southern colleges, but he mostly had a peaceful existence on campus. USF's coaching staff and players made sure of that.

In the turbulent 1960s, USF took a progressive stance, admitting its first Black student, Ernest Boger, in 1961. Boger graduated in 1964 — the same year as the passing of the Civil Rights Act — and he ultimately earned a doctorate in management.

"My philosophy was recruiting the best players, regardless of skin color, and if someone at USF would've had a problem with that, then I wasn't going to want to coach there,'' said former USF coach Don Williams, who led the program's first four seasons, in an interview before his death in 2008.

In 74 games from 1971-74, Jones finished with career averages of 13.1 points and 8.5 rebounds, while compiling 26 career double-doubles, which still ranks fifth on USF's all-time list. Shortly after earning his bachelor's degree, Jones tried out for the NFL's Kansas City Chiefs as a tight end, returning to football for the first time since high school. Jones was one of the last cuts by Coach Hank Stram's team.

But he had his degree.

"I didn't think that anybody in our family would ever get to go to college because Mom was a single mom raising five kids,'' said Trellis Haygood, Jones' younger sister. "I thought it would never happen. But Arthur made it happen. It was a big deal. It was a very big deal.''

Haygood, sitting next to her smiling brother in the family's Mulberry home, grabbed her tissue and dabbed her eyes.

"Arthur has a really good story and I wish he could tell it to you in his own words instead of me interpreting it for you,'' Haygood said. "I wish he could put it in his own words and say how he really feels. I wish for that every day.''

The Long Road Back

For a time after USF, while opting not to pursue professional basketball, Jones taught and coached in Mulberry. Then he headed west and made a life in California, where he worked in the state's prison system, married and raised four children (he now has six grandchildren).

After a divorce, about a decade ago, Jones returned to his hometown and lived with his mother.

In 2018, Jones suffered a stroke that put him in the hospital, while robbing him of his speech and all movement. Had it not been for Jones' dog, Buddy, he likely would have died.

On the day of his stroke, Jones was working in the backyard. His mother was doing the wash. As she sorted clothes, the dog began barking uncontrollably.

"What is wrong with that dog?'' Jones' mother thought to herself.

Then she said she heard a voice.

Look out the window.

She shrugged and kept sorting clothes. But the dog wouldn't stop barking. And she heard the voice again.

I said, look out the window!

She saw her son, who she often refers to as "Rome'' (short for his middle name of Jerome), twisting and struggling while collapsed on the ground. The dog's barks were meant to alert her. She rushed to her son, in obvious distress, then got her daughter next door to call for an ambulance. Every second was important.

It was a stroke, but doctors also found some tumors, which prompted emergency brain surgery. One of the tumors was removed and another was eliminated through medication.

It was a long road back. At first, Jones was helpless to feed himself or handle his personal care. A few months in, Jones had lost nearly 100 pounds. But perhaps summoning the athletic competitiveness that made him a USF shining star, Jones never gave up.

He attacked his rehabilitation. Slowly, some movement came back through intense physical therapy. His grip got stronger. Shooting for as much independence as possible, he did everything the doctors asked. He began in a wheelchair. He advanced to a walker, then a cane. One day, he threw away the cane for good. He still works out regularly and looks as strapping and toned as any 71-year-old could imagine.

But his speech has not returned. It may never return.

Jones understands everything and reacts to questions with a quick nod or an attempt at forming words, which sometimes can only be deciphered by Haygood. He has a machine that can display pictures or words, which help to piece together his thoughts. Sometimes, the hands that once routinely grabbed double-digit rebounds are used to spell out words in the air, letter by letter.

He handles all of his grooming and cuts his own hair. He drives a car and shops for his food. He takes walks around the neighborhood and never misses a trip to the gym. He never complains. He is grateful.

"Rome is never going to give up,'' Jones' mother said. "Every morning, he gets up, gets dressed and has his cup of coffee. Then he's ready for the next day. I think he's content, but never satisfied. He always wants to do better.''

"I think some of the doctors are shocked at the things he can do,'' Haygood said. "But that shows you his determination. I think we're as close as we've ever been. I'm always around, making sure he has what he needs and his affairs are in order. And he looks after me. He's still my big brother.''

For Lear, who lives in Indiana but is frequently in the Tampa Bay area on business, it's still jarring that Jones can't verbally communicate. But in a way, nothing has changed.

"Arthur is the strongest person I know,'' Lear said. "When I found out he had a stroke and his speech was affected, I was heartbroken, just torn apart. But the first time we visited, it wasn't long before we were laughing. I'm the talker of the two, so not much has really changed.

"He's a tough guy. He's getting into speech therapy. He's trying to get it back. He has to deal with it and he has dealt with a lot. He's going to be OK. He's still Arthur Jones.''

Hometown Hero

Mulberry, population 3,800, is a dot on the map that is best known for its phosphate mining industry and its orange groves. It's a place where local sports still matter. And it's where the Arthur Jones name still carries tremendous clout. He was All-State in football and basketball, where he set school single-game records for scoring (55 points) and rebounds (30) during the 1969-70 season. His nickname was "Pole'' because of his height.

"He really was the big man on campus,'' Haygood said. "I was the little sister, but it all made me feel kind of special because everybody knew my brother and looked up to him. He wasn't shy at all. He was very talkative and very lovable. I think people around Mulberry really took a lot of pride in him.''

At first, Jones had interest in Florida State University, but when Williams entered the scene with a full scholarship offer and a chance to play close to home for USF's new program, Jones quickly sealed his future plans.

"My life was revolving around my kids and all the things they did — playing sports, playing in the band, cheerleading — and I didn't miss a thing,'' Jones' mother said. "When I heard that he was all set at USF and everything was taken care of, I cried a little bit. I knew what it meant to our family. It was the start of a very exciting time.''

One of Jones' strengths was defense, so he generally guarded the opponent's top scorer. On back-to-back nights during his 1972-73 junior season, Jones went up against a pair of All-Americans in hostile road environments — Larry Finch of No. 11-ranked Memphis State and David Thompson of No. 6 NC State.

"We played a very ambitious schedule — that's an understatement — but Arthur held his own with a lot of very well-known great players,'' Lear said. "There are a lot of opponents who would remember Arthur Jones.''

The FSU Seminoles definitely remember.

On Jan. 19, 1974, Jones' buzzer-beating 12-foot jumper shot down the Seminoles 95-94 in overtime before a packed house at Curtis Hixon.

Jones gained a Black teammate on the all-freshman team, then Ike Robinson and Fred Gibbs were recruited to the 1971-72 squad. But Jones will always be the first.

Bob Morrison Jr., an attorney, former executive assistant to Tampa's mayor and current executive director of the Hillsborough County Hotel and Motel Association, said he hopes young USF students will know they are witnessing history when Jones walks onto the court Wednesday night.

"I cannot imagine the bridge Arthur Jones had to navigate by himself,'' said Morrison, who was among two Black players on Jesuit High School's 1968 state football championship team. "Those USF students will be introduced to a man who was willing to walk away from all that he knew, to grow as a person and to grow as a member of American society. This man did not have a textbook or anything to tell him what to expect.

"There's no doubt he endured some loneliness. They will meet a man who went to a classroom with students who had never sat in a classroom with a Black person before. You hear the term 'trailblazer' and it truly describes Arthur Jones. In many respects, he has helped the process of making USF what it is today. I hope those students have an opportunity to lift him up and to thank him.''

So much time has passed since those days — and so much has changed for USF's men's basketball program. But the memories abound. For Jones and his family, they will come flowing back on Wednesday night.

"Going back to USF will be awesome and it's going to be great for people to see Arthur and meet him in person,'' Haygood said. "It has been a long time, but here's a chance to know what he has done and acknowledge the importance of it.''

The timing of it all is coincidental, but magnificent. It's the 71st birthday for Jones, but also the 93rd birthday for his mother. They're accustomed to the dual birthdays, but they've never had such a big party.

"I think of how bad it was when he had the stroke, how some people thought he might not ever get out of bed again and to know that he worked himself back and now the people can see that and my mother can see that, too … it's truly special,'' Haygood said.

Lear, who has avidly followed the evolution of USF men's basketball, said there's justice in this full-circle moment.

"The Joneses are like my family and Arthur is like my brother,'' Lear said. "What he accomplished was unbelievable and now people will appreciate the things he did. Things happen for a reason, I guess. Everyone wants to feel appreciated. To know that USF still appreciates him, it's just a blessing. It's more than awesome. It's perfect.''