When he entered a room he commanded respect.

You stood up to shake his hand and answered any question ending the sentence with sir.

This was the man Dallas Jones was to me. Despite his years, he stood erect, exuding a confidence and pride that he served his country and community with honor.

He had a winning smile that belied the fact he and others on December 7, 1941, awoke to a hell storm at Pearl Harbor and lived to tell about it.

Jones, in blue jacket, with other veterans at a hand casting ceremony.

That he told the story was important to me, the son of a World War II veteran who didn't want to tell the stories of Normandy, Ardennes and all points in between.

He exemplified the phrase The Greatest Generation as if the phrase was coined to describe him — brave, hard-working, proud, yet humble, meek, yet strong, the epitome of what the ones who went to fight the Axis should be.

I remember the first time I interviewed him, sitting with him in Weldon, marveling at how he told his story with sensitivity, never bragging about it, just simply telling his Pearl Harbor story in a way that never seemed embellished, that accounted for all the facts, that was straight forward and brutally honest.

While many others here served honorably, to me he was the area's World War II veteran I looked up to the most and his desire to want to do something to honor just not only the veterans of his era, but the ones before and after him, serves today as a legacy for those efforts.

Jones cuts a cake during a Veterans Day ceremony.

When you walk into Becker Village Mall and visit the Roanoke Valley Veterans Museum remember it was his dream to see this established. The many incredible exhibits, some going back to the Civil War, others serving as chilling reminders of Vietnam and our more recent wars, were all part of this man's dream to remember and honor.

It is with fond memories and not heavy heart I write this, because I will remember Mr. Jones as a person who lived through one of the most horrific events in American history and lived to honor those like him and those who aspired to be like him — a man who commanded respect when he entered a room. Thank you, Mr. Jones, and may you rest in peace — Lance Martin