The Devil and Mr. Jones

It was around this time that Jones met T. Willard Fair, president and chief executive of the Greater Miami Urban League. Fair remembers: "He came to me once when he was attempting to get the black community to support smaller black-owned businesses. That notion is tied clearly to ethnic solidarity, not to consumer demands. I advised that I did not think that was appropriate." Fair urged him to help blacks gain a competitive edge, advice that didn't jibe with Jones's more interventionist inclinations.

On March 25, 1997, Jones says, he was driving by an Arab-owned store when a worker threatened him: The man allegedly stared at Jones while drawing his finger across his throat. What happened next is in dispute. Jones says he returned alone, confronted store workers about the gesture, then left after some heated words were exchanged.

But store employee Nadir Mohamed told police Jones entered with three armed friends. The men purportedly smashed a cash register and the store's video camera; Jones was later arrested and charged with aggravated assault. The case could have been a disaster for him because of state sentencing guidelines. If convicted, he would have been classified a career-felony offender and sentenced to a minimum of 30 years. But prosecutors declined to press charges because the alleged victims did not show up in court.

"I didn't go there with no guns and I didn't tear the place up," Jones maintains. "I asked them what they meant by [the finger across the throat]." The store is now closed and Mohamed could not be reached for comment.

Jones pressed on. In June 1997 he and a half-dozen men in black "Brothers of the Same Mind" T-shirts carried placards outside the courthouse on NW Twelfth Street, denouncing Circuit Court Judge Barbara Levenson. Levenson had revoked the bond of one of the group's members, Worrine Terrel Sams, after he allegedly appeared at a hearing under the influence. Later the Brothers criticized Levenson for detaining several black construction workers on the suspicion they had threatened a juror.

The dispute trailed Levenson into her re-election campaign this past September. Jones bought radio ads on WMBM-AM (1490) denouncing her. Levenson then filed a complaint with the Miami-Dade Bar Association, alleging the ads were purchased by her opponent, Assistant Public Defender Rosa Figarola. "These ads were allegedly paid for by a group called BROTHERS OF THE SAME MIND," Levenson wrote. "It would be unlikely that such a group would pay for this expensive effort without the involvement of my opponent or her consultants." Figarola denied the charges and politely requested that Brothers discontinue the ads. Jones refused. The Bar scaldingly declared that the "ads are clearly designed to incite voters to select candidates based on improper ... racial grounds." Figarola lost the election.

Asked for a comment, Levenson said only: "I don't know enough about them to say anything. I understand they are a very small group." That's a common theme among the Brothers' targets. Remarks Patrick White: "Brothers of the Same Mind, as far as we can tell, is only a handful of folks, about three of them. So they don't speak for the community." Adds Miami-Dade Police Department's Frank Boni: "They appear to be a small group."

Jones laughs when told of the comments. Though he won't give membership numbers, he produces a picture of the first meeting in 1996; about 30 men are shown in matching T-shirts. "We don't like them to know how many we are. We like to keep 'em guessing."

In July Brothers of the Same Mind investigated the shooting of Liberty City resident Carl Williams by a Miami-Dade police officer. The results of their inquiry are scheduled for release this month. The group is also busy clearing a lot near NW 114th Street for a community garden. In his office one day recently, Jones shows pictures of other gardens where rows of collard greens and sweet potatoes were ready for harvesting. "We're going to pay young men to cut them and maintain the lots, and then we'll sell them through the stores," he declares.

Jones now owns seven homes in northwest Dade. He bought most of them at fire-sale prices, according to county land records. He acquired one of the properties in 1989 for $8000, another in 1990 for $18,000, another in 1992 for $15,000. He says he earns a living by cobbling together profits from renting the homes with his $25,000 yearly salary as head of NANA. Jones and Max Rameau, whose salary is $23,800, are NANA's only paid employees.

On a recent weekday afternoon, after monitoring a Miami City Commission meeting, Jones drives his clunky 1969 Lincoln to a house he owns on NW 112th Street. He plans to repair the bathroom before a new, female tenant moves in. The woman, who is fresh from drug rehab, will pay no rent, he says.

But minutes after he arrives, Jones is on the phone to Commissioner Carey's office nagging her aides about funding for the Martin Luther King Day parade. He wants to confirm that there's enough money this year.