Remembering Art Twenty-Five Years Later
Updated: 2 hours ago
Twenty-five years is a long time.
As we approach 25 years since we lost Art on September 11th, I’ve realized that many—probably most—of the people who support the AJJ Scholarship Fund today never had the chance to know Arthur Joseph Jones III.
So today, I’d like to introduce you to him.
Not as one of the thousands of people who were lost on that day, but as a husband, a father, a son, a brother and a friend—and someone who lived his life with an insatiable curiosity and joy.
Art was, first and foremost, a family man. He was acutely aware of his responsibilities to his family and took great pride in being the best husband and father he could be.
He worked on the London Metal Exchange Desk at Carr Futures in the North Tower of the World Trade Center on the 92nd floor. He chose to work the early shift and was up well before dawn each day to commute into the city so that he could return home well before dinner. We all loved when his car pulled into the driveway at 4:30.
Art had survived the 1993 World Trade Center bombing and was once asked by a friend how he could go back there every day.
“I don’t think about it. I do it for my family.”
That was Art.
He adored spending time with our children—Julia, who was seven, Charlotte, who was five, and Cary, who was two—and when he was home, he was usually playing with them or reading to them. It seemed like at least one child was always in his arms.
Cary went everywhere with him. It never occurred to Art that there might be times when it would simply be easier to leave him home while he ran his errands.
Sadly, Art never got to meet our fourth child, Joseph Arthur. I was only a few months pregnant in September of 2001, but Art knew we were going to welcome a new little one to our family in the spring, and there was already so much excitement about the future.
In addition to his family, Art also took work and play quite seriously. To be fair, he wasn’t home early every day.
There were plenty of nights when he would be out late at a game with friends or having dinner with clients. In fact, he was in charge of entertainment in his department at Carr—not only because he loved it and was so good at it, but because their customers liked and respected him so much.
Those nights he would come home, climb into bed for an hour or two, and then get up and do it all over again.
He rarely complained. I still marvel at how little sleep he seemed to need.
Art was an athlete and attended Hamilton College on a basketball scholarship. He loved watching just about every sport, and we went to many games—Rangers, Knicks, Giants and Yankees, although for some reason, he did love the Mets. We never missed the Belmont Stakes. College basketball was his favorite. He especially loved when March Madness rolled around each year.
But Art was always evolving.
In his early thirties, he suddenly became a NASCAR fan. I was mortified when my children became more interested in Jeff Gordon and Jeff Burton than Tiger Woods and Derek Jeter.
On the other hand, I was thrilled when he discovered a love for cooking.
He would happily spend an afternoon dicing and slicing, and then not only serve a gourmet meal, but clean up the entire mess afterward.
I remember his final night with us. He made a delicious pasta dish with the last of the season’s fresh tomatoes and cooked fish outside on the grill. When we finished dinner, he told me to go relax on the couch while he cleaned up.
I didn’t argue.
It wouldn’t have made a difference.
Music was another one of his passions. His CD collection couldn’t fit in one room and ranged from U2 and The Police to Michael Jackson and The Beatles to John Coltrane and Thelonious Monk. Live concerts were often on our calendar. In fact, we saw The Rolling Stones’ Voodoo Lounge Tour at the Meadowlands the night before I went into labor with our first child.
His mom wasn’t too happy with us.
He was trying to figure out how to fit more golf into his already full days and, unbeknownst to me, had ordered a new set of clubs that didn’t arrive until later that September.
He loved to travel, and we were fortunate enough to take several trips together before and after we had children. I’m thankful for walks through quiet early-morning Parisian streets, crazy drives along winding cliffs on the Amalfi Coast, sunset cruises in Mexico and countless other shared experiences.
He was a romantic.
We met when we were about fourteen. He told me we were going to get married before I was even convinced that I liked the very tall teenager with the sparkling blue eyes, big smile and yellow mop of curls. We married fourteen years later.
At almost 6’4”, he was literally and figuratively larger than life. His huge hands were like claws - ideal for grabbing a basketball or a child out of the water. The sight of them raised was enough to thwart a bully. But in reality he was a gentle giant.
He appreciated a great restaurant, a good glass of wine and a Cuban cigar. He started brewing his own beer in the basement.
He was curious. He was adventurous. He was always trying something new.
I loved watching him evolve over the years. He was one of those people who seemed to get better with age.
But even as he became perhaps a more sophisticated version of his younger self, he was still the same old Artie—the life of the party, everyone’s best friend.
He had a way of making friends wherever he went, and his friends meant the world to him. Friends from high school, college, work and, later, Westchester became connected over the years. New friends simply joined an ever-expanding circle.
That was Art.
He brought people together.
I often wonder if he knew something the rest of us didn’t.
He lived every day of his life the way he wanted to live it. He was always doing something, planning something, looking forward to something. He had an insatiable appetite for fun and adventure.
I don’t think he had any regrets.
And I think that is one of the greatest gifts he left us.
The Beginning of the AJJ Scholarship Fund
In those first weeks and months after September 11th, there was very little clarity and even less sense of what life was supposed to look like. I was pregnant and terrified, trying to comfort three very confused, sad and fearful children. I was still holding onto the hope that somehow Art might be alive, and I was simply trying to get through each day.
I don’t remember much about those early days; so much of it is a blur.
What I do remember is Art’s friends desperately wanting to do something to help. They didn’t know what they could do to make any of this better, but they knew they wanted to do something in his memory.
And that became the beginning of what was originally the Arthur J. Jones Scholarship Fund.
The first fundraiser was held that November. It was a large event, and the room was packed. Friends and neighbors came together and, somehow, in the middle of so much sadness, created an evening that celebrated Art and the life he had lived.
A few months later, in June 2002, the first golf outing took place. It has become an annual tradition around Art’s birthday each year. Twenty-five years later, the tournament has grown so much that we now have a waiting list.
We also have an annual cocktail party, and several years ago we created a Junior Board. Today, that board is spearheaded by Art’s youngest son, Joseph.
Art never had the opportunity to meet Joe, but today Joseph Arthur is helping carry Arthur Joseph's legacy forward. Three years ago in collaboration with the Tunnel to Towers Foundation, he organized the first 5k event spearheaded by the Junior Board, a tradition they continue each year.
Watching our children—and now their friends and the next generation—become part of this legacy is one of the things that means the most to me.
Twenty-Five Years Later
When I think about Art today, I don’t just think about what we lost. I try really hard to think about what has grown in the years since.
Art’s legacy has blossomed through the generosity and kindness of so many people—friends, family and complete strangers.
What began as a way to honor one special man has become something much bigger than any of us could have imagined.
The AJJ Scholarship Fund has awarded hundreds of thousands of dollars in scholarships, giving young people opportunities to pursue their dreams. It has supported community projects and organizations and, in ways that often happen quietly, helped neighbors and families who simply needed a hand.
And through all of you, Art continues to touch lives he never had the opportunity to meet.
That is an extraordinary thing to think about.
Twenty-five years ago, none of us could have imagined what would grow from such an unimaginable loss.
So when you think of September 11th, I hope you don’t dwell only on the tragedy of that day.
I can say with certainty that Art wouldn’t want that.
Instead, I hope you think about the kindness that followed. The generosity. The friendships that were formed. The lives that were positively changed. And all of the good that has come into the world in the years since.
Because that, to me, is what Art’s legacy is about.
It is about living fully. Loving your family. Cherishing your friends. Saying yes to adventure. Trying something new. And, most importantly, making the people around you feel like they matter.
Twenty-five years later, Art is still bringing people together. He continues to touch lives in ways he couldn’t have imagined.
And I think he would be pretty happy about that.
Thank you for helping us keep his memory alive—not by remembering how he died, but by remembering how he lived.
With love and gratitude,
Carol Francolini
AJJ Scholarship Fund
P.S. In a few weeks, the AJJ Junior Board will once again participate in the Tunnel to Towers 5K in Art’s memory. If you’d like to support Joseph and the rest of the team as they continue this tradition, we would be incredibly grateful.
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