David A. Jones obituary: Huber Heights veteran and mechanic, 74, remembered for service and community

A life defined by work, service, and showing up

David A. Jones, a U.S. Army veteran, industrial equipment mechanic, and a steady presence in Huber Heights, died on Saturday, September 6, 2025, after a brief battle with cancer. He was 74 and was surrounded by family.

Born on April 20, 1951, at War Memorial Hospital to Violet and Joseph Jones, he grew up on Lime Island and in Goetzville. Friends say he “never met a stranger,” a line that fits the way he moved through life—curious, handy, and always ready to lend a hand. He graduated from Sault High in 1969 and soon married Marian (Sally), the partner he’d refer to as the love of his life.

Jones served in the U.S. Army and was stationed in Germany during the tail end of the Vietnam era, the kind of overseas posting that shaped many Midwest families in the 1970s. After the service he went to work at Kincheloe Air Force Base. When Kincheloe closed in 1977 as part of a nationwide base realignment, the job—and Jones—moved to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base near Dayton, where he spent decades keeping complex equipment running.

At Wright-Patterson, Jones built a reputation as the person you wanted when something heavy, stubborn, or broken needed to work again. Colleagues describe a mechanic’s mechanic—practical, precise, and patient—who could diagnose a problem by sound and feel. He retired from civil service, but everyone close to him says he never actually stopped working.

That ethic carried into the neighborhood. Jones fixed what was broken, built what needed building, and said yes to odd jobs others avoided. Even in the final stretch of his illness, he was mowing lawns. From his hospital bed he joked, “I have to get out of here, I have work to do.” It wasn’t bravado; it was how he kept score—by being useful.

Coach, “Doc,” neighbor: the many roles he played

Jones poured time into youth sports, coaching soccer for the Warrior Soccer Club for years. Parents trusted him because he showed up, taught fundamentals, and cared about kids who were still learning which cleat went on which foot. For a lot of families, he was the first adult outside home and school who took their kid seriously.

He also became a familiar face at Jordan Motorworks, where customers and coworkers called him “Doc.” The nickname stuck because he approached engines like a physician: examine, diagnose, fix, then remind the crew not to leave their tools lying around. It was part safety, part pride in the craft.

People who knew Jones tend to remember the same snapshots: him rolling up on a Harley for a Saturday ride; nursing a cold beer after a long day; stopping to pet a dog; mapping the local festival calendar; choosing a favorite show and sticking with it. None of it was flashy. It was a rhythm—family, work, community—that made him easy to find and hard to replace.

• Army veteran who served in Germany and came home to build a civilian career in maintenance and mechanics.
• Longtime industrial equipment mechanic at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base after the closure of Kincheloe AFB in 1977.
• Volunteer soccer coach with the Warrior Soccer Club, known for patience and straight talk.
• Grease-under-the-fingernails problem-solver at Jordan Motorworks, nicknamed “Doc.”
• Neighbor who kept mowing and fixing until weeks before his death.

Jones married young and stayed in it for the long haul. He loved his family, and friends say that loyalty showed up in small, daily ways—rides given, chores done, stubborn appliances wrestled back to life. The phrase “never met a stranger” can feel like a cliché. With Jones, it fit because he treated most people like they might be a friend by the end of the conversation.

He was 74 years old. He died as he lived—surrounded by people, still thinking about the next job to finish. His family, friends, former teammates, coworkers, customers, and neighbors are left with stories that sound similar because they describe the same man: steady, decent, and always in motion.