Napoleon Bonaparte marched up to the front of the classroom, faced the confused students and began teaching.
Bonaparte never broke character to reveal his true identity for the entire class period.
Horace “H.P.” Jones did whatever it took to make sure his students learned.
Jones, 83, died Tuesday, March 19, 2013 in his home.
After 47 years of teaching history at ULM, the amount of lives Jones touched would be nearly impossible to count.
Jones was one of those teachers whose lessons and tales will be carried by many students for the rest of their lives.
ULM alumnus Michael Free knew Jones when Free was a graduate student completing his masters in history.
“[Jones] was a great story teller, and had the uncanny ability to make history come alive,” Free said.
Free said his first memory of Jones was during a graduate class of medieval history when Jones walked in the room, picked up a piece of chalk and hand drew a complete map of Europe. The class was in awe.
Many students will say that no one could tell a story like Jones could. He didn’t just teach history. He lived history.
After serving in the United States Marine Corps, Jones hopped on a bike and began an 18-month trip around the world. He eventually traded in biking for hitchhiking, traveling through 22 countries and four continents.
“He was one of the most passionate and inspiring professors I’ve had. He’s the kind of professor you’ll tell your future children about,” said Sarah Dean, a senior sociology major.
Students aren’t the only ones who will remember Jones fondly. He influenced his colleagues equally as much.
Neil White, professor of sociology, pulled out a long piece of paper that had Jones’ handwritten version of the Civil War on it. It was a gift for White’s son.
“He cared so much about his students,” White said.
When a lot of people think of ULM, they think of Jones.
He was like Mr. ULM…or Dr. ULM according to White.
“He spoke the truth,” White said. ”He was above the “games,” and there was no guessing with him.”
Dressed in a denim graduation gown, Jones walked into his history 112 class on the first day of the semester, throwing candy out of a prosthetic leg. The “Rocky” theme was playing in the background.
During the 2011 University Mile, Jones could be seen throwing candy from the same leg while being pulled in a cart by his graduate assistant.
Landon LeJeune even intentionally took the wrong history class and later had it subbed for his check sheet, just so he could have Jones as a teacher.
“[Jones] also had a respect for literature, and he preferred to do as many things as ‘old-fashioned’ as possible,” said LeJeune, a ULM alumnus. “This was the first time since junior high that I actually had to turn in a hand-written book report.”
One semester, Jones asked one of his classes to write a poem to read to him.
It was the Ides of March, and they gathered outside of Stubbs for the reading.
Lyndsey Floyd, now a ULM alumna, chose to write her poem about Jones.
An excerpt from Floyd’s poem:
“That Jones sure is a funny man. And he makes things easy to understand. He dances around; sometimes he sings, just to stress exactly what he means…”
It is apparent that Jones left behind a trail of memories, stories and admirers- all coming together to create the huge legacy that can be summed up with just his name.
White said the most prominent legacy Jones probably left behind was the theory that “story-telling is still the best method of teaching.”
With the countless recollections of stories Jones told that took over Facebook and other social media just hours after the news of his passing occurred, how could that theory be denied?
The students may not remember the semester they took the class, the grade they got or the amount of homework they were given.
But they will always remember the teacher.
