Lumberman grabs hold of challenges without hesitation.

Byline: The Register-Guard

`A' is for audacity when it comes to 83-year-old Aaron Jones, the last of Eugene's old-time timber kings.

When Jones believes a thing needs doing, no matter how big - wresting trade advantage from a foreign country; unseating a governor; getting rail freight cars to run on time - he's full bore after it with his weight and wallet.

In the early 1990s, when Jones commissioned a computer to redraw property lines across Northwest forests as a way to end clashes between environmentalists and timber men, nobody was surprised.

He'd had an eagle's-eye view of the land for decades as he winged between his homes in Oregon, California and Kentucky. Why not get out a pencil and redo the West through land swaps? Jones even spent $2 million of his own forest green to try to make the project go.

"If he believes in something, he backs it. He doesn't hesitate," said Paul Ehinger, a timber consultant who watched Jones rise from rags to riches over the past half century here in Eugene.

Jones' main political goals in recent years have been to increase logging on federal lands, boost tax-adverse candidates and cut land use regulations.

Lately, Jones has been reluctant to talk to reporters. He declined requests for an interview for this story; the following facts were gleaned from friends, associates and previous news articles.

During his Texas childhood, Jones developed an orphan's gumption when his mother died and his dad, ruined by the Great Depression, left the scene.

In the custody of an uncle, Jones attended high school in Toledo, Ore., then headed to the University of Oregon, graduating with a degree in physical education in 1945.

In his 20s, he kicked around in jobs from grave digging to real estate to carpentry before he stumbled into sawmilling.

He rented one mill; he got partners and bought another, and later cashed those partners out. His Seneca Sawmill has been a fixture on Highway 99 near the Eugene Airport since the mid-1950s.

Though lacking an engineering background, he designed and patented mill machinery that enables him to get more lumber out of a single log than just about anybody on Earth. "He has the Midas touch," said John Sessions, a forester at Oregon State University. "There is nobody who runs a more productive mill."

In his middle age, when ponies snagged Jones' fancy, it wasn't enough for him to bet: He had to own a horse in the race.

He spent about $2 million on a thoroughbred that was regarded as second to Secretariat in 1973, the year Secretariat won the Triple Crown. He's run horses from Santa Anita to Churchill Downs ever since.

Jones and his wife, Marie, were featured breeders in the Thoroughbred Times publication in January under the headline: "No keeping up with these Joneses when it comes to American racing."

In his older years, Jones positioned himself as the bulwark between sawmills and an increasingly aggressive environmental movement bent on halting logging on federal lands in the West.

Jones in the 1980s launched a drive that eventually would push an environmental law clinic - which had challenged an Idaho timber sale - off the University of Oregon campus. In the 1990s, he bankrolled an unsuccessful recall campaign against Gov. Barbara Roberts because she opposed some timber sales thought to hurt spotted owls.

Jones writes $1,000, $10,000 and even $100,000 checks to conservative candidates and causes. He's the Republican National Committee's best friend and most reliable donor in Oregon.

At the state level, he's hooked up with wealthy activists such as Mark Hemstreet and Loren Parks who pushed through state-altering property-rights and anti-tax measures.

In the past four election cycles, he's given $1.9 million to state and federal campaigns. He's the biggest fish in Lane County's political waters, making donations of $80,000-plus at the local level over the past half-dozen years.

Any Oregon candidate knows he's arrived when he gets an invitation to Jones' annual Christmas party; politicians vie for a seat at his elbow at the annual Lane County GOP Lincoln Day dinner.

Jones makes bold and generous gestures.

When UO President Dave Frohnmayer collapsed with heart arrythmia in Maryland, Jones sent his private jet to bring Frohnmayer home.

When Lane County wanted to erect a statue of the late U.S. Sen. Wayne Morse - one of Jones' early mentors - Jones ponied up $7,000, more than any other private contributor.

He plays on every scale.

Jones is sole proprietor of a sawmill and timberland company in an industry dominated by giants such as Weyerhaeuser Co. When Canada gave its sawmills an allegedly unfair advantage over U.S. firms, Jones sent his attorney to the negotiation table.

When the Union Pacific Railroad took over Southern Pacific and then couldn't get rail cars to Northwest sawmills on time, Jones stepped in - but not just on his own behalf.

"We weren't the biggest customer, but we were the squeakiest and we probably had the most political contacts," said Dale Riddle, Jones' attorney.

The railroad told Jones it would provide him the cars he needed, Riddle recalls. But for Jones, that wasn't enough, Riddle said. "If we take a car, that means somebody else isn't getting a car; that's not what I'm about," Riddle remembers Jones telling the railroad brass. "We need more cars, period. You need to fix the problem. I'm not in this just to help Seneca over my competitor."

The situation was ripe for exploitation, Riddle remembers. "But (Jones) said: `I'm not going that direction.' '

- Diane Dietz

CAPTION(S):

Aaron Jones, owner of Seneca Sawmill Co., uses his considerable clout to pursue big ideas.