At an old church on top of a hill, a group of pall bearers Saturday gripped the handles of a shiny black and silver casket, lifting it step by step until their feet came to rest on red carpet.
Corey Jones was in there. An Oakland Raiders cap sat snugly on his head, a matching team crest sewn onto the right breast pocket of his jacket - an homage to his favorite football team.
Soon, a standing room only crowd of family, friends and perfect strangers all had their eyes on the 31-year-old drummer as he lay in the open casket. Nearly two weeks earlier, he’d died alone near Interstate 95, Palm Beach Gardens Police officer shot him to death as he waited for a tow truck to move his broken-down car.
Through tears, through Scripture, through fiery rhetoric, and mostly through music, the people who spoke at Corey’s funeral shared, above all, a message of hope:
Corey wasn’t dead, the speakers told them. Only asleep.
“Rest, Corey. It’s going to be all right,” said Dorothy Ellington, Corey’s boss at the Delray Beach Housing Authority and the mother of one of his closest friends.
Delivering the eulogy to hundreds inside the Payne Chapel AME Church, Apostle Sharon D. Walker told the crowd that as a Christian, Corey would have wanted his death to cause each of them to seek a higher spiritual purpose for their own lives — a pursuit family and friends said Corey engaged and communicated through every beat of his drums.
In that way, aside from the afterlife beliefs that were part of his faith, Walker told the crowd that they could play a role in cementing Corey’s legacy.
Walker was the only one in the crowd to refer to Officer Nouman Raja by name. She said the 38-year-old officer, who was in plain clothes when he approached Corey and later said he shot after he noticed Corey had a gun, couldn’t “hide” from the Jones family supporters’ calls for “justice.”
But most of her message was about Corey. She said the overwhelming turnout for his funeral was a testament to his character, that the song of Corey’s life was an uplifting one.
“Look how many people are here for him,” she said. “How many people would be here if it were you, based on your character, right now?”
Boris Simeonov, frontman of the Future Prezidents, the band for which Corey played the drums in the last months of his life, told the crowd he hoped Corey’s name would transcend the headlines and make it into the history books.
To that end, famed civil rights activist the Rev. Al Sharpton flew to South Florida on a mission to memorialize Corey’s death, and to make sure, he said, that it would be a catalyst for change in America.
Sharpton, who didn’t deliver a eulogy but provided a few brief words of comfort for Corey’s father, the Rev. Clinton Jones, Sr., his stepmother, Kattie, and Corey’s siblings, including brother Clinton “C.J.” Jones, Jr. and Melissa Jones.
For the crowd, Sharpton reminded them of Corey’s love for music and drew from a biblical reference in the 137th Psalm, a verse about how one would be able to sing spiritual songs in a strange land.
The way Corey died alone makes the nation he lived in a strange land, Sharpton told the group. After speaking briefly about the upcoming presidential election, Sharpton posed a challenge to each of the candidates:
“Before you go to the White House,” he said,”Stop by Reverend Jones’ house and explain to him why his son had to die.”
Sharpton also talked about Florida’s controversial “Stand Your Ground” Law which allows for people to use deadly force when threatened in their home, their car or anywhere they have a right to feel safe. It was a law neighborhood watchman George Zimmerman used in a trial where a jury ultimately acquitted him in the death of 16-year-old Trayvon Martin.
Corey was found near his car, and had a license to carry the gun he had, which should have afforded him protection under the same law, Sharpton said. Where were his rights?
The heavier moments aside, the atmosphere at times was jubilant inside Payne Chapel, where the Rev. Henry Green III is the pastor. In the middle of the service, an elder clergyman led the choir and crowd in a spirited rendition of the gospel song “Days of Elijah.”
There were also moments of laughter, like when three different sets of relatives realized midway through the family and friends reflections that Corey had been a regular at a few of their homes for Sunday dinner after church, leading one man to conclude: “Boy, brother Corey must’ve sure liked to eat!”
Corey’s sister Melissa, a member of Walker’s church, Carriers of the Glory International Ministries in Tallahassee, didn’t speak, but decided to do what she and Corey used to do together when they were children at the Bible Church of God in Boynton Beach, a congregation their grandfather the Rev. Sylvester Banks still pastors today.
She sang a worship song, through its lyrics implored God to “fight this battle for me, and help my unbelief, so I can tell all my friends that You have won again.”
Afterwards, a smaller group of family and friends traveled to the Boynton Beach Memorial Park, where they laid Corey Jones to rest in a mausoleum. C.J. Jones, who had asked everyone to wear Oakland Raiders gear in honor of Corey, changed out of the Raiders-crested suit jacket he’d worn to match his brother and put on one a Raiders jersey. A group of Corey’s closest relatives and friends wore Raiders jerseys as well, and had customized the backs of them to spell out a plea for justice for Corey.
Back at the church, someone donated to the family a silver drum set adorned with roses painted black and silver. Above it was a poster with a photo of Corey seated at a drum set. Two images of his late mother, Anita Banks Negron, who died of breast cancer in 2006, floated in the heavens above him.
“Come on my child,” the inscription read. “Come home with me.”
At a funeral for Corey Jones, those who knew him described him as a man who loved his family, his faith and his music. The following is a list of scriptures and songs his loved ones shared at during what they called his “Homegoing Celebration.”
