Just like nothing (else) on earth: Mervin Jackson Park

By Tim Jon

I knew nothing of the late Mervin Jackson of Leesburg, Virginia, when I first moved to town; having said that, I wouldn’t have been surprised (even back then) at his existence. I remember first hearing a description of his character by a trusted friend (this being on the eve of Jackson being appointed to the Town Council back in 1999). Mervin was depicted (and turned out to be true to form) in terms of the classic gentleman: cultured, respectful, knowledgeable, soft-spoken, patient, and of very strong character. 

He would serve on Council for some five years, including a two-year stretch as Vice Mayor; my job—back in those golden days—allowed (or forced) me to get to know all the panel members fairly well, as I attended some two dozen official meetings on an annual basis, as well as bumping into them (sometimes literally) at various local events: groundbreakings, ribbon-cuttings, press conferences, and other civic gatherings. Then, there were the Loudoun Supervisors: the County Board—but that’s another story—or several. 

Now, the Council Chambers at the Leesburg Town Hall are relatively small: the curved, raised dais in front for the Members and Clerk, a podium with microphone, and some half-dozen rows of seating for the general public. 

During the rare controversial issue, the space was packed to standing room only; on most occasions, it was mostly limited to official applicants on local building projects (and their legal counsel), the various town government staff on hand to weigh in on specific items, a handful of concerned citizens, and the oddballs in the crowd—the local media representatives, of which I numbered one of a select few. 

With meetings lasting as long as three to four hours at a crack, that meant spending quite a bit of time with those people in that—more or less—intimate space. I got to know their moods, likes and dislikes, names of their family members, where they went on vacations, educational and professional histories, and things as personal as childhood hobbies and pastimes. With very few exceptions, that room came to feel almost like a large family gathering room to me. 

Now, let’s reintroduce Mervin Jackson; every time he would enter the room, the atmosphere changed a little bit: you felt good, resting assured that all was in relative order and things would be taken care of. He just had that air: never hurried, never rushing anyone else, he would patiently listen to all voices on a particular issue and offer his opinions and votes without bickering or belittling anyone else. 

In my experience with government—even at this local level—that can be a rare trait. This type of behavior may not grab headlines or command many sound bites, but it sticks in the memory and resonates on the heart’s sounding-board—at least to mine. 

Now, Mervin Jackson wasn’t the only Council Member exhibiting exemplary character—far from it; the thing is, this is his story, and I enjoyed (and felt privileged) being in his company. 

And I think it’s time, at this point in the tale, we travel even further back in time. I’d initially stumbled upon the outdoor location now known as Mervin Jackson Park in Leesburg the very first day I moved into town—well over a quarter century prior to this writing; I had driven almost nonstop, after leaving my home state of Minnesota, with the ink still wet on a broadcasting certificate and the promise of a job as news director at the local radio station— WAGE AM 1200. 

On my way through downtown Leesburg, I distinctly recall passing by the iconic little building known as the Log Cabin, on the same block as the Town Hall and parking garage. I was destined to get to know these grounds and the people that walked them in the upcoming weeks, months, and years; that first day, though, everything was new to my senses. 

And it met my pleasantly surprised approval; I knew no one in the area, and this being prior to ubiquitous instant communications, I’d had little to go by for gaining familiarity, other than a few local papers sent to me by those at the radio station. 

Now, it would be a few years until I’d even meet (now the late) Mervin Jackson; he was at that time serving the Town Government on the Leesburg Planning Commission and the Board of Architectural Review—earning his daily bread with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Our lives continued: Mervin went on to serve on Council, and I covered every meeting they had for 10 straight years. 

But life is anything but predictable and stable. The radio station evaporated, and I went on to earn my keep with the U.S. Postal Service. We would lose Mervin Jackson in the Year 2009; the Town Council created the park in his name a half-dozen years after his passing. It’s right there—adjacent to the Log Cabin—on Loudoun Street, next to the Town Hall. 

The last time I visited, I felt a great sense of comfort, and seemed to gain an assurance that all was well in hand—much as I did all those year ago, sitting in Council Chambers as the Members would gather to conduct business, and Mervin would enter the room, and you’d smile, because he made you feel that way, and things would get started.