Antique Photo of "Dixie Jones" W4IR
Photo from the estate of W9WPF

The following info provided by Gerald Yowell -- WB6FQL:

The person in the photo was Dixie Jones.
He had a regularly appearing column in QST during the mid-to-late '30s. The picture of him shown above appeared in the March 1937 issue of QST, page 42.
The following is the transcript of his column from the September 1936 QST:

DIXIE JONES' OWL JUICE

I wish fine guys would git another word for mojulation. I'm sicka hearin' it. Ever time you tune oneof these monkeys in you can bet your last blame dime that he'll say "mojulation" seven times before he stops talkin'. Of course, I don't hafto lissen, but fone guys is guys like other guys, except the difference, and lots of them I call friend in spite of their affliction, and I lissen in a lot in hopes that some day I'll hear one of them say sumpn I want to know about like for instance how is he, and how's the younguns, and is he still got a job, and does the OW still love him as much as could be expected, and things like that, but all I heard so far is mojulation. One time this writer was a Signal Corps soldier on his way to be a radio op in Nome. My little group had to tarry at Fort Lawton, on the fringes of Seattle, for a week or two, awaiting a steamer to take us to the land of dog teams and dried salmon and thermometers with the zero mark half way up. Fort Lawton was garrisoned by negro troops, a disquieting circumstance to those of us from a land where it is contrary to long established custom for whites and negros to eat together. There may be "abolition men and maids" somewhere within the vast throng of readers of this magazine which has no rival, who will say that the custom is more honored in the breach than the observance. I do not know. I merely state a fact. I follow the customs of my clan, as a rule, but not to the extent of going hungry. My quick decision to eat was accelerated by the fact, that negro soldiers, throughout the Army, probably realizing their handicap, swing hard in the other direction, and positively glow, glisten, shine and sparkle with cleanliness. At the mess hall a Georgia youth newly arrived and mentally unprepared for what he saw gave voice to his objections to breaking a custom of the land we know. A solemn old patriarchal negro mess sergeant standing by the open portals watching the hungry horde file into his spotless domain, heard, and rumbled deep within the capacious confines of his dusky interior: "Go on in, white boy, God made us dis way." Negro soldiers are soldiers like white soldiers, except the difference. Perhaps it is just as well that our feller man comes in assorted shades and sizes and in different degrees of mental inaptitude, but I still wish fone men would say sumpn else for a change.
--W4IR of the "Dixie Squinch Owl"