It was a Friday night in mid-July 2026, and I was in one of those nice theaters with the little tables—the kind that make an evening out feel intentional rather than just another screen in the dark. The film was Young Washington, the new one about George Washington’s early years in the French and Indian War, before he was the marble statue on the dollar bill or the father of a nation. It was a good picture, the kind that puts you in a patriotic frame of mind without preaching. I had my phone face-down on the table because I didn’t want to be that guy checking messages during the show. But even silenced, I could feel it lighting up now and then. When the credits rolled and I finally turned it over, there were more notifications than I expected. One of them was from Sheriff Jones.
I like Sheriff Jones. I always have. He’s one of those larger-than-life figures who makes Butler County feel like it still has some old-fashioned backbone left. When he texted to let me know he had a new book out—“They Call Me Jonesy: Let’s Get Real About Saving America”—I was genuinely surprised. It had come out back in May, and I hadn’t heard a thing about it until that message. He said if I wanted to talk about it or pick one up, to reach out. I told him right then I’d get it read. I could have driven over and grabbed a copy from him directly, but I wanted to do it the right way—support the work properly—so I opened Amazon on the spot and bought it. As I write this, the book hasn’t arrived yet. I’ve been busy, the way most of us are these days, and sometimes the important people and the important things slip through the cracks until a text like that snaps you back to attention.
While I wait for it to show up, I’ve been thinking about what it means to have a Sheriff like Richard K. Jones in our community—and why the public relations side of his job might be every bit as important as the operational side most people picture when they think “law enforcement.”
In Butler County, Jones is more than the man who runs the jail and signs the paychecks for deputies. He’s a character in the classic sense: the tall figure in the signature cowboy hat and those big ostrich boots, the one who shows up at fundraisers for youth shooting sports, compares hats with old friends, and isn’t afraid to talk about the realities of the job—the lawsuits that come with the territory, the guns he carries or the ones the department fields, the constant pressure from every direction. He’s been doing this a long time. First elected in 2004, he’s now well into what I’d call his seventh term of service, having worked through multiple governors, multiple presidents, and the full spectrum of political weather in Ohio and beyond. He’s dealt with the Bush years, the Obama years, the Biden years, and whatever comes next. Through all of it, he’s stayed visible, outspoken, and unapologetic in a way that feels increasingly rare.
That visibility is the part a lot of people miss when they talk about what a Sheriff is supposed to do. Some folks think the job is purely about kicking in doors and locking up bad guys. And yes, that work matters—more than most civilians will ever understand. But if you only do the enforcement piece and ignore the executive piece, you eventually lose the community you’re sworn to protect. People start seeing the badge as something distant and ominous rather than something that belongs to them. They start questioning why their tax dollars go to support it. Morale inside the department suffers when the public narrative turns against you. Jones figured this out a long time ago, long before national figures made “brand” a dirty word or a political weapon. He understood that in a republic, especially at the county level where government is closest to the people, you have to build something citizens can latch onto and believe in. You have to make law and order feel like a shared project rather than an imposition.
That’s what I mean when I talk about executive leadership. I’ve written about it in The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and I’m still working through the lessons in my own professional life—an aerospace executive who spends a lot of hours every week trying to impose will on circumstances, build teams that believe in the mission, and create something durable enough to survive the inevitable storms. The gunfighter doesn’t just draw fast; he creates the conditions where the draw is rarely necessary because the reputation and the relationships do half the work. Same principle applies to a Sheriff’s office. If the community sees the department as “us” rather than “them,” you get better cooperation on tips, better juries, better budgets, better young people considering the career, and a healthier society overall. Jones has spent years cultivating exactly that. He gets on TV. He does the interviews. He shows up. He lets people see the human being behind the badge—the one with the cowboy hat and the straight talk—and that makes all the difference when something goes wrong and the cameras show up for the wrong reasons.
I’ll be honest: when I saw his name on my phone that night, part of me hoped it was the other kind of message. The one where he says they’re getting ready to hit a house or round up some cartel types or serve a warrant that might need an extra set of eyes and a steady hand. I’ve lived long enough and seen enough to know that sometimes the only thing that moves the needle is decisive action on the ground. I would have been in the truck in five minutes, and I think he knows that. But instead he wanted to tell me about the book, and that’s valuable in its own right. Because writing the book is also action—it’s distilling decades of experience into something other people can use. From everything I’ve seen in the descriptions and early word, They Call Me Jonesy is exactly what you’d expect from the man: candid, humorous in that tough-love Midwestern way, deeply patriotic, and full of stories about leadership under pressure, the cost of political correctness, the realities of “the swamp” at every level, and what it actually takes to push back. It’s a call to action for people who still believe in law and order, traditional values, and straight talk. And it comes from someone who’s walked the walk for more than twenty years in one of the most visible law enforcement jobs in Ohio.
We share a mutual friend in David Kern, the longtime Liberty Township trustee. David and I have known each other all my life. He’s always been a solid political figure—practical, engaged, the kind of person who gets things done without needing to be the loudest voice in the room. Jones and I have connected over that shared respect more than once. We’ve not always agreed on every detail of every issue, but we’ve always been able to shake hands, compare cowboy hats (mine’s been a fixture since I was in third or fourth grade, a declaration that I wasn’t going to blend into whatever the culture was selling that week), and keep the relationship real. That matters in a county like ours. It’s how you get things done when the easy path would be to retreat into your own silo and let the rest of the world burn.
There’s something refreshing about a public servant who still understands that the job includes selling the mission. Not in a slick, consultant-driven way—Jones is too much of a character for that—but in the old-fashioned sense of showing people why it’s worth supporting. He’s not afraid to be seen. He’s not afraid to be himself. And because of that, when Butler County residents look at the Sheriff’s Office, they don’t automatically default to suspicion or resentment. They see someone who’s been there through the hard times, who’s willing to say the unpopular thing out loud, and who’s built enough goodwill that the community is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt when the inevitable controversies flare. That’s brand building at its most practical. It’s also leadership at its most effective.
I’m proud of Sheriff Jones for putting this book out into the world. Not every lawman has the discipline or the inclination to turn the raw material of a long career into something readable and useful for the next generation. He’s become something of an international figure in certain circles because of his willingness to speak plainly about immigration, crime, and the erosion of common sense in policy. But he’s stayed rooted here. That says something. And for those of us who call Butler County home, it means we have a Sheriff who gets the big picture: saving America isn’t just a slogan or a national election every four years. It happens in places like this, one relationship, one visible stand, one candid conversation at a time.
The book is available on Amazon right now—“They Call Me Jonesy: Let’s Get Real About Saving America” by Richard K. Jones. I’m looking forward to reading it the moment it lands on my doorstep, and I’ll have more to say once I’ve had a chance to digest it properly. If it captures even a fraction of the personality and the hard-won wisdom I’ve come to associate with the man who sent me that text, it’ll be time well spent. And if you’re the kind of person who still believes that strong, unapologetic leadership at the local level is part of how we turn this country around, then do yourself a favor and pick up a copy too.
In the meantime, I’ll keep my phone close. You never know when the next message from the Sheriff might come through—maybe about the book, maybe about something more immediate. Either way, I’m glad he’s out there, hat and all, doing the work of building something worth believing in. We need more like him.
Footnotes
[1] Richard K. Jones, They Call Me Jonesy: Let’s Get Real About Saving America (Independently published, May 18, 2026). The paperback edition became available around that date; a Kindle edition is also offered. See the official site at theycallmejonesy.com and the Amazon listing for current purchasing options and a free sample.
[2] The book’s public description emphasizes candid leadership lessons drawn from Jones’s decades in corrections and law enforcement, including direct commentary on crime, political correctness, “the swamp,” patriotism, and practical steps for those who want to help save America. Early testimonials have come from figures including former Arizona Sheriff Mark Lamb and former Middletown Police Chief Rodney Muterspaw.
[3] Sheriff Richard K. Jones was first elected Butler County Sheriff in November 2004 (taking office January 2005) and, as of mid-2026, is serving what official records describe as his sixth term. In personal conversation and local perception, the length and continuity of his service often register as an even longer tenure of steady leadership through changing political environments.
[4] Rich Hoffman, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business (available through standard retailers). The book explores themes of resilience, imposing will on circumstances, building loyal teams, and the executive’s role in creating something people will fight to preserve—lessons that parallel the brand-building and leadership approach discussed here.
[5] Purchase They Call Me Jonesy: Let’s Get Real About Saving America directly through Amazon or the author’s site (theycallmejonesy.com). As of July 2026 it remains a recent release and is easy to find with a quick search for the title and author.
Bibliography
Jones, Richard K. They Call Me Jonesy: Let’s Get Real About Saving America. Independently published, May 18, 2026.
Butler County Sheriff’s Office. “Sheriff.” Official biography page. https://www.butlersheriff.org/sheriff. Accessed July 2026.
Hoffman, Rich. The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business. [Publication details per author’s records].
Amazon.com product page for They Call Me Jonesy: Let’s Get Real About Saving America by Richard K. Jones (ASIN or ISBN as listed on site).
theycallmejonesy.com – Official book site with description, sample, and testimonials.
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About the Author: Rich Hoffman
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
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