Christmas Greeting 2007

Third Sunday of Advent
December 16, 2007


As a fierce winter storm assails mid-Michigan this Sunday morning, near blizzard conditions have cancelled most church services this morning. Glenda and I find ourselves ensconced in our home surrounded by the silence of the falling snow as well as the busyness of fluttering birds huddling around several bird feeders in our yard. I can’t remember the last time that worship services were cancelled due to a winter storm. We decided to read the scriptures and sing the appointed hymns as though we were a congregation of 200. For the sermon, we practiced saying to each other various scriptures we are memorizing.

It struck us once again that “… the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account.” (Hebrews 4:12-13)

In these days as in ages past, when humankind continues to fashion itself gods of its own making, when the belief that “the god of many faces” purports to make all beliefs equal in order not to offend any religious faith, when the politically correct term “tolerance” means setting aside absolute truth for relativism as a foundation for solid thinking, we are most grateful that:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness, to bear witness about the light, that all might believe through him. He was not the light, but came to bear witness about the light.

The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him. But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.” (John 1:1-14)

Glenda and I send Christmas good news that “…God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. (Ephesians 2:4-7)

Within this framework we rejoice to say that this has been a very prosperous year. Here are some highlights:

• We are blessed by our children. Matt moved to Florida a couple of months ago. He lives in Lakeland. Abby moved to Charleston, SC last summer. Both Matt and Abby will be with us for several days during Christmas week. Isaac, Stacie and Braylon live in Owosso which means we are doubly blessed to have them close as well as be able to care for Braylon several times a week.
• We continue to plan and implement the worship services at our local church. This is our 15^th year to work in this capacity.
• We reduced our private teaching schedule to 2 ½ days a week in order to have more time and energy to care for Braylon who is 17 months old. As grandparents we are getting a second chance to “do it right.”
• Our local congregation continues to be the center of who we are and what we do. The church continues to challenge us to deepen our walk with Jesus, to minister to those in the church, to share our talents, treasure and time with our neighbors and the community and world at large.

• My health has improved drastically since I’ve joined the local Powerhouse Gym.
• Glenda continues to play the piano more beautifully than ever and to be a wife, mother, grandmother, and friend with qualities that we all are striving to achieve. I’m grateful for this “long-term” relationship in a marriage of almost 38 years. Now, that is a real “long-term” relationship!
• We are grateful for so many friends and family.
• We, too, struggle with all the issues that plague our society in this post-modern/ post-Christian era. Nonetheless, our hope is NOT based on who the next president will be, or when will all the social ills of the world be solved, or the resolution of the latest mid-East conflict or anything else.

“What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised— who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written,
‘For your sake we are being killed all the day long;
we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.’

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:31-39)

Merry Christmas! Happy New Year!—Ronald and Glenda Davis

“The Boy Who Knew When to Change His Clothes”

“The Boy Who Knew When to Change His Clothes”

(An Autobiographical Story)

By Ronald Davis

©1983

On a hot summer afternoon, Evan put on his best pair of short pants and his favorite, brown, stripped, short-sleeved shirt. Since he was going to town, he decided to wear his Sunday shoes instead of his old tennis shoes.

Evan asked his mother if this really were the day he could go to town by himself. He was almost 10 years old, but his older brother Edward always went with him. They usually would spend a summer afternoon “window shopping”—trying to decide how they would spend their allowance. The two boys would almost always return home without spending any money. They would save it for the next trip when they would have more money added from the next week’s allowance.

Today was a different day. Evan had saved his money for a long time. He knew what he wanted, but only now did he have enough money to buy the gold ring with the square ruby stone.

His mother told him that he was old enough to go to town by himself as long as he would hurry past “Capitol Park” on his way to and from town—making sure he walked on the opposite side of the street from the park. “Capitol Park” was a large area of land on 5^th Street that at one time was the home of the state capital of Alabama. There were still large foundation stones that loomed up in the tall grass where once stood the Alabama State Capitol Building. Evan knew that older boys often played at the old park, and they liked to pick fights or even bully younger children.

On his way to town, Evan imagined how it would feel to wear a real ring. He had never had one and now his dream was going to come true. The boy hurried past the park and finally arrived in front of the old five and dime store which the store marquee said was Kresge’s Five and Dime. Evan made his way to the jewelry case and pointed to the ruby ring he had seen so many times before. After he paid his money to the clerk, she was about to put the ring in a box, but Evan told her he wanted to wear the ring home so he didn’t need a box. How proud he was as he placed the ring on his finger!

Going back home the same way that he came, Evan walked slowly. As he walked along 5^th Street, Evan was thinking of all the places he would wear his new ring—to school in the fall, to his piano lessons, to Boy Scout meetings, to his uncle’s farm when he visited his cousin Elliott in a few weeks, and to church.

All of a sudden, Evan was shocked to realize that he was walking right past Capitol Park on the same side of the street as the park--the side he had avoided when he had first come that way earlier on his way to town. Just as his mother warned, a group of older boys was playing near the old foundation stones of buildings that had been there long ago. To his horror, the boys saw him and rushed toward him yelling, “Hey, let’s get him!” The young boy froze knowing that he could never outrun the roughnecks. They surrounded him and began to pick at him, “Hey, sissy, you wanna fight? Look at the sissy; he’s even wearing a ring!”

Evan knew that he had to think up something quickly or he was going to be pulverized by these hoodlums. He didn’t like to fight even though he had his fair share of fights at home. With three older brothers and two younger, it was hard to escape a day without a fight of some sort. Today was different, however, because he knew there was no chance for a fair fight.

Evan answered the boys in a calm but tough tone of voice, “Yeah, guys, I’ll fight ya, but you will have to give me time to run home and change my clothes. Meet me back here in fifteen minutes.”

To his surprise the bullies believed his bluff, and let him start for home. As Evan turned the corner at 32^nd Avenue and Fifth Street, the ruffians shouted, “Hurry and change your clothes, Sissy. We’ll be waitin’ for ya!”

With a sigh of relief and a witty chuckle, Evan ran home to change his clothes. BUT, he did not return to the park.

(An update 53 years later—The original ruby ring was lost a long time ago for reasons I do not recall. I looked for a similar ring over the years to replace the one I bought when I was almost 10 years old. But, I could never locate one that I felt was even close to the original ring. Then, on Saturday, October 7, 2000, two days after my birthday, my wife told me we were going to go shopping. Since I don’t like to shop, I inquired where this shopping trip was destined. She told me that we were going to look for the ruby ring of long ago. We were going to The Wooden Skate Antique Jewelry Store in Okemos, Michigan. I told her that it was to no use. I had looked for 46 years and had never found a match. She said that maybe this would be the day. Anyway, she wanted to buy a birthday gift for me. I reluctantly went along. We arrived at The Wooden Skate. I asked to be shown the men’s rings. The clerk led us to another section of the building. I looked through the class countertop where the rings were displayed. Immediately I saw a ruby ring just like the one I had long ago. I tried it on and it fit perfectly. My wife said that I should buy it, but I resisted because I thought $60 was too much to pay for a ring even though it was an art deco style ring from the 1920’s. Not buying the ring wasn’t going to be the order for the day. My persistent wife said that I had been looking for such a ring for 4 decades, and if I were not going to buy it, she would buy it for me. Which she did and that was the end of that!)

Part VI: Four Grandchildren of Andrew Russell and Josephine Davis

Margery Eunice Davis Wienand

(December 6, 1911-February 13, 2000)

The second child of Luther and Ellie Davis was born on December 6, 1911. Margery Eunice Davis was almost four years younger than her sister Mary Lucille and a little over 3 years older than her brother Cronin who was born the early part of 1915. Early pictures of Margery, whose name was chosen for a perfume sold at her father’s drug store,* show a beautiful child with engaging eyes as well as physical grace. Her beauty and grace would be a hallmark even into adult life. What the early years were like for the three children of Luther and Ellie can only be told in pictures. There is one photograph of Luther, Ellie, Mary Lucille and Margery that shows Margery standing close to her handsome father. Judging from the possible ages of the children and the pleasant look on Ellie’s face the third child (Cronin) more than likely was on the way. As I look closely at Margery, her eyes once again are the clear and bright lamps that I remember from my earliest times of visiting her in Montgomery, Alabama. Margery, perhaps, favored her mother Ellie more than her two siblings did. Ellie had a full oval face with perfectly positioned eyes. Margery, too, was stamped in her mother’s image.

The first memories of Margery Davis Wienand were after the family had moved from Fairhope, Alabama. I have to rely on her children’s knowledge of when this move took place because until recently I thought the Wienands had always lived in Montgomery. My father always spoke of Margery, but my first remembrance was a drop by visit to their home in 1955 or 1956. My oldest brother was enrolled in the Forestry Department at Auburn University, and after church one Sunday, we all piled into the car to drive over three hours to visit him. At age 11 it seemed like an endless journey to me. Because of the long drive back to Tuscaloosa we didn’t stay very long visiting with my brother. It was long enough, however, to deliver any needed supplies and care packages. On our way back to Tuscaloosa, we stopped at Margery and John Wienand’s home in Montgomery. I have a clear memory of being warmly greeted by my aunt and uncle as well as being fed from their table. Uncle John had a quiet but strong presence and Aunt Margery was interested in the details of life regarding her brother and his family. I was conscious that she had a genuine interest in who were were. My own family was not given to physical expressions of affection, but the Wienand family expressed their affection openly. I was impressed with this and remember early on desiring to imitate these characteristics. I have a vague recollection of my aunt and uncle’s two daughters and was intrigued to know that I had female cousins. With six boys in my family and out of the 19 cousins from my mothers family only 5 were girls and all were younger than I. Meeting an older girl cousin as well as a younger one in the same family was significant. Margery and John’s son who was known as Son-John since he was the third generation with the name was probably not home at the time. He was the same age as one of my older brothers so the age difference may have precluded interaction at the time.

We visited on several other occasions for the same reason of needing to go visit my brother at Auburn University. The same warmth and hospitality was always present as well as great affection for us as close relatives. My father spoke of Margery in affectionate ways and always enjoyed her written missives to our family. He had a Mobile-way of speaking her name and the sound was like someone who had been reared in Boston, MA. He pronounced “Auburn” the same way. I noticed that a lot of natives from the Mobile area spoke with that inflection even Margery herself. I loved to hear her say the word “Christmas.” It sounded like “Crusmus” or something similar.

As far as his two sisters were concerned, my dad was the “apple of their eye.” I wondered if this doting and “excessive” caring for the younger brother of the family had to do with the fact that these children had lost their “real mother” at early ages. Mary Lucille would have been 8, Margery was 4 ½ and Cronin was 16 months old. Until their dad remarried over three years after his first wife died, it had to be hard on the older two as well as the baby (Cronin). Perhaps, the two dear sisters looked after him in special ways.

Every February 14 on my dad’s birthday as long as I can remember, it was a guarantee that my father would receive a box of candy and a big, fuzzy, heart-shaped valentine from his sister Margery. Mary Lucille would also send a card. Maybe it didn’t happen every year, but it was often. I had never seen fuzzy, large valentines except when he received them on his birthday. I thought all valentines came in small sizes and many to a package like the ones that were handed out in school. There were always duplicates in the little packages, but my dad always had unique valentines. I remember, too, that it was an unspoken rule that none of us children would ask our dad for a piece of the candy that he had received in the special valentine candy box. He put the box in his underwear drawer of his chest of drawers. Each night before he went to work, he would take out a piece and put it in his lunch box. We were allowed to smell the box when it was empty. Russell Stovers and other candy makers seemed to steep their candy boxes in chocolate, and the sweet smell of chocolate stayed with the box for decades.

As all children seem to grow up faster than one imagines, the grandchildren of Luther and Ellie Davis followed suit. I remember other times that the Wienands and the Davises gathered together but the pace and direction of the various lives were always in multiple directions. Some of the cousins went into the service. I know that Son-John made a career in the Air Force. Some were going to the University. Others were making career choices that took them far away. Montgomery and Tuscaloosa are only 100 miles apart but as everyone even now can attest, “It is the longest and most time consuming hundred miles that anyone can imagine. “Are we there, yet?” is not even funny when driving that 100 miles.

There were weddings, and some were able to attend. These events only gave us snatches of time to get caught up and not everyone could be present for a zillion reasons. After a while, the little connections that we did have began to disconnect and we lost contact except for the news we would hear from our parents about Margery and John. Then, parents die and even children die before parents. Parents who were the hub of contact are no longer there to convey the news of cousins and relatives that we no longer really know. Now, funerals bring us together and everyone says, “We must get together.” Time and space, however, intervene, and the connections are not made for many reasons.

Relationships are intentional in that we are responsible for maintaining them. No one else is. Some are easy to maintain and are reciprocated. But, others are more complicated because of personalities, time or lack of interest.

As we age, some of us have a need to reconnect with family no matter how distant the relations. We may also wish that things had been different and the closeness that wasn’t there for years would have a resurgence through the remaining cousins whether they be first cousins or first cousins once removed. Since there are no more mothers or fathers remaining of our parents’ generation, we are left only with ourselves to carry on the remembrance of our parents’ siblings and of their parents and grandparents. Thus, we have genealogical works that list names or story memories like this present blog. There will always be gaps in the story. Sometimes the gaps are very large since one person’s memory is only part of the puzzle. The gaps in memory for dear Aunt Margery are great for me. Circumstances are never the same when it comes to equal time with relatives. The time for starting over or starting the first time is never too late while there is still breath. I rely now on my dear cousins, the surviving children of Margery Eunice Davis Wienand, to fill me in on the huge gaps that I’m incapable of filling. Actually, they have already begun that process to my delight. The best memory of her is that my parents loved her dearly as a sister and sister-in-law. That was evident from my earliest memory. This is enough to continue her memory in my own mind and pass it on to my children and grandchildren. Margery Davis Wienand’s joys, pains, heartaches, successes and triumphs are memories that may have been long forgotten, but her kind, loving, and caring ways live on in her children. Observe them closely, and you will observe as well as experience the loving legacy of Margery Davis Wienand.

*As remembered by her daughter

October's Party

October's Party
George Cooper (1844)

October gave a party;
The leaves by hundreds came-
The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
Professor Wind the band.

The Chestnuts came in yellow,
The Oaks in crimson dressed;
The lovely Misses Maple
In scarlet looked their best;
All balanced to their partners,
And gaily fluttered by;
The sight was like a rainbow
New fallen from the sky.

Then, in the rustic hollow,
At hide-and-seek they played,
The party closed at sundown,
And everybody stayed.
Professor Wind played louder;
They flew along the ground;
And then the party ended
In jolly "hands around."


This is a poem I learned in 3rd grade. We memorized it and went from room to room reciting it. As these last days of October wane as does the present harvest moon, may we in Michigan enjoy the last days of brilliant color.

Part V-d: Four Grandchildren of Andrew Russell and Josephine Davis

Memories of Mary Lucille Davis Woodliff (Part IV)

In early January of 1997, I received a phone call from my brother Rick who lives in Alabama. He said, “Ron, you’ve got to do something!” Mary Lucille had called him and she was on a war path and was madder than H-E-double-hockey-stick! She had not had any news at Christmas from her brother’s family in Tuscaloosa. That meant US! Mary Lucille loved her sister and two brothers dearly and kept in touch with all of them over the many years. Her two brothers were now deceased, and she expected that somebody, especially in her brother Cronin’s (my dad) family, to keep her up to date with what was happening in Alabama. I scanned my memory to see if I had forgotten to send a Christmas card. I wrote Mary Lucille several times a year, but apparently I had forgotten to get something to her at Christmas time. There was NO news from her nephews in Alabama and that was NOT good news! I told my brother that it was his turn to do something. I was letting myself off the hook this time.

(Mary Lucille Davis Woodliff)

Several minutes after the phone call, I sat down and wrote a letter to Mary Lucille. Then, I got the bright idea of trying to fax the letter so she would get it quicker than sending it by USPS. I called her son Duane to see if he had a fax machine at his office. I told him to go straight to the office because I was “high tailing” the letter to Oklahoma as soon as we disconnected our call. The letter was promptly delivered to Mary Lucille.

A couple of days later, I phoned my aunt to check on the situation. Mary Lu recognized my number from her caller ID box and answered with the question, “Is this my nephew from Michigan?” She then asked me if my faxed letter was precipitated by guilt for not writing at Christmas time. I reminded her that I had written several times that year and that I had responsibilities as a husband and a father as well as work responsibilities. If I forgot to send a Christmas greeting, this was not grounds for throwing a tantrum. She said, “It worked, didn’t it?” I told her that it had, but there were other ways to evoke a response other than beating up on people and terrorizing the neighborhood. I told her that I didn’t want her to try that tactic again. She said she wouldn’t, and she never did.

When I was in conversation with Duane regarding faxing a letter, he invited us out to Oklahoma. I told him we would come during our Spring Break from school. Our youngest was still at home so the three of us drove in early April the 20 hours from Michigan to Oklahoma. We arrived late Saturday evening and stayed with Duane and Eloise. The next day we were in church together which is where Mary Lucille discovered that we had arrived. On that Sunday afternoon, three of the Woodliff cousins gathered for a reunion. We had a great time reminiscing about family. Mary Lucille sat right next to me and held my hand affectionately. One of the cousins asked me to fill them in on my family and my brothers’ families. As I gave the details, Mary Lucille frequently interrupted my conversation. I had to lean over and quietly remind her that “it was not her time to speak and that I would tell her when her time was.” That settled it. From that time on, we had a good understanding that neither of us would try to control the other’s turf. It was finally working with respect and understanding. For me, it was a victory for the two of us. We both had aggressive personalities, and we came to terms with those personalities and found peace. Of course, how much it affected our other relationships in our individual families, I don’t know. But, I have a suspicion that not much changed with Mary Lucille on the other fronts of her life. I would like to believe that I changed for the better in regard to toning down my hyper personality with those around me. My children, however, would probably tell me differently. Over ten years later, they may say there has been improvement or, perhaps, they have only adjusted their lives to embrace it with more grace and mercy than I deserve.

We made a second trip to Oklahoma that year which was in early August when the Woodliff clan gathered at Ten Killer Lake in eastern Oklahoma for their annual Family Fest. They had all the water toys, good food, good humor (which is always more evident when Lance is present), and the stuff that makes a family even better—love and affection for one another in spite of our human frailties. Mary Lucille had recently had cataract surgery and was forbidden to go near the water. She wanted me to see her jet ski at 89 ½ years old. I told her as I took my turn to “baby sit” her in cottage that I would just have to imagine her jet skiing because the others and I were going to make sure she did not defy the doctor’s orders. She obeyed.

As we said our goodbyes on the last day of the reunion, we had our picture taken with Aunt Mary Lucille. I knew full well that this would be the last time I would see her in the flesh. She died on March 31, 2000 which was a little over six weeks after her sister Margery had died on February 13, 2000. My dad’s two sisters were now gone, and there was no one of their generation left to answer the questions that we waited too long to ask. My oldest brother told me once that the six of us came from such good, strong stock—the Davises, the Cronins, the Elliotts, and the Neighbors plus everyone in between. I believe he was right.

(Next: Memories of Margery Eunice Davis Wienand)

(Mary Lucille Woodliff with her nephew and nephew's wife)

Part V-c: Four Grandchildren of Andrew Russell and Josephine Davis

Memories of Mary Lucille Davis Woodliff (Part III)

In June of 1971 my wife and I decided to take make the long trek west to visit family and friends in Louisiana, Texas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas. Our first stop was to visit my grandfather Luther Davis’s sister who lived with her daughter and son-in-law in New Orleans. Aunt Elva Davis Crawford was the daughter of my great grandfather Andrew Russell and his wife Josephine Ryan Davis. The visit was for a couple of hours. Aunt Elva, as mentioned in a previous post, suffered most of her life from severe arthritis and was confined to the second level of her daughter’s home. Romans 12:12 describes her stance in life—“Rejoice in hope. Be patient in tribulation. Be constant in prayer.”

From New Orleans we drove to Taylor, Texas which is near Austin to visit a high school classmate who was now a priest in the Austin, Texas diocese. Afterwards, we drove what seemed like an immense distance from Austin to Tulsa, Oklahoma to visit another friend from college who was a priest in the Tulsa diocese. All the while, our main destination was Henryetta, Oklahoma where we once again would visit our OK family connection.

We arrived in Henryetta after spending eons of time squished inside a 1969 VW Beetle—no air conditioning. I remember that we arrived at Mary Lucille and Kirk’s home in mid-afternoon with more exhaustion than I was accustomed to. We were glad to be able to nap shortly after we arrived. The nap was not restful, however, either due to the fact that our bodies were not able to unfold due to the cramped conditions of the automobile or the fact that we had inadvertently walked into the preparations for a dinner party for newcomers to the Henryetta area. The living room and dining room had been arranged to accommodate numerous card tables that had been clothed in linen attire and set with fine china, silverware and stemmed crystal.

After our brief nap, we were swept into the rush of last minute preparations. My head was hurting from being fried in the sardine can of a vehicle that had no air conditioning. Plus, I was not prepared to be part of a welcoming party for strangers. I was relieved to know that Duane and Eloise (son and daughter-in-law of Mary Lucille) would be present for the occasion. Uncle Kirk, of course, would be present, also. There would be people I knew, and this was a relief for a shy person like me. As the dinner progressed, it was announced that at the end of each course of the meal, everyone would move to another table and join someone they had not yet met that evening. That meant if you were with your wife, you would part company with your spouse and head to a foreigner’s table. This was a good and clever way to make sure everyone got to meet everyone else. I, however, didn’t want to meet anyone else, but only wanted to stay put so I could just keep a low profile. I also was trying to protect my wife from too much fellowship. This didn’t sit well with the hostess who insisted that we cooperate. I quietly said that we would stay put and that decision was respected for which I was grateful.

When dessert was about to be served, the hostess stands and announces that at that moment, Ron Davis, her nephew, and Glenda, his dear wife, would play the piano for all to enjoy. I felt cornered again as well as exploited. How does one decline gracefully without making a scene amongst so many? I stood and said that my wife and I would be delighted to play the piano but not this evening. We would, however be delighted to play for Mary Lucille in the morning when we would be more rested. Secondly, there were two things that we definitely didn’t do while on vacation—one was to play the piano in public and the second was to talk about George C. Wallace, who was the governor of Alabama at the time. For a musician, playing the piano in public while on vacation was like asking a letter carrier (mailman, in the old days) to take a hike on his day off. We did play for Mary Lucille the next morning, and we had an enjoyable time, on our own terms so to speak.

Mary Lucille was very proud of her family—husband, sons, daughters, her siblings, nephews and nieces. She only wanted others to enjoy the richness that she was so blessed to have. She and I were a lot alike. I call it the “show and tell” syndrome or the “brain is in your mouth” approach to thinking. People like us love to share everything that is going on in our minds. That is how we process life. The problem is that most people get weary of people processing everything out loud as well as wanting to “show and tell” about everything that’s happening in their lives. Basically, Mary Lucille and I were kindergarten children at heart. It drives everyone else stark raving mad. Just look at this blog. We are now into the fifth part of a series on my great-grandparents and, this is part three of just one of their grandchildren. When will it ever end? Well, frankly, not until I tell one or two more episodes about Mary Lucille Davis Woodliff.

(To be continued with the visits in 1997)

Part V-b: Four Grandchildren of Andrew Russell and Josephine Davis

Memories of Mary Lucille Davis Woodliff (Part II)

In August of 1962, St. Bernard Abbey in Alabama sent its seminarians for studies at New Subiaco Abbey near Fort Smith, Arkansas. Earlier that month when I was home visiting my parents in Tuscaloosa, my Aunt Mary Lucille and Uncle Kirk Woodliff were visiting in Alabama and came by to see our family. They had their two daughters with them. I don’t know where we all slept but my parents had a way of always making room for relatives and friends. In addition to the four Woodliffs, a good friend from Florida was visiting and we invited my cousin Kay Wienand (the daughter of my dad’s sister Margery Davis Wienand) from Montgomery to join the fun. It was a house full and we enjoyed the cousin company by planning a swimming outing and other times to be together. I remember that Mary Lucille and Kirk told us that their son Duane was getting married later in that month of August so this incursion into Alabama was going to be short and sweet. The time with the Oklahoma branch of the family was brief, but my memory is that it was long enough once again to connect and bond. Mary Lucille and Kirk were aware that I would be in Arkansas during the school year of 1962-63 so they invited me to visit them if there would be any holiday time away from school. We settled on Easter break as the time I would come to Oklahoma.

The year at Subiaco Abbey seemed to go by quickly. Before I knew it, Easter was just around the corner. Many of my classmates from St. Bernard Abbey were going back to Alabama for the Easter break. St. Bernard Abbey owned a commercial bus that came for those who wanted and could go home for the break. I was on the track team and had two meets during the break so I was required to stay at the Abbey until the meets were finished. Plus, I didn’t want to miss the rich ceremonies of Holy Week especially in the monastic setting in which they would be celebrated. After the track meets were over and Easter Monday arrived, I set out on a bus trip from Subiaco Abbey to Henryetta, Oklahoma. Early Monday morning I got on the bus at the Abbey crossroad that intersected with the Arkansas state highway which winded its way toward Fort Smith. I don’t remember the mileage to Henryetta, but it was a long trip. I didn’t arrive in Henryetta until late that Monday night. I went through what seemed like every small town that eastern Oklahoma had on its map. Okmulgee and similar names dotted my passage to the Rodeo Capital of the world—Henryetta, Oklahoma.

I actually don’t remember how many days I was with the Woodliffs, but there was enough time to take Gail and Kay (Mary Lucille’s daughters) to school several days in a row and to be present at a radio program that featured piano students who had made Superior at festival--the Woodliff girls performed in the program with one of them playing a piece entitled “Puck,” a name I had never heard of. It sounded like a swear word to me. I later discovered the name was a mythological character. I also attended Mass daily and was told by Mary Lucille that I would play the organ for Mass at St. Michael Parish Church. I could play the organ but I didn’t know if I wanted to play while I was on vacation. I realized early that I didn’t have that choice now that I was with Mary Lucille. I played for several of the Masses. That was ok even though I wasn’t sure if I liked “the control factor” I was experiencing. I knew that my aunt was proud of her nephew’s accomplishments and, perhaps, she was keen on the idea of having a “monk” in the family—special graces or something, even though I certainly didn’t feel any special grace in my own heart at that point. Somehow I was trying hard to receive the love and affection of my dear aunt even though I was being pressed to conform to her desires and wishes. It was tension at its best, especially, to see how I would be submissive but at the same time retain control over my own desires and wishes without being disrespectful.

Well, Mary Lucille and I were on a collision course that I had not designed. One morning she asked me to get my laundry together since she was going to do a load of laundry. I thought this was a good idea since I was running out of socks and underwear. The load went through the wash and was cycled through the dryer. I went to the dryer when the cycle was done to get my clothes in order to sort and fold them so I could return them to my travel bag. I was immediately informed, however, that this was not to be done until all the tee shirts and briefs were ironed. Mary Lucille said that she always ironed her husband and sons’ tee shirts. “They look nicer,” she said. She was sure that my mother did the same for us. I said that my mother would never do such a thing. With six sons and a husband, she would get nothing done if she spent time ironing tee shirts and underwear. In fact, my mother hated ironing. Indeed, it was just impractical and wasted energy as well since no one was going to see wrinkled underwear and tee shirts. She was huffed, but I quickly gathered up my clean clothes and left the laundry area to fold and put them back in my bag—unironed!

I have to admit that there was a little thrill of victory when I stood up for my principles in regard to the issue of “to iron or not to iron.” As I learned later, a verbal report had been given to my parents regarding this confrontation about tee shirts and underwear. As I expected, my parents sided with me. I was never afraid but it was a great feeling to have your parents stand up for you when you knew you could have been on the edge of causing a stir in the family.

My Easter visit to Oklahoma was a wonderful time in spite of this “meeting of the minds.” I enjoyed the wonderful, dry yet pointed humor of my Uncle Kirk. I had great respect for him with his quick wit as well as his obvious affection for his wife and children. I was impressed that he talked with his daughters (and his sons, I assume) with wisdom, intelligence, candor and humor. I liked his style and can still hear his gentle, wheezing chuckle when laughter overtook him.

At the time, I didn’t know that somewhere down the road, the affection we had for each other would help to confront her agenda, at least, in my life. There would be other visits about which I will write. There were also letter exchanges throughout the next many years. These future visits would cement our affection, release the control issues that we both had, as well as speak about the love we had for this wonderful extended family that was the legacy of Andrew and Josephine Davis, her grandparents and my great grand parents.

(Next time: our visit in the summer of 1971, the visit in 1997.)

Part V-a: Four Grandchildren of Andrew Russell and Josephine Davis

Memories of Mary Lucille Davis Woodliff

Isaac Luther Davis, Sr. was the second son of Andrew and Josephine Davis. Luther, at the age of 22, married Ellie Cronin on January 30, 1907 in Mobile, Alabama. He obtained a pharmacist’s degree some where along the way. One set of his grandchildren referred to him as Daddy Doc. After all, Luther’s father was a medical doctor so there could have been some influence there to pursue a career as a “druggist” as it would have been called in those days. He had three children by Ellie. They were Mary Lucille Davis, Margery Eunice Davis, and John Cronin Russell Davis. Ellie died on June 26, 1916 at the age of 30 or 31 leaving Luther a widower. In November of 1918 Luther Davis married Irene Cronin, the sister of his first wife. In August of 1919, a son named Isaac Luther Davis, Jr. was born.

Mary Lucille Davis was born on Jan. 2, 1908. She was quick to point out to me during an interview with her in April of 1997 that her parents had married on January 30, 1907, and she was born almost a full year after their marriage. My memories of Mary Lucille Davis Woodliff are many in comparison to others in her family except, of course, for those of my father (J. Cronin Davis). Memories are interesting in that they are made because the brain has a way of webbing and networking memories into what one might call a forest of memory trees. The more an individual memory of a person or event is cross referenced and reinforced, that particular memory becomes what I call a larger tree in the forest. Thus, it stands out more than the other trees.

The actual times I remember being present with my Aunt Mary Lucille were few and far between, but they were always SIGNIFICANT events. Mary Lucille was an engaging personality (an understatement!). You were engaged whether you wanted to be or not. She was vivacious, energetic, talented, personable, loving, controlling, devoted, proud of her family (immediate and extended), faithful, stubborn, short in stature, sociable, tender, manipulative, head-strong (is that the same as stubborn?), and the adjectives go on and on.

My first remembrance of Mary Lucille was Christmas 1949. I was five years old. Our family lived on Hollywood Street in Moundville, Alabama. We had moved there nine months before from Pascagoula, Mississippi. I distinctly remember that a package came to our home which was a less than modest house with two bedrooms, a living room, kitchen with a coal burning stove, a bathroom which had recently been added before we moved in, plus two coal burning fireplaces—one in the living room and an adjacent one in the front bedroom. The other bedroom and bathroom were heated by gas space heaters. The package arrived Christmas Eve afternoon. I remember that my parents said it was from my dad’s sister, Mary Lucille and her family who lived in Oklahoma. That is the first time I ever heard the word Oklahoma. As I was told, this was not the first time our family had received a Christmas package from the Woodliffs of Oklahoma, but this is the first one I remember. It was not a large package, but it was full of little gifts for each one in the family. The only gifts I can remember were some clothes for some of the kids in the family (5 at that time) plus a “steam pudding cake.” The cake was not very big so there was only a small piece for each of us. The aroma from the foiled cake packed in a cake tin filled the gift box with sweet spices. The smell of cinnamon and other spices was evident to the taste as well. As a young child I now had knowledge of another family that belonged to us. Mary Lucille would send pictures of her family from time to time, but during the Christmas holiday sometime during the early 1950’s, the Woodliffs made a world-wind trip to Alabama to visit relatives. We were on the itinerary. We now lived in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.

My second memory of Mary Lucille was now expanded since it included kids that I had never met to my knowledge. There was Lance and Duane (they seemed to come in couplets) plus Gail and Kay. Oh yes, there was the husband of Mary Lucille—Uncle Kirk Woodliff. I had a fascination with these new cousins since I only knew the many cousins on my mother’s side of the family and most of them lived in our area. Now, I was learning more of this foreign branch of relatives that lived an intriguing life (as told by Mary Lucille) somewhere a great distance from me. The boys and girls could dance and play the piano. They were also in sports. They were even “forced” to dance and play for us during that short visit of Christmas 1954. Uncle Kirk seemed to intervene (I didn’t know that word at the time but I knew what intervening meant) in that he “kept” Mary Lucille from exploiting the talents of her progeny. Years later I would remember this exploitation and know how to deal with it directly. I, too, with little coaxing was asked to play the piano. I remember Mary Lucille commenting that “the boy has a nice touch at the piano.”

My third memory was the summer of 1957. My dad decided that it was time for us to visit his sister Mary Lucille and her family. Wow! We would be driving all the way to Oklahoma. It was going to be a 500 mile trip and we would leave early, early morning and would even witness the sun rise.

A week before our departure, I was washing the dishes (there were always dishes to wash). This seemed to be my lot in life and I took it seriously even to the point of not allowing either of my younger brothers to come in the kitchen and “dirty up a glass.” They would have to wait one hour before fetching a glass of water for themselves. This could have been an early surfacing of the ugly head of a controlling personality that has caused grief for me and many others even down to this present day. It had its origins in the dish washing slave camp of the Davis household in Tuscaloosa, Alabama where our family had resided since 1951. As I washed a drinking glass that had a crack in the side of the glass, my hand slipped inside the glass. The glass broke under the pressure of my hand and a jagged piece of the glass cut a long gash below the largest knuckle of my right index finger. I still feel squeamish after all of these years as I vividly remember the blood gushing into the dish water and my cry for help. My mother came in and immediately wrapped an over sized hand towel around the hand in order to stop the bleeding. I was at the fainting stage by this time. I lay on the couch awaiting someone to take me to Dr. Cone’s office which was at that time on Greensboro Avenue. My dad was the one who took me. I’m sure it was hard for him because I remember him leaving the room while Dr. Cone stitched the gash on my finger. I didn’t feel too good either, but somehow we all made it through. As we left the doctor’s office, he said, “Oh, by the way, NO SWIMMING for two weeks. Keep the bandage dry. My dad told him that we would be leaving on vacation in a few days and wanted to know what he should do about getting the stitches out since we would be away. Dr. Cone told us to get a doctor in Oklahoma to do it. Well, we made the trip out to Oklahoma, and the journey there is another story in itself which will have to be left for some other blog in the distant future.

I was almost 13 years old when we pulled in the Woodliff’s drive on North Fifth Street in Henryetta, Oklahoma. Henryetta boasts of a number of world rodeo champions. It is located in the hill country of eastern Oklahoma about 100 south of Tulsa and 100 miles east of Oklahoma City. Mary Lu and Kirk’s home was situated on the side of steep hill with a driveway that seemed to be cut out of solid rock. Our family took the basement compound which included Lance and Duane’s bedroom where my parents slept plus the laundry/shower/bath area where the three of us kids slept on cots. Gail and Kay had their own bedroom upstairs as did Mary Lu and Kirk. Lance and Duane were banished to the screened front porch where they slept on air mattresses. It had to be hot since it was mid summer, but they seemed to survive without any visible complaints. That porch was later annexed and was enclosed and used as a study as I found out on a subsequent visit.

It was a fun time being with our cousins in OK. Mary Lucille took us to a dance lesson and taught us how to tap dance. We attended a movie in “downtown” Henryetta—“Tammy” was playing starring Debbie Reynolds. We were warned that the “picture show” (movie theater) was a place for the locals to gather and that we shouldn’t be surprised that midway through the movie the patrons would begin to talk and visit one another. The roar of the talking blocked out the sound coming from the movie screen and one had to read the lips of the actors in order to continue with the plot. No ushers came forth to quiet the crowd. This was Henryetta at its best.

I still had my right hand bandaged from the cut over the index finger. To my sorrow one afternoon everyone was going swimming “at the lake.” I thought I would have to spend the time on the shore trying to occupy myself while everyone else was having a great time in the water. Mary Lucille comes to the rescue by announcing that if the doctor said to keep the bandage dry then we will keep the bandage dry, but I could still go swimming by wearing a plastic bag which was secured over my right hand by way of rubber bands. It was difficult swimming with one arm in the water and the other held high above the water. But I did it and enjoyed the fun after all.

As promised, later that week I was taken to “The Clinic” to have the stitches taken out “The Clinic” was located down the hill from the Woodliffs. I almost passed out again watching the doctor snip the stitches, but the deed was done quickly. I returned to the Woodliffs a happier camper.

We traveled back to Alabama with many happy memories of cousins who lived in the wild west…one in particular who impressed me because he drove around town and to the lake even though he only had a permit to drive since he would not turn 16 until November of that year. How he was able to get by with that I will never know.

(To be continued)

Part IV: The Davis Six

Part IV: The Davis Six

The Legacy of Dr. Andrew Russell Davis and Josephine Ryan Davis

The third son of Andrew and Josephine was Virgil Davis who was born in 1889. He was a successful merchant in Moundville, Alabama. I remember going into a store in Moundville that was owned by my Great-Uncle Virgil. There are not many memories of him except for brief visits to his home. He married Julia Mills who was born in 1891 and died in 1953. Virgil married a second time to Janie Powers. The three brothers’ children and grandchildren up to 1973 are listed in “A Cloud of Witnesses” on pages 84-86. I have memories of three grandchildren of Uncle Virgil. One was Ronnie Hall who seemed to be about my age. I remember playing with this second cousin on visits to Moundville. The other two were Andy (Andrew) and Owen Davis who were a little older than I and were, perhaps, near the ages of my two oldest brothers. They Boy Scouts and attendedthe same Boy Scout camp that I did—Camp Horne, near Tuscaloosa, Alabama.

After three sons, three daughters were born to Andrew and Josephine. The first daughter was Elva Davis who married Ira Crawford. I don’t know the birth year of Aunt Elva, but I’m sure that the Davis family Bible that is kept by my father’s cousin would list these dates. It is a resource I have not seen, but I intend to contact my dad’s cousin to see if the information is in the Bible. Aunt Elva and Uncle Ira lived south of Moundville maybe near Akron, Alabama. There house seemed to be on a main county road. I only remember visiting them once as a child. I was impressed with the sweetness in temperament that this couple displayed toward my parents and us children. After I married, my wife and I made a trip to visit family and friends in Texas and Oklahoma. This was in the summer of 1971. We traveled through New Orleans on our way to Texas. My mother wanted us to visit Aunt Elva who lived the last years of her life in New Orleans with her daughter and son-in-law . As I remember, Elva had been afflicted with crippling arthritis for most of her life. She lived on the second floor of the home and was no longer able to climb the stairway. Thus, we visited her in her room. Again, the sweetness of her disposition impressed me especially with the chronic condition that she had dealt with most of her life.

The second daughter was Venola Davis. She married William Jefferson Terry who was an educator and was at one time State Superintendent of Education for the State of Alabama. They lived in in Montgomery, Alabama. We saw them on occasion. I only knew one of their three children. His name is Edward Davis Terry. This man was my father’s first cousin and we would always address him as Edward Davis using both of his given names. Edward Davis Terry is also an educator. He established the South American Studies program at the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa.

The youngest of the Davis Six was Katie Lee Davis who was born on March 10, 1898. She died on November 27, 1969. Aunt Katie was married to Evan Patton Terry a Moundville, Alabama business man. Katie’s husband was a brother to William Terry the husband of Katie’s sister Venola. I can still here my mother reminding me that Aunt Katie’s and Aunt Venola’s children were “double first cousins.” I thought that was really cool.

If one can have a favorite Great-Aunt, Katie Davis Terry was the one. She had the same sweet, sweet temperament that her sister Elva displayed. It seemed that my parents were particularly close to Aunt Katie and Uncle Evie (as he was called). When we moved to Moundville, Alabama from Pascagoula, Mississippi in 1949, my dad worked for Uncle Evie at the Ford dealership in Moundville. The business was named “Moundville Motor Company” and since my dad was an excellent mechanic, I’m sure Uncle Evie was glad to have my dad working for him.

For a while, when we first moved to Moundville we lived on Hollywood Street which was a street that ran south from the Main Street. Hollywood Street very quickly left the small residential area and ran alongside cotton fields. The street eventually curved and connected with another road south of where we lived. The connecting road was the road that led to Aunt Katie’s house. It really wasn’t that far from our little framed house on Hollywood Street. I’m sure we could have walked to her house without too much effort. I have several memories of Katie’s and Evie’s home. I stayed with Katie on several afternoons during the week. My older three brothers would have been in school. I was 5 years old and going on 6. My brother, who is 4 years younger than I, would have been two years old and the youngest would have been an infant. Thus, I’m sure it was a relief for my mother to have me out of the house some days during the week.

Aunt Katie would fix lunch for the two of us, and I would sit in the kitchen with her at the “big” table. She let me play in her basement. I had never been in a basement. The floor was cement (or "seement" as I would have said), and it had an oval, braided rug that was in the middle of the floor. Katie’s three children must have played in the basement, too. There was a toy stove and toy kitchen appliances with little tin dishes. There was also a refrigerator that was used as an o to store fresh vegetables and eggs from the hen house. On one afternoon as I played in the basement, I opened the refrigerator and saw several eggs in a wire basket. I took one out of the basket and was surprised to feel its coldness against the palm of my hand. I closed the refrigerator but kept the egg in my hand. As I rolled it around on the braided rug, I wondered if an egg could be dropped on the cement floor and not crack. I had seen my mother crack an egg in order to fry or scramble it. It seemed like she really had to whack it in order to burst the egg. Well, I tried my little experiment and too my horror, it splattered all over the cement. I knew then that I was in big trouble. I devised a “cover up” which I knew would be successful, and nobody would know that I had broken the egg. I slid the rug over the broken egg yolk and shattered pieces of shell. To my relief, the rug covered the entire disaster. I quickly left the scene of the crime and told Aunt Katie that I thought it was time for my nap. She asked me if I had turned off the light in the basement. I answered affirmatively trying not to show my guilt. Case was closed! So I thought. A couple of days later I was staying with Katie again. She asked me during lunchtime if I knew anything about a cracked egg under the rug in the basement. I told her that I didn’t know anything about a cracked egg in the basement. I didn’t even know there were eggs in the basement. She didn’t say another word. I wondered for a long time how in the world she would have ever known that the egg was under the rug. Not too many years later, I learned that lying to your mother could have big consequences. I thought back to the time of breaking the egg in Katie’s basement and was so grateful that she never said another word.

I was named after Katie’s husband. His name was Evan although I never heard anyone call him that name. Folk always called him Evie (evvee) or E.P. from his initals. Uncle Evie gave me $5 on my fifth birthday. I couldn’t wait until my sixth birthday since I was sure he would give me $6. Then, of course, by age 10 it would be $10. Being named after a rich uncle could have its advantages. On my sixth birthday I found out that the $5 was only a one-time event.

Katie and Evie had three children. The eldest is Evan McGlaun Terry, It wasn’t until recently (year 2000) that I learned that McGlaun Terry (as I had always called my dad’s first cousin) was known by the name Evan Terry in his professional life as an architect in Birmingham, Alabama. I had another connection to Evan McGlaun Terry in that when I was about 12 years old my parents gave my younger brother and me bicycles for Christmas. My dad and, perhaps, my two oldest brothers painted two used bicycles. The one for me was the one that Evan McGlaun Terry used when he was in college at University of Illinois . He pedaled around the campus in the mid-1940’s on the bicycle that I was to “inherit.” The distinguishing mark on this vintage bicycle was that it had one pedal that was made out of wood. The other wood pedal had been replaced with a rubber pedal. I always wondered if the reason why the pedals had been made from wood was that rubber was so scare during World War II. In addition, more than likely, my parents had mentioned to Katie and Evie that they were looking for a 36” bicycle. Katie, again, served our family by donating the bicycle to be recycled for another generation of children.

At Thanksgiving in 1969, I was working in Meridian, Mississippi as an organist/choir director at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church. I was also courting my soon-to-be bride. I received a telephone message via my landlady’s phone that my dear Aunt Katie had died at the young age of 71. I changed my plans by cutting short a visit to Montgomery, Alabama to visit my fiancé so that I could attend the funeral in Moundville. It was held at Katie’s beloved congregation, the Moundville Methodist Church. Interment was at the cemetery up on the hill that was less than a mile south of Moundville. Her grave is in the same area as her parents—Andrew Russell Davis and Josephine Ryan Davis.

Katie’s brother Isaac Luther (my grandfather) had died in 1963. He was the second oldest. The next of the Davis Six to die was the youngest—Katie Lee Davis Terry, a woman of happy memory.

(The next entry will feature the children of Isaac Luther Davis and Ellie Cronin Davis, my paternal grandparents. To the best of my ability and memory, you will be introduced to Mary Lucille Davis Woodliff, Margery Eunice Davis Wienand, John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr. (my father), as well as Isaac Luther Davis, Jr.—the son of my grandfather and his second wife, Irene Cronin Davis.)

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