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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