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.)