John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr. Part IV

Part VIId: Four Grandchildren of Andrew Russell and Josephine Davis

John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr.

(My Father)

Part IV

A flood of long-forgotten memories has deluged me this day. So here goes another post.

• I’m sure that my father, Cronin Davis, Sr. was part of these memories even if I can’t picture him in the actual frame of the memory. These memories had to be during the years of 1947-48. I would have been 3 and 4 years old at the time.
• My brother Larry celebrated his 6^th birthday on March 28, 1948. It was Easter Sunday, and I thought it was a wonderful thing to have one’s birthday on Easter. As years rolled along, I wondered when Larry would celebrate his birthday on another Easter Sunday. It never happened and not too long ago I checked on the dates for Easter into the 21^st century and found that the next occurrence of March 28 being Easter Sunday would be in the year 2027. Larry will be 85 years old and I will be 83. I remember Larry’s Easter birthday as being a sunny Sunday with traditional egg-filled baskets, Sunday Mass, a meal, and watching Larry open a present or two.
• Another connection to the date of March 28, 1948 came to light a couple of years ago. I was reading a journal of Thomas Merton who was a Trappist monk at Gethsemani Abbey, Kentucky—a prolific spiritual writer during the 40’s, 50’s and 60’s. He had a journal entry for March 28, 1948 which revealed his thoughts about Easter Sunday that year. It was cool to corroborate a memory of a 3 and a 1/2 year old with the memory of a man who would have been 34 years old at the time. Actually, the same age as my own parents.
• On September 4, 1948, our little town of Pascagoula, Mississippi was in the storm path of a hurricane. My brother Cronin told me that during the year before in September, 1947 there had been another hurricane which had pounded the Gulf Coast. But, the one in 1948 sticks out in my memory even to this day. I was almost four years old. My mother would have been six months pregnant with my brother Rick. The warnings went out. I remember my two older brothers helping our dad board up the windows of our rented duplex. The winds had picked up and were swirling the tall Southern pine trees that dotted the back yards of all the houses in our subdivision. The subdivision backed up to what was called The Canal—a drainage culvert of some sort. I thought the Canal was a river. As the storm approached my father had everyone come into the house. All of the sturdy furniture (couch and large chairs and a table) had been placed in the center of the living room. The formation reminded me of a play fort. Quilts were placed on the hardwood floors, and we got down under the table with was protected by the couch and chairs. The sky appeared dark green, almost a drab olive green. The wind howled and lightening and thunder was prevalent. I was somewhat fearful but my parents seemed calm. Plus, I thought it was neat that we were playing fort. I must have fallen asleep during the storm because I don’t remember any other details until the following morning. When day came the skies were clear but the wind was still blowing very hard as it swayed the pines around the house. There was one pine tree that had been toppled in our back yard. What struck me most was my parents’ dismay and shock and eventual anger to find out that the entire neighborhood had been evacuated and our family had not been notified. I can still hear my dad saying, “We could have all been blown to Kingdom Come!” I didn’t know what “Kingdom Come” meant but was sure it was a place I didn’t want to get blown to. Several years ago I talked with my brother Cronin and asked him if my memory was correct. He assured me that it was. He also told us how vulnerable he felt as an 11 year old while the storm was in progress. He was very frightened.
• Because the pine tree had fallen in the back yard due to the hurricane, we all found a new place to play on the long trunk of the tree with its many remaining branches for pretend play. My dad said that he would eventually burn the tree right where it was, and we could have a hot dog and marshmallow cook out with the tree trunk serving as our grill. Before that happened, however, there was much play in and around the tree. Early one evening we were all out on the tree. We heard a whooping yell that pierced the dusk which was descending on our neighborhood. Lo and Behold! My brother Charles (second to the oldest) flew around the corner of the house into the back yard. He was riding on his bike and was yelling and crying out to stay on the trunk of the tree. A “mad dog” was chasing him--actually, a dog that Charles had probably aggravated and then enticed to chase him. In one leap in the style of the Western movies of the day, Charles literally flew off his bike. The bike kept going and traveled away from the tree with the dog in hot pursuit. Everyone was safe on the tree.
• When the tree was cremated, we were all in tow with our sticks for roasting hot dogs and marshmallows. For some reason, my brothers thought it was great to roast the marshmallows until they were totally black. I don’t ever remember having a roasted marshmallow until then, and it took me to the time I became an adult to realize that most normal people didn’t blacken their marshmallows like I did. And to tell the truth, I really never did like hot dogs. I just liked the bun with ketchup. My dad was always understanding of me when we would go to a hot dog stand and he would explain to the vendor that, “Yes, my son will have a hot dog but without the wiener.” I was too shy, then, to speak for myself since I had three older brothers to talk for me as well as a father.
• The last event of the year 1948 came on December 7. I was home with my mother who was great with child. She woke me from an afternoon nap and told me to call my dad at his radiator shop. I didn’t know it at the time but my mother was in labor. This was going to be her fifth child and she probably knew that her labors progressed rather rapidly at each successive birth. How I managed as a four year old to call on the phone is beyond me. More than likely, it was an event where one picked up the receiver and asked the operator to connect with the person requested. I remember telling my mother that the man at the shop said that Daddy had gone to school to pick up the boys. My mother seemed in a panic. My Dad came in shortly with my brothers. My mother went straight to the car with her suitcase. We were told later that our Dad had paused in conversation a little too long and Evelyn told Cronin that if he didn’t want to deliver this baby he’d better get on the stick. The 1938 Ford probably had never experienced the acceleration and speed that poured upon it as my parents flew to Moss Point, Mississippi for the birth of their 5^th son.
• Rick was born minutes after they arrived at the hospital. My mother still had on her slip since there was no time to prep her for the birth. This didn’t bother her one bit. After all, my mother had delivered our brother Charles in a log cabin with only a midwife since the doctor couldn’t make it in time due to another delivery in Hale County, Alabama.
• The evening of December 7, 1948 brought my father back to our house to announce that we had another brother. We were all told to get ready to go back to the hospital in order to see the new baby and my mother as well. I distinctly remember my Dad telling my older two brothers to get Ronnie’s shoes on and be quick about it. Before we left for the hospital, we went next door to tell the neighbors (the Baggetts?) about Rick’s birth. The husband of the couple we visited looked down at my feet and exclaimed, “Cronin, that boy has something wrong with his feet!” They all began to laugh and realized that Cronin Jr. and Charles had put my shoes on the wrong feet—the toes pointing out never seemed to bother me until everyone laughed. (to be continued)

John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr. Part III

Part VIIc: Four Grandchildren of Andrew Russell and Josephine Davis

John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr.

(My Father)

Part III

Some of my earliest memories (impressions?) of my father (Cronin Davis, Sr.) are more sensations and vague, dreamlike sequences that surface in my memory from time to time. I’ve questioned myself on many occasions if these were actually first time impressions on the brain at the time of the event or whether they were memories of someone telling me about the event much later after the event had occurred. I keep concluding that these impressions were actually made at the time of the event since I questioned my parents later in life if they remembered the events. Sometimes they did but they were surprised at the detail of my memory which helped, especially, my mother to corroborate that what I was describing was indeed a real event but with details she did not remember.

• Before I was 18 months old I remember the fragrance of my dad’s aftershave lotion as he rubbed his cheek against my check. A fragrance that he seemed always to have had. It was like the softness of your parents’ bed when you were allowed to climb into bed with them. The pillows and sheets seemed to have a texture that was definitely softer and seemed to embrace a child in warmth and security.
• I remember the “roughness” of his face when it was unshaven.
• I remember my dad leaving on a train, a steam engine that belched lots of black smoke from the smokestack as it prepared to leave the station. I was later told that our father worked in a shipyard in Pascagoula, Mississippi during the 2^nd War and he left Mobile every Sunday afternoon on the train and returned on Friday afternoon to spend the weekend with us. Because of this weekly separation, I was scared of my father since I didn’t know him very well. Apparently, he had worked in Mississippi from the time of my birth in 1944 or, more than likely, well before that time. We eventually moved to Pascagoula and lived there until 1949.
• The steam engine locomotive was the reason that I thought that rain clouds came from the smoke that belched from the smokestack and colored the clouds black. It seemed to rain shortly after the train left the depot. I was probably in grade school before I was able to be set straight on what causes rain because I was sure that train locomotives were the reason. Actually, I’m still not sure what causes rain.
• I remember as a toddler reaching up to explore what was on a kitchen table and pulled a hot cup of coffee down on myself. I was scalded and my dad swept me up into his arms in a panic. I remember screaming with pain
• I remember being bundled tight in a blue blanket with my father holding me. My eyes were blinded by ceiling lights that were very bright. I felt quite sick. I found out later that my parents had rushed me to the doctor because of a high fever. I was diagnosed with scarletina (a precursor of scarlet fever).
• I remember my father letting me be the one to press and break the “reddish-yellow button” that was visible inside the plastic oleo (margarine) bag. The “button of color” was an option given to the consumer if one wanted to have a yellow color to the margarine. After breaking the button of color the consumer then kneaded the plastic bag until the contents turned yellow. Dyes in foods must have been in use long before I was born.
• I remember being bathed by my father in a very large sink (perhaps, a kitchen sink). The sink was so large that my brother Larry and I could fit in it together. We were living in Pascagoula by then.
• I remember yelling at the top of my voice as a signal for my father or mother to come rescue me from some aggravation being imposed upon me by my older brothers. I was really good at yelling and developed the technique so well that it could be turned on and off at will whenever I was threatened or when danger had passed. The yell was probably a prototype of alarm now used on automobile security systems. The yell was VERY effective and was highly perfected to the disdain of older siblings who would at times bribe me not to activate it by giving me chocolate or some other sweet enticement.
• I remember sitting beside my dad on a church pew in a parish church somewhere out from Pascagoula. It wasn’t our regular parish of Our Lady of Victory. For some reason we would occasionally attend a different church for Mass. This smaller structure had a wonderful belfry and bell that rang for several minutes before the service began. I remember seeing the bell swing in the belfry as we approached the building.
• I was probably around 3 years old at the time of these Pascagoula memories.
• I remember my dad’s reaction of horror when my oldest brother Cronin (Jr.) broke his collar bone one summer evening when everyone was outside playing games. My dad was exasperated with Cronin for running into a guide wire of a utility pole as well as very compassionate in knowing that the injury really was paining his son. My dad didn’t do well under the strain of medical emergencies.
• I remember one summer evening when all the kids were supposed to be in bed when I heard my mother and father go out the front door, get into the car, and start the engine. I ran to the front porch of our rented duplex and asked to go with them. This was probably one of the few times my parents could have some quiet time together as they drove to get an ice cream at the local drive-in soda hop. My dad motioned for me to get in the car even though I was clad only in my pajama bottoms. He told me to lie down on the back seat and not to speak. I was so glad to be able to tag along that I was as quiet as a mouse as I listened to the muffled conversation coming from the front seat. More than likely, this event, which may have happened more times than I remember, allowed me, without ever a complaint, to invite our younger son into our bed at 4 a.m. every morning from the time he was able to climb out of his crib until he was 5 years old. (to be continued)

John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr. Part II

Part VIIb: Four Grandchildren of Andrew Russell and Josephine Davis

John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr.

(My Father)

Part II

Cronin and Evelyn Davis were married on September 9, 1936. Eleven months later in August of 1937 their first of six sons was born. The first son was named John Cronin Russell Davis, Jr. Cronin, Jr. was born at the Health Infirmary on the University of Alabama’s Tuscaloosa Campus. Fourteen months later in October of 1938 a second son was born and was named after his maternal and paternal grandfathers. Charles Luther Davis. Charles was born south of Moundville, Alabama in a log cabin that actually doubled as a restaurant and dwelling for the family. My parents operated the restaurant. This business adventure ended abruptly (according to one of my older brothers) when the authorities discovered that my father was selling bootlegged whiskey on the side to make ends meet. This led the young Davis family at the outbreak of World War II, to move to Mobile, Alabama where they lived for a while at 58 Lemoyne Place with Isaac Luther Davis and his wife Irene Cronin Davis, the parents of Cronin Davis, Sr.

In March of 1942 a third son, Edward Larry Davis was born. Larry was named after Uncle Ed Davis, the brother of his paternal grandfather. The family at that time could have been living in Chickasaw, Alabama, which is short distance north of Mobile. The street name of the house could have been Green Street. Cronin, Jr. and Charles the older two sons began their elementary schooling at St. Mary’s Parochial School in Mobile which was only a block away from the grandparents' home. When the family moved to Chickasaw, I’m not sure if the two older boys continued their schooling at St. Mary’s. These were war years, and tires, gasoline, and numerous other items were rationed so every auto trip had to count and only necessary driving was allowed. My mother told me that she remembered buying a city bus ticket for herself and the children. They would ride the bus to the end of the line and back as a way of getting out of the house for a little entertainment. In October of 1944, a fourth son was born to Cronin and Evelyn Davis. Ronald Evan Davis (yours truly) was named after Uncle Evan Terry, the brother-in-law of his paternal grandfather. A fifth son was born in December of 1948—Richard Wayne Davis. Rick was named for himself as far as I know. Glenn Alan Davis was born in October of 1950. Once again a name that stood for itself. I remember asking my father why three of his sons were born in October. I thought it was interesting that we celebrated our birthdays within nine days of each other. His only reply was, “Son, we had three cold winters.” I didn’t understand his answer until several years later.

At this point, in order to expedite in a timely fashion this account of John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr., I will give a summary of memories of my father as I recall them. With anyone’s life there are so many facets that are intertwined and woven together that several volumes could not contain all of the events as well as personal thoughts of that life. This meager account is a feeble attempt to pass on to future generations a partial memory of one of their ancestors, namely, John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr. (to be continued)