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)