John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr. (My Father) Part VII

Part VII-g: Four Grandchildren of Andrew Russell and Josephine Davis

John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr.
(My Father)
Part VII
• The years from October of 1951 to August of 1959 paralleled the first eight years of my formal schooling. I had entered first grade in September of 1951 at Moundville Elementary School. As stated in an earlier post, the State of Alabama required all students entering first grade to be six years old by October 1. My birthday is October 5 so I was almost 7 years old when I entered first grade. Alabama public schools, at least the one I attended, did not have a kindergarten. I didn’t know the alphabet; I couldn’t count to 100; I couldn’t write my name, obviously; I couldn’t tie my shoes; I couldn’t hold a handkerchief and blow my nose; I couldn’t make it through the day without taking a nap (at 7 years old, mind you!)—my mother even mentioned to me once when we I was driving her to Birmingham for a doctor appointment that she hoped that when I began a career that my employer would allow me to take a nap in the afternoon because she was sure that I would need it (I was 23 years old at the time). That remark caused not a little steam during the rest of the conversation. However, as the years progressed, guess what? She was right! Wow! How I hate to admit that! There were several more “I couldn’ts” but the obvious was that I was immature and behind in a lot of learning skills. My two-year old grandson knows more now than I knew at 7 years old.
• Needless to say, the first six weeks at school are mostly a blur except for the fact that I distinctly remember the rest period after lunch. Every child was supposed to bring a pallet which meant a small quilt or blanket. I only had a towel to lie on for the brief rest period. I’m sure that there were no extra blankets at home and certainly no small quilts. My recollection is that I would fall sound asleep in seconds after I lay down. My teacher would always have to wake me up. There were times when we couldn’t be on the floor because the custodial staff had swept the wood floors with what was called a “sweeping compound” and it made the floor a bit oily which was to keep the dust from forming into dust bunnies. The compound-swept floor needed “to dry” before we children could get back down on the floor for a rest after lunch. We were supposed to lay our heads on our desks and rest in that position. I could never lay my head sideways and then try to rest since my sinuses would plug up and I couldn’t breathe—the woes of being in first grade! One other thing I couldn’t do then and still can’t do was to sit “Indian” style on the floor during story time. The children were supposed to sit with legs crossed so that our feet wouldn’t touch anyone else. My legs were and still are short and are unable to cross at that angle. The teacher insisted that I sit this way and I sat miserably for the 20 minutes of the story. I told my dad about the situation. He went to the school and told the teacher that I had a genetic defect in that my legs were short and it was his fault—he was short of stature and even was given the nickname “Shorty” by the fellows at the plant. Thus, I was the only one in the class that had a dispensation to sit with my legs straight in front of me. Cool to have a dad who would go to bat for you.
• In mid-October of ’51, we moved to Tuscaloosa. My parents lost no time in enrolling all of us in school the very next day after the move. The two older brothers were enrolled at Tuscaloosa Junior High, a public school. Larry and I were enrolled at St. John the Baptist Parochial School. It was the parish school which included grades 1 through 8. The school had grades 1 though 12 in its earlier history, but when we enrolled it was only grade school through junior high. Of course, I was in first grade. Larry was in fourth grade. My mother and father left us at the school that day. There was no time for being introduced or to get acclimated to the new environment. Sister Mary Thomas (Order of St. Benedict) was my teacher and Sister Francine (OSB) was Larry’s.
• Catholic education was once again reinstated in the family. The older three had been introduced to parochial schools at St. Mary’s in Mobile and then at Our Lady of Victories in Pascagoula, thus, continuing in the foot steps of our father who had been trained in his education at the feet of the Sisters of Mercy at St. Mary’s grade school in Mobile and later by the Christian Brothers at McGill Institute in Mobile from which he graduated in 1933.
• During those eight years from 1951 to 1959 the memories merge and sometimes fuse together. Memories like:
o Getting our first TV on December 18, 1954 which was the Saturday before the 4th Sunday of Advent of that year. It took Cronin and Charles (two oldest brothers—17 and 16 years old, respectively) and our Dad all morning and part of an afternoon to install the antenna on the house at 502 34th Ave. It was a cold, damp December day--a penetrating cold that can only be experienced in the south when the humidity was high and the temperature hovering in the 30’s. How far should the antenna be turned to the left or to the right in order to get the best picture on the console TV which was seated in the living room? Someone had to be viewing the TV, another had to be at the front door to relay a positive or negative answer, someone else in the yard would continue the relay to our Dad and brothers on the roof. Afterwards the guide wires had to be secured so that the antenna wouldn’t collapse when the wind was storming about. At last! A decent picture which by today’s standards would look more like a snowstorm 50% of the time. Of course, the TV signal was being transmitted from Birmingham, Alabama from WBRC TV Channel 12. It was good enough, nonetheless, to watch the Lawrence Welk Show that evening. Other minor adjustments to the antenna were made on subsequent days until we had a “for sure” image on the TV.
o The time when Cronin and Charles (the year and date forgotten) were walking on the train trestle over the Black Warrior River. It was a forbidden activity for obvious reasons. Warnings had been readily issued by our parents shortly after moving to Tuscaloosa. The Black Warrior River is a navigable river and bridges for automobiles and trains were constructed at a point to connect Tuscaloosa with the neighboring city of Northport across the river. The bridges were drawbridges which stopped traffic whenever river traffic went under the bridge structure. The distance from the bridge to the top of the water was a considerable distance. If one fell from the bridge, death could be expected. Here is the account of the escapade as told by Charles in February of 2006:
“About 5 of us were walking across the trestle. When we got about half way across, we saw a train coming. We were all about 14 or 15 years old except Dom (Dominic) who was 11 or 12. The crossties over the river do not have any dirt or slag between them. There is only air and you can see the river when you look down. It is about 100 feet down. We all ran to a platform that was attached to the trestle. It stuck out about 10 feet from the tracks. All of us older guys made it in plenty of time, but Dom being younger was scared to run on the tracks because of the air gap between the crossties. One would not have enough room to stand between the tracks and the edge of the trestle. You would have to jump off or get hit by the train. What saved Dom from being hit or having to jump was that workers had put two extra boards on the side of the trestle and Dom lay down on the boards. The train missed him. I really thought he was going to be killed.”—Charles
• In a neighborhood like ours, the grapevine is always at full function. The train trestle event went through the neighborhood faster than a wild fire. Our parents were waiting for the criminals by the time they returned from the daring adventure. I don’t remember the trial, verdict or sentence, but I was reminded once again that the two rules and only two rules our parents had for the household were that (1) you don’t sass them and (2) you don’t lie to them. Over the years I deducted that those two rules covered the entire moral law given by Moses on Mount Sinai. I also learned that it was dangerous, very dangerous, to fall into the hands of an angry God or his earthly representatives (parents). (to be continued)