Evelyn Elliott Davis Part Two

Part II
The Life and Times
of
Evelyn Elliott Davis
Born: March 8, 1915 Died: August 17, 1991

My cousin Mary Emil Rushing who is the daughter of Pauline Elliott Rushing, my mother’s older sister, has related the following information regarding the birthplace of Pauline (aka Tutti) and a couple of short items regarding Pauline and Evelyn. She writes,

“[regarding] the location of the Mitchell Place where mother, (Evelyn and Annie Lou?) were born. It was in Tuscaloosa County… In fact I have been there. Mother had Uncle Jim take us there so I could see where she was born. It was an old "sharecropper" type unpainted house out in a field. As I recall, we went just past Hinton's Store and the house where our Elliott great-grandparents lived on the Old Greensboro Road and turned right just before reaching Little Sandy Creek. We wound through cotton fields but it was not very far back in there. I drove down that way three or four years ago in hopes that I could locate the spot but there are houses everywhere so it would be impossible to find now. I also have mother's birth certificate stating that she was born in Tuscaloosa County.

Have you heard how mother got to be "Tutti" or "Tootie"? As I recall, Evelyn and mother both got dolls for Christmas and named them "Tootie" and "Tooter"(I think). After a while they began calling each other "Tootie" and "Tooter". Some family member became annoyed by the practice and offered a bribe to induce them to stop the habit. Mother quit but Evelyn would not and "Tootie" stuck.

When mother was old enough to go to school, the family was living near where Annie Lou and Bill (Seales) lived in Hale Co. The school had two rooms. Evelyn cried so much when mother left for school that after several days they let her go too even though she was not old enough and did not get credit for attending. I wonder what the teacher thought of that!”

Mary Emil concludes and I agree, “It is a shame we did not preserve all the stories that our parents related.”

One summer day when the family was away from the home place and Evelyn’s father was out in the fields farming, Charlie Elliott stirred up a hornet’s nest and was mercilessly stung all over his body. Somehow he made it back to the home place and collapsed in the front room. Much later the family came home and discovered their father unconscious on the floor. After seeking medical help, Charlie recovered. My mother related how upsetting it was to see her father in this state and was thankful and much comforted when he returned to stable health. I don’t know the time frame of these events but can only assume that our grandmother Mae Neighbors Elliott was still alive at this time.

In another story, my mother related a sad and very tragic event in her father’s life. In the segregated South of that era, a black woman had conceived a child by a white man whether by rape or consensual sex my mother did not know. The woman gave birth to the child and she lived with her son in “The Quarters” where the black community of that day lived. As the boy grew, it became known to the white community that there was a child who had “white” blood living amongst the black community. A vigilante group was formed to go and extricate the boy from the situation and have him placed in a state-run home since the white community (at least some in the white community) could not abide the idea of having someone with “white blood” living in a black community. To give credence to the dastardly deed, prominent members of the white community were “encouraged” to go with the vigilante group. Charlie Elliott must have had some prominence in the community since my mother remembers the group coming by the home place to fetch her Daddy. When Charlie returned home later that evening, my mother said he was visibly sick and emotional to tears. As he explained to his family what had taken place, Charlie sobbed that what had taken place was dead wrong. He said it would take him a long time if ever to get the sounds of the screaming boy being ripped from his family as he cried out for his Mama. Charlie said the sounds could be heard echoing all throughout the “holler” of The Quarters. My mother said that her Daddy was so sick over the event that he vomited to dry heaves even hours after he had shared with his family.

Not too many years later, Charlie Elliott had an opportunity to help a young black family in need. I only know the family as being the Prince family. Besides the parents, there were three boys named Robert Lee, Willie C. and Nunnie. Apparently, the parents worked for Charlie Elliott and his farming endeavors. Mr. & Mrs. Prince were tragically killed in an accident, perhaps an automobile accident. I don’t recall exactly how they died. This left the three boys as orphans and the State was going to place them in a state run facility. Charlie intervened and asked for custody of the three brothers with the intent of raising them himself even though he had his own grief since he had been widowed not too long ago himself. The State granted his request and the boys were able to stay together as a family. Charlie maintained a small house out from his own family’s home where the cook who worked for the family lived. I don’t remember the cook’s name but she watched after the boys and cooked for both families. Robert Lee, Willie C. and Nunnie eventually worked with Charlie Elliott in his farming business. The boys were always grateful to Mr. Charlie for rescuing them. When I was a kid, I remember walking the streets of Moundville, Alabama, and one of these boys now a grown man would come up to me or one of my brothers and say, “You must be Miss Evelyn’s and Mr. Cronin’s son (s). You look just like them. The last time I remember seeing one of these men was at my mother’s funeral visitation in 1991.

An addendum to this story comes from my brother Cronin. After my brother Cronin retired from the logging business he worked at a sawmill in the north part of Tuscaloosa County. One day a young black man came into a store near the sawmill. My brother started a conversation with the young man and discovered that the man’s name was Ronald Elliott Prince. Immediately, Cronin knew that the man had to be a descendant of one of the Prince boys who had been raised by our grandfather Charlie Elliott. Sure enough, Ronald Elliott Prince was the grandson of one of the three boys. My brother asked Mr. Prince if he knew the origin of his middle name Elliott. He didn’t know. Cronin was able to relate the story and pass on to him a piece of family history.

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

Evelyn Elliott Davis and Cronin Davis, Sr.



• My last post brought us to 1960 when my parents bought their first home when they were both 45 years old. The 18 Cherokee Hills home was a wonderful home. At the time it was situated on a road that was named Pelham Loop Road which was a winding two-lane paved road that led one past the VA Hospital and various entrances to “new” subdivisions that were opening up in eastern Tuscaloosa in the late 50’s and 60’s. Loop Road eventually connected with Highway 11 which was the main highway to Birmingham in those days. Highway 11 was eventually replaced by Interstates 59 and 20 which are part of the Eisenhower interstate system proposed as a highway system in the ‘50’s that would help the nation’s populace evacuate in case there was a nuclear explosion (bomb) in this country.
• By 1960, the oldest two sons were out of the house so to speak. Cronin had married and Charles had spent three years in the Marines. Larry had graduated from high school in the spring of 1960. Ronnie was in his sophomore year at St. Bernard Abbey, Cullman, Alabama. Rick was 12 years old and Glenn 10. Thus, the three bedroom home at Cherokee Hills was spacious enough to house the remaining members of the family plus the home had a full, walk-out basement that would eventually be remodeled to include a very large bedroom that could sleep an army, a smaller bedroom plus a bath, ample closet space, a place for the laundry, freezer, tools and a shop which was the remnants of the garage that had originally been in the basement. The shop would be a haven for Daddy as he put his mechanical skills to use repairing motors of all kind. It was also this shop that housed his piano repair business. Daddy taught himself how to tune and repair pianos through a correspondence course! Universities now give college degrees for what he learned in a correspondence course. His shop gave him full rein to exercise his sharp mind which was so gifted in understanding the mechanical world not only in theory but, most importantly, in practice. During the decade of the 60’s, Daddy continued working at B. F. Goodrich, but his real joy was tinkering with the piano business and mechanical repair. I don’t think we ever had a new washing machine except for the original, front-loading washing machine by Bendix Corporation. Someone would give Daddy a washing machine that didn’t work and he would bring it home and discover that the only thing wrong was a penny had gotten caught in some crucial juncture of the washing cycle. All he had to do was remove the penny and we had a “new” washing machine. This pattern of fixing things had so many replications that one could not possibly recount all of the episodes of reclaimed appliances.
• My parents’ first four grandchildren were born during the decade of the ’60’s. These children had lots of uncles with whom to play and who would dote over them. During this decade, Cronin and Evelyn’s children were in and out of the home, going into military service, coming home from school, re-enrolling at colleges and universities, and many other events that kept the Cherokee Hills home full of surprises as well as being fully occupied. When the basement was remodeled, many thought my parents were nuts for “adding on” to their home especially when all their children were almost adults and would be leaving the home place. But, their planning was meant to provide their children and others a place to stay when they came to Tuscaloosa. I know for sure that my own family spent many vacations in Tuscaloosa camped out in the spacious accommodations of that remodeled basement. Grandchildren could be put to bed at night with assurance they would not wake up before an appropriate time since the large bedroom in the basement had no windows, and my mother would put towels at the bottom of the doors in order to block out any possible light that could filter into the room. Thus, it always seemed to be night in that tomb of a room even when it was broad daylight outside.
• By 1972, five of the six sons were married and were having children, thus, more grandchildren. Daddy retired in 1976 from B.F. Goodrich, but he continued his sideline business of piano tuning and repair as well as some mechanical repair. During that time he also established another sideline business with a cousin of his, a lady whose last name was Farmer. The business was repairing and restoring old reed pump organs. Daddy would do the reed and bellows repair and anything else mechanical that needed fixing and Mrs. Farmer refinished the cabinet of the pump organ.
• Daddy’s health began to fail as the 1970’s were coming to an end. He suffered from emphysema due to being a heavy smoker as well as other maladies that affected his liver.
• By 1984 his health was in real decline. He turned 70 years old on Feb. 14, 1985 and already had been hospitalized on a couple of occasions even during the early part of 1985. By late June, he was admitted to the hospital again and my brother Larry called us to say that he didn’t think Daddy would last through this hospitalization and advised us to come south. Larry was right. We arrived in Tuscaloosa from Michigan on Monday, July 8 to find Daddy in intensive care with the family only being able to visit once every hour for a short time. By Tuesday, he asked to be moved to sub intensive care so that he could see his family and they could be with him as much as possible. Throughout all this he never asked for any pain medication since he wanted to be lucid and know what was going on around him. The sons took turns staying with him around the clock and gladly ministered to him by placing him on the bed pan, attending to his hygiene needs, and offering him comfort in ways we could. He was slowly ebbing away. I asked him during one nocturnal stay why he didn’t just let go and die since everyone of the family was present and why was he still holding on. He replied that it wasn’t time, yet. That time came on the afternoon of July 11, a Thursday. He finally asked for pain meds. Within four hours he was dead and we were privileged to watch him expire and see his body relax from the struggle. I noticed that as his body relaxed in death it took on the muscular shape and definition like the days when he was younger. We buried him two days later on July 13. It was a hot day in Alabama and the mourners huddled together under the few trees at the cemetery and then under the burial tent to keep from having heat stroke. His wife and children and grandchildren along with many relatives, his two sisters, and cousins as well as friends and neighbors came to witness his burial. His sister, Mary Lucille, insisted that one of the family speak a eulogy for her brother. She insisted that this be done. And it was.

I will include the eulogy after one final statement regarding my father.

I’ve saved it till last even though it would fit chronologically with the events of the mid 1960’s. In my mind, the event I’m about to recount gives the depths of a man who felt deeply about family but was not always able to express those deep feelings.

When Daddy’s own father died on September 13, 1963, he knew there was something he had wanted to do that apparently had been in his mind for a long time at least according to my mother. My father’s biological mother, Elle Cronin Davis had died in June of 1916 when he was about 16 months old. Two years later his father was married again to Irene Cronin who was the sister of my Dad’s mother. Thus, the three children from the first marriage now had a new mother (step-mother) who was actually their aunt. Irene Cronin Davis was the only mother that my father ever knew. His older two siblings would have remembered their real mother to some extent. This new marriage produced another child in 1919 who was named after my grandfather with the given name of Isaac Luther Davis, Jr.

In the early 1940’s at least from the information my mother shared with me, Irene Cronin Davis suffered a major nervous breakdown and was eventually committed to Bryce Hospital in Tuscaloosa. Bryce Hospital was an institution for the mentally insane as it was diagnosed in those days. My parents lived for a time with my grandparents during the late ‘30’s and early 40’s. I don’t know the tenure of their stay in the elder Davis home, but my mother was aware of the breakdown and subsequent hospitalization. In those days this type of event in a family would have been kept quiet and not talked about much or at all similar to a woman having a baby out of wedlock. Whenever my grandfather Isaac Luther, Sr. visited our family in Tuscaloosa, he would always take one afternoon to go some where. I later learned that he would visit his wife Irene, however, he did not want his children visiting their mother for reasons unknown to me even though one could speculate why he didn’t want them visiting.

By the late ‘50’s I was aware that I had a grandmother who was very much alive but she was not talked about. Shortly after my grandfather died in the fall of 1963, my father began the process of trying to have his mother released from Bryce Hospital. There were state laws that prohibited release but home visitations could be arranged as long as the patient returned to the hospital periodically—every six weeks—so that medications could be checked and for other reasons that I don’t recall. By the fall of 1964, permission was granted for Irene to come to our home. I remember that my father was aware of his own family’s (his siblings) concern regarding him proceeding with this plan. Nonetheless, I remember him adamantly declaring that he was going to proceed with something he had wanted to do for a long time. Well, it came to pass.

Irene came to stay with us for a couple of weeks as allowed by the state of Alabama. My parents realized that it would be an adjustment for Irene. Irene was happy about her new surroundings. She loved her son and always mentioned how broad Cronin’s shoulders were. She was happy to be introduced to his children of whom she tried to relate to as children from her past memories of living in Mobile. She was obviously confused but my parents felt that her confusion would eventually be cleared up. She did a lot of mumbling about things in the past and we could tell she was trying to reach back into the recesses of her memory to connect with what she was experiencing at the time. My parents realized that Irene needed a hearing aid which was fitted shortly after her first visit with us. Next, they had her hair styled and clothing replaced to rid her of the institutional garb and lack of style. We immediately called her “Grandmother” and instantly fell in love with a grandmother we never knew much less knew was still alive. My mother helped her acclimate by having her help in the kitchen and do light housework which helped her fit into the normal routines of a family. She went to church with us which was a real joy for her. We even made some home movies with her in the movie in order to document her time with us.

My dad thought it would be good that we take Grandmother back to Mobile where she had grown up and even to the house where she had lived as a married woman for so many years. A reunion was planned with her surviving sisters coming to the home place for a time together. Aunt Mame and Aunt Bess were there and perhaps others. It was a very happy time. When we returned to Tuscaloosa that Sunday afternoon, Grandmother never again did her mumbling. She seemed to be catching up mentally with all that she had missed those many years while she was in Bryce Hospital. The hard part, of course, was having to take her back to the hospital. As time passed she could stay for more extended times—up to six weeks at a time and then 2 weeks back at the hospital. The return to the facility was hard on everyone. My dad then started the process to try and get his mother permanently released. This was going to take some time. Preparations were made to have a room added to our house so that Grandmother would have her own space. A side porch was enclosed with the intent of using this as Grandmother’s bedroom. In 1965, the new Holy Spirit Catholic Church was dedicated and we all went as a family for the dedication. The bishop from Mobile was presiding at the ceremony—Archbishop T. J. Toolen who had been bishop of the Mobile, Alabama diocese since the mid-20’s. He was still bishop after almost 40 years. I remember that Grandmother leaned over to me during the ceremony and exclaimed, “Is he still here?” She remembered him well. These were happy days to experience a woman who was gentle, loving, and very generous. If she had been given a box of candy for some occasion, she would always share it with those in the room with the added remark as you came to share a piece of her candy, “Take two, honey.”

In mid January of 1966 it was time for the two-week return to Bryce. I remember that this got harder to do every time since she had become so acclimated to our home and was doing so well. It seemed criminal to have to take her back again. Grandmother never returned to our home. She became ill within a few days. My parents were called by the hospital to let them know she was ill. Within a day or two she was dead. She died suddenly in the middle of the night. My mother went out to the hospital and daddy was called home from the midnight shift at B. F. Goodrich. Irene was buried in Mobile and we were all left with a lap full of feelings and a heavy heart but were grateful for the precious moments we had with our Grandmother.

• And now, the eulogy for my father:


“SHORTY”

He was born with his mother’s image stamped upon his physique. Fellow workers called him Shorty. His children called his father Big Daddy to set the generations apart. But, a daughter-in law named him The Daddy to set the record straight.

A man who was blessed with enormous talent and intellect was a giant on the mechanical scene. PhD’s stand small in the shadow of his knowledge. Moonlighting was more an expression for his talent than a source of income. His life of inward struggle and conflict made life tough at times for him and those standing by. But, in life as well as in death his talents were his gift of balm to all who loved him dearly. The memories are the treasures, not the conflicts and the pain. Counting them would fill pages in his book. From fixing cars to making kites, crossword puzzles to untying knots, piano tuning to you name it, his talent was spelled with a capital T.

Those final days and hours are impressed upon our brains. We saw a man in control of pain. Only a giant could endure and soar above the death that called him home. Remember those days well and aspire to the greatness of the short man born tall. His legacy is seen not only in himself but, in his wife and sons, as the scripture tells it best. “Sons are a gift from the Lord and children a reward from him. Like arrows in the hand of a fighting man are the sons of a man’s youth. Happy is the man who has a quiver full of them; such men shall not be put to shame when they confront their enemies in the court. (Psalm 127)


So what means short and tall?
The world will give untruth
To confuse us all.
If you tend to forget
The meaning of these words,
Let your thoughts recall
The man who was both short and tall.


In memory of

John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr.

February 14, 1915 to July 11, 1985

Written by RED