Part VII-h: Four Grandchildren of Andrew Russell and Josephine Davis
John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr.
(My Father)
Part VIII
• For the Cronin Davis family living in Tuscaloosa, Alabama during the middle of the 20th Century (1951-1959), life was ordinary, regular, predictable and stable. The older brothers played sand lot baseball in the vacant lot across from Whitfield Gibbons’ grandparents’ home which was one block east of where we lived. Whitfield and his mother and sister lived with his grandparents. Whitfield organized snake hunting excursions which included Cronin Jr. and Charles. As I remember, they would go out at night and take a long stick with two prongs at the end which had been whittled into points. These sticks were used to trap the snake’s head in between the prongs. The snake hunters would bring the snakes home and put them in large jars which contained the preservation solution. If you were invited into the basement, you could see a virtual zoology lab which had what I thought were hundreds of snakes—more than Noah had on the ark. Whitfield knew how to “milk” a snake’s venom. This only gave me the creeps just thinking about it, but it didn’t scare the stew out of me like the tarantula fights that were staged by my older brothers.
• Our clapboard sided rental house was perfect for the propagation of huge, I mean, gigantic spiders. Webs were all over the south side of the house. The spiders were captured in small fruit jars and then placed in a box to do Gladiator style battles. To watch these vicious contests between two hairy Araneide creatures gave me nightmares. This situation was on exacerbated by the fact that the large spiders were able to penetrate the siding and, in some mysterious way, work their way into the back bedroom which was actually an enclosed back porch. On many nights when I went into the shared bedroom to get into the iron-framed double bed which thankfully I didn’t have to share at this stage of my life, a tarantula would be sitting on the pillow ready to inject its poison into my neck as soon as I settled my head on the pillow. There would be a blood curdling scream that was louder than an air raid siren. My father or someone would come to the rescue and slay the black dragon. I got into the habit of always sleeping at the foot of the bed in a sideways position with my head slightly hanging off the bed. I’m sure that this sleeping position is the cause of my back trouble at the 5th lumbar which has plagued me all my adult life. No amount of vacuuming the webbed corners of the room seemed to deter the infestations of spiders. After Cronin and Charles left home for college or the Marines, I was allowed to sleep in the front bedroom with Larry. Arachnophobia was not a word in my vocabulary in those days, but the fear of spiders continued way into my adult years. My father sometimes would imitate me when he saw a spider. He would say, “Watch out, Ronnie, there’s a “spydah!” This is the way I pronounced “spider” in my southern dialect.
• Besides snakes and “spydahs” there were other baneful creatures that inhabited homes and yards in the Deep South--roaches and huge black, orange striped grasshoppers. Spraying insecticide on a very regular basis never seemed to matter. The large oak trees around homes seemed to produce armies of roaches that never ran out of reinforcements in the battle to scare the daylights out of children and adults alike. I never saw a small roach. They were always at least six inches long with twitching wings and had the speed of NASCAR races. Roaches could never be caught because of their speed and the keen ability to fake the direction that you thought they were taking to escape your stomping foot. My mother was the only one I knew who developed the uncanny ability of stepping on a roach bare foot. I don’t have the intestinal fortitude even to describe the outcome of the “unfortunate” roach. Suffice to say, it didn’t get away!
• The “Texas” grasshoppers, as we called them, were descendants of the Biblical grasshoppers from one the Ten Plagues that Moses was commanded to lay upon the Egyptians in his quest to get Pharaoh “to let my people go.” One grasshopper alone could decimate an entire day lily bed in a matter of hours. They could copulate and produce a zillion progeny overnight when you thought you had killed the last one the evening before with a gasoline, soaked firebrand. My wife and I have lived in Michigan for more than 35 years. We came here to teach music at a four-year liberal arts college. That was the reason for the move—to find work. However, if you ask my wife why we moved to Michigan, her answer will not be to seek employment but it was to get away from roaches which don’t seem survive above the Mason-Dixon Line. In fact, to this day, when we visit relatives in Alabama, we NEVER leave a suitcase open and unattended. As soon as the item you needed from the suitcase is secured, you immediately, if not sooner, zipped the bag tightly shut and all the while kept a panoramic eye open for any clandestine invasion of the infamous cockroach. We well remember once after returning home to Owosso the fear that struck everyone in our house when I discovered, to my horror, as I was placing a pair of trousers from the suitcase back into my closet, that a dreaded cockroach had barnacled himself on the trouser leg for the 900-mile trip back to Michigan. The white-glove inspection began immediately to determine if there were other invaders present in the rest of the baggage.
• In November of 1960, my parents purchased their first home at the ages of 45. There house payment was around $100 a month including taxes for the entire life of 30 year of the loan. That story next time around. (to be continued)
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
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)
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)
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr. (My Father) Part VI
Part VIIf: Four Grandchildren of Andrew Russell and Josephine Davis
John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr.
(My Father)
Part VI
• In looking back over the years, the move to Tuscaloosa in October, 1951 would be considered a “permanent” move for my parents. They would spend the next 34 to 40 years rearing their family, seeing children leave home and marrying, grandchildren being born, retiring, and living out their days in an area where many of their ancestors as well as family members had lived for decades upon decades. My parents were 36 years old at the time. For my father a long career at B.F. Goodrich started the year of the move. My mother would soon launch a career in sales that would become legendary. The family would be complete with the birth of Glenn the year before. In these post WWII days, the family would settle and set down roots that are in 2008 producing the 4th generation of Davises.
• Daddy (as most in the South call their fathers) would work at B. F. Goodrich for about a quarter of a century in order to provide for a growing family, but his real love was being a “fix-it” man. He would continuously find ways to explore this wonderful talent. The man could fix anything! He had an incredible mind for the mechanical which was well beyond the doctoral level and was probably much more advanced than any PhD. From washing machines to lawn mowers, small machines, automobiles, clock works, you name it, he could overhaul, reinstall, completely rebuild, and never tire of the tinkering. All of this eventually led to a sideline business that was completely self-taught—piano tuning and piano technician. Through a correspondence course in piano tuning (if you can imagine such—people go to universities to get their piano technician degrees) he began a “moon-lighting” career that continued until he died. Piano tuning and piano repair with the sideline of reed pump organ repair became an obsession with the man. There were always pianos in the basement that were in various stages of repair and restoration. Self-players, spinets, uprights, and even grand pianos passed through the basement on a regular basis. For several years we had a self-player piano with lots of rolls that could entertain for hours on end as long as someone had the stamina to pump the bellows. Two of the six boys took piano lessons and enjoyed playing on their own, but the upright was just plain fun with so many songs from the ‘90’s (1890’s) available on piano rolls.
• Running parallel to the Piano Man’s career was a career in sales that our mother began. Sales of Nobility silverware, china and crystal and sales of Nutrobio (vitamins) were the preludes to the gargantuan sales career as a World Book Encyclopedia representative. The woman probably sold more World Books than any other Field Enterprise representative in the nation, and that is not use of hyperbole. I remember calling World Book headquarters in the mid-1990’s to see if I could get a back year book for the set that my mother had given us in the mid-80’s (a set that she had won because of her super sales even in “retirement”). Since the set of World Books was in my mother’s name, they had to verify the serial number. The sales rep scrolled through page after page of documents which listed all the sets she had sold or won. The rep commented that she had never seen such a portfolio of sales in her entire life! Mama sold a lot of World Books. There was a family joke in which my Dad said that Mama would probably sell a set of World Books at his funeral. She did sell a set on their 49th and last wedding anniversary while they were eating out at the famous Miss Melissa’s Restaurant in Moundville, Alabama. Ten months later in July of 1985, at our Dad’s funeral visitation the long-ago prophecy was fulfilled. As friends and neighbors and extended family filed passed our Dad’s casket on the evening of the visitation, one of my mother’s friends whispered to her that it wasn’t the right time to ask, but after everything had settled down could my mother give her a call. The woman wanted to talk to our mother about buying a set of World Books for her grandchildren. The laughter that came out of Mama’s mouth at the mention of the World Books wasn’t immediately appreciated by the mourners. But, after inquiry, everyone got a big laugh out of the situation and I’m sure our Dad did too.
• The sales penchant that Mama had certainly had not started in 1951 with the move to Tuscaloosa. She was doing sales as a teenager. In fact, in 1933, at the age of 18, Mama won a trip to the Chicago World’s Fair because she sold the most subscriptions to a Beautiful Baby Contest that was held in Moundville, Alabama. Ironically, Daddy was at the same Fair as was mentioned in a previous post. The two had yet to meet but that was soon to happen as Daddy settled in Moundville, Alabama that year after he graduated from high school. My Dad’s cousin, Evan Terry, told me this past summer that his cousin Cronin (our father) met Evelyn Elliott (our mother) at Hale County High School’s football games where Evelyn was head cheerleader. Mama didn’t graduate from high school until 1936 due to the fact that her high school had closed for a time during the Great Depression. She finished high school three years after most of her contemporaries including her future husband. I’ve long thought that Providence had a real hand in that delayed graduation. I don’t think I would be around writing this memory if she had graduated on time.
• Incidentally, that cheerleading gene in Mama has been passed down to her progeny. All you have to do is talk to one of her “chilluns” or “grandchilluns” Enough said. (to be continued)
John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr.
(My Father)
Part VI
• In looking back over the years, the move to Tuscaloosa in October, 1951 would be considered a “permanent” move for my parents. They would spend the next 34 to 40 years rearing their family, seeing children leave home and marrying, grandchildren being born, retiring, and living out their days in an area where many of their ancestors as well as family members had lived for decades upon decades. My parents were 36 years old at the time. For my father a long career at B.F. Goodrich started the year of the move. My mother would soon launch a career in sales that would become legendary. The family would be complete with the birth of Glenn the year before. In these post WWII days, the family would settle and set down roots that are in 2008 producing the 4th generation of Davises.
• Daddy (as most in the South call their fathers) would work at B. F. Goodrich for about a quarter of a century in order to provide for a growing family, but his real love was being a “fix-it” man. He would continuously find ways to explore this wonderful talent. The man could fix anything! He had an incredible mind for the mechanical which was well beyond the doctoral level and was probably much more advanced than any PhD. From washing machines to lawn mowers, small machines, automobiles, clock works, you name it, he could overhaul, reinstall, completely rebuild, and never tire of the tinkering. All of this eventually led to a sideline business that was completely self-taught—piano tuning and piano technician. Through a correspondence course in piano tuning (if you can imagine such—people go to universities to get their piano technician degrees) he began a “moon-lighting” career that continued until he died. Piano tuning and piano repair with the sideline of reed pump organ repair became an obsession with the man. There were always pianos in the basement that were in various stages of repair and restoration. Self-players, spinets, uprights, and even grand pianos passed through the basement on a regular basis. For several years we had a self-player piano with lots of rolls that could entertain for hours on end as long as someone had the stamina to pump the bellows. Two of the six boys took piano lessons and enjoyed playing on their own, but the upright was just plain fun with so many songs from the ‘90’s (1890’s) available on piano rolls.
• Running parallel to the Piano Man’s career was a career in sales that our mother began. Sales of Nobility silverware, china and crystal and sales of Nutrobio (vitamins) were the preludes to the gargantuan sales career as a World Book Encyclopedia representative. The woman probably sold more World Books than any other Field Enterprise representative in the nation, and that is not use of hyperbole. I remember calling World Book headquarters in the mid-1990’s to see if I could get a back year book for the set that my mother had given us in the mid-80’s (a set that she had won because of her super sales even in “retirement”). Since the set of World Books was in my mother’s name, they had to verify the serial number. The sales rep scrolled through page after page of documents which listed all the sets she had sold or won. The rep commented that she had never seen such a portfolio of sales in her entire life! Mama sold a lot of World Books. There was a family joke in which my Dad said that Mama would probably sell a set of World Books at his funeral. She did sell a set on their 49th and last wedding anniversary while they were eating out at the famous Miss Melissa’s Restaurant in Moundville, Alabama. Ten months later in July of 1985, at our Dad’s funeral visitation the long-ago prophecy was fulfilled. As friends and neighbors and extended family filed passed our Dad’s casket on the evening of the visitation, one of my mother’s friends whispered to her that it wasn’t the right time to ask, but after everything had settled down could my mother give her a call. The woman wanted to talk to our mother about buying a set of World Books for her grandchildren. The laughter that came out of Mama’s mouth at the mention of the World Books wasn’t immediately appreciated by the mourners. But, after inquiry, everyone got a big laugh out of the situation and I’m sure our Dad did too.
• The sales penchant that Mama had certainly had not started in 1951 with the move to Tuscaloosa. She was doing sales as a teenager. In fact, in 1933, at the age of 18, Mama won a trip to the Chicago World’s Fair because she sold the most subscriptions to a Beautiful Baby Contest that was held in Moundville, Alabama. Ironically, Daddy was at the same Fair as was mentioned in a previous post. The two had yet to meet but that was soon to happen as Daddy settled in Moundville, Alabama that year after he graduated from high school. My Dad’s cousin, Evan Terry, told me this past summer that his cousin Cronin (our father) met Evelyn Elliott (our mother) at Hale County High School’s football games where Evelyn was head cheerleader. Mama didn’t graduate from high school until 1936 due to the fact that her high school had closed for a time during the Great Depression. She finished high school three years after most of her contemporaries including her future husband. I’ve long thought that Providence had a real hand in that delayed graduation. I don’t think I would be around writing this memory if she had graduated on time.
• Incidentally, that cheerleading gene in Mama has been passed down to her progeny. All you have to do is talk to one of her “chilluns” or “grandchilluns” Enough said. (to be continued)
Monday, October 27, 2008
John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr. (My Father) Part V
Part VIIe: Four Grandchildren of Andrew Russell and Josephine Davis
John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr.
(My Father)
Part V
• During the summer of 2008, we made a visit to Alabama and I was able to pinpoint the exact time that my parents and brothers moved to Pascagoula, Mississippi. My oldest brother said that it was the 3rd month of his 4th grade year, 1947. We moved to Moundville, Alabama in the 3rd month of his 7th grade year which was 1950.
• The move to Alabama was probably precipitated by the fact that my Dad’s radiator shop just wasn’t bringing in enough income for the family. The sixth child was on the way, and he would be born in October of 1950.
• I have a few vivid memories of the move. Larry and I were sent ahead of the move to live with my mother’s sister Mabel and her husband Jesse and their two children. The Wiggins’ lived at the top of a hill just east of Moundville. I was five and a half years old and still was very much a Mama’s boy, and I got very homesick for my parents. The situation was exacerbated by the fact that Larry who is 2 years 7 months older (7 years old at the time) was stricken with food poisoning. He was VERY sick and could offer no comfort for his younger brother. I cried a lot at night when no one would hear me whimpering for my Mama.
• The move took place but the rental house was not available at the time of the move because the house had no indoor bathroom. My mother had told my father that she had grown up with an outhouse and she would never again use an outhouse especially with a family soon to have six children. So, the landlord was hastily attaching a bathroom to the two bedroom house. The construction was delayed and wasn’t finished until after the actual move to Moundville.
• We were all shifted around to various relatives who lived in the area. I remember staying at my mother’s brother’s home. His wife had either already had or was expecting to deliver twins at the time of our move. Everyone had to be crowded with this expanded family parceled out all over the town of Moundville.
• The move-in day finally arrived and I was excited about living in a “new” house. When I find a picture of the “new” house, I will post it on the blog. You will wonder how we all survived in this modest (some would rate it as a shack) house. I was happy as long as my parents would be there with us.
• When I awoke on the first morning of living in the “new” house, I was absolutely elated to know that our Dad was busy building coal fires in the big bedroom and the living room. Those two rooms had grates for coal in the fire places. A coal fire had already been started in the kitchen pot-bellied stove. Coal had already been delivered to a pile in the back yard complete with a coal bucket.
• I distinctly remember running outside to watch the smoke curl out of the chimney. I had never seen smoke coming out of a chimney. The older kids must have already been at school. Rick, the baby of the family at least for seven more months was a little over a year old plus three month.
• Our Dad had taken a job as an auto mechanic at Moundville Motor Company which was owned by his Uncle Evan Terry, the husband to Katie Davis Terry.
• We lived on Hollywood Street long enough for our youngest brother Glenn to be born and long enough for my mother to step on a rusty nail while she was fetching coal from the coal pile out back. Long enough to experience a bitterly cold winter with some snow, a first for me. Long enough to learn to ride a 20 inch bicycle. Long enough to give our brother Charles a chance to jump from a stack of cotton bales at the cotton gin across the road and bust his eye so it look like it was bigger than his head. This scared the stew out of our Dad who was trying to have compassion on a son who had disobeyed regarding the off limits of the cotton gin warehouse. At the same time he had a medical emergency on his hands and had to give in to his compassion. Long enough for me to lose my first tooth on my oldest brother Cronin’s birthday, Aug. 2 of 1950. Long enough to learn after I had had all my booster shots for school that I didn’t qualify for first grade since Alabama law had changed that summer to exclude anyone from first grade who was not six by October 1 of that year, 1950. Long enough to experience the first true love of my life, Sarah Donelson, who lived next door and who moved away somewhere down the road during that year. Long enough to bond with my Great Aunt Katie Davis Terry who cared for me many days during the week in order to give my parents a break from too many children underfoot. Long enough to learn that wind whistles around the corner of the house and causes pigs rooting down in the pasture below our house to start squealing loudly. The “cutting” wind was so sharp that it cut the pigs and made them squeal and would cut me if I went outside. That’s the way my brother Charles kept an eye on me when he was put in charge as the baby sitter. It worked.
• It must have been in the spring of 1951 when we found another rental house called the Griffin home. It was a much larger home with oak woodwork, high ceilings, ceramic fireplaces, a dining room, several bedrooms, a wrap-around porch, tin roof, and all in all a very spacious home compared to the one on Hollywood Street. I don’t know the reason for the move from one house to the other, but I could guess that overcrowding had to be a factor at the Hollywood Street house.
• If my memory serves me, the six to eight months we lived in the Griffin home, I had time to learn what The Grit newspaper was and how to sell it. I learned that when your parents tell you to avoid the old saw dust pile left from an abandoned saw mill on the hill near our house that they meant business. Walking around the saw dust hill would bring tragedy because there were sink holes that would magically appear and suck you under, and you would be burned alive by the perpetual fire that was constantly belching smoke into the air. One day I was walking through The Pines. a grove of southern pine trees that was a passageway to my uncle’s farm, with my brother Larry and cousin CD (Charles David). They wanted to have a little adventure and see if there really were sink holes and fire, but most importantly, it would be shorter to walk through the saw dust pile to get home rather than take the “safe” route. Of course, I had seen the wrath of God poured out upon older brothers who decided to take the wrong path in life and then be punished by His representatives on earth (our parents), and I told Larry and CD that I wasn’t going with them. When I got to the bottom of the hill where Larry and CD should have come out, I waited a sufficient number of minutes. When they didn’t come out, I went wailing down the street to our house and told my parents that Larry and CD had died in the saw dust pile. My mother called her brother who was the father of CD and they went tearing off up the hill in our ’38 Ford. Of course, the reason the rebellious ones delayed on the fateful saw dust pile was that they enjoyed playing in the saw dust since they could not find any sink holes at least that they could see. So, why not sin even the more since sin is always enjoyable. Well, all I remember was that my name was “Mudd” and they got what was coming to them.
• School started in late August of that year. I was in the first grade for about six weeks and my parents decided to move again. Our Dad was now working at B. F. Goodrich in Tuscaloosa about 15 miles from Moundville. They had found a rental home in West End of Tuscaloosa and so we moved a few days after my birthday in October. (to be continued)
John Cronin Russell Davis, Sr.
(My Father)
Part V
• During the summer of 2008, we made a visit to Alabama and I was able to pinpoint the exact time that my parents and brothers moved to Pascagoula, Mississippi. My oldest brother said that it was the 3rd month of his 4th grade year, 1947. We moved to Moundville, Alabama in the 3rd month of his 7th grade year which was 1950.
• The move to Alabama was probably precipitated by the fact that my Dad’s radiator shop just wasn’t bringing in enough income for the family. The sixth child was on the way, and he would be born in October of 1950.
• I have a few vivid memories of the move. Larry and I were sent ahead of the move to live with my mother’s sister Mabel and her husband Jesse and their two children. The Wiggins’ lived at the top of a hill just east of Moundville. I was five and a half years old and still was very much a Mama’s boy, and I got very homesick for my parents. The situation was exacerbated by the fact that Larry who is 2 years 7 months older (7 years old at the time) was stricken with food poisoning. He was VERY sick and could offer no comfort for his younger brother. I cried a lot at night when no one would hear me whimpering for my Mama.
• The move took place but the rental house was not available at the time of the move because the house had no indoor bathroom. My mother had told my father that she had grown up with an outhouse and she would never again use an outhouse especially with a family soon to have six children. So, the landlord was hastily attaching a bathroom to the two bedroom house. The construction was delayed and wasn’t finished until after the actual move to Moundville.
• We were all shifted around to various relatives who lived in the area. I remember staying at my mother’s brother’s home. His wife had either already had or was expecting to deliver twins at the time of our move. Everyone had to be crowded with this expanded family parceled out all over the town of Moundville.
• The move-in day finally arrived and I was excited about living in a “new” house. When I find a picture of the “new” house, I will post it on the blog. You will wonder how we all survived in this modest (some would rate it as a shack) house. I was happy as long as my parents would be there with us.
• When I awoke on the first morning of living in the “new” house, I was absolutely elated to know that our Dad was busy building coal fires in the big bedroom and the living room. Those two rooms had grates for coal in the fire places. A coal fire had already been started in the kitchen pot-bellied stove. Coal had already been delivered to a pile in the back yard complete with a coal bucket.
• I distinctly remember running outside to watch the smoke curl out of the chimney. I had never seen smoke coming out of a chimney. The older kids must have already been at school. Rick, the baby of the family at least for seven more months was a little over a year old plus three month.
• Our Dad had taken a job as an auto mechanic at Moundville Motor Company which was owned by his Uncle Evan Terry, the husband to Katie Davis Terry.
• We lived on Hollywood Street long enough for our youngest brother Glenn to be born and long enough for my mother to step on a rusty nail while she was fetching coal from the coal pile out back. Long enough to experience a bitterly cold winter with some snow, a first for me. Long enough to learn to ride a 20 inch bicycle. Long enough to give our brother Charles a chance to jump from a stack of cotton bales at the cotton gin across the road and bust his eye so it look like it was bigger than his head. This scared the stew out of our Dad who was trying to have compassion on a son who had disobeyed regarding the off limits of the cotton gin warehouse. At the same time he had a medical emergency on his hands and had to give in to his compassion. Long enough for me to lose my first tooth on my oldest brother Cronin’s birthday, Aug. 2 of 1950. Long enough to learn after I had had all my booster shots for school that I didn’t qualify for first grade since Alabama law had changed that summer to exclude anyone from first grade who was not six by October 1 of that year, 1950. Long enough to experience the first true love of my life, Sarah Donelson, who lived next door and who moved away somewhere down the road during that year. Long enough to bond with my Great Aunt Katie Davis Terry who cared for me many days during the week in order to give my parents a break from too many children underfoot. Long enough to learn that wind whistles around the corner of the house and causes pigs rooting down in the pasture below our house to start squealing loudly. The “cutting” wind was so sharp that it cut the pigs and made them squeal and would cut me if I went outside. That’s the way my brother Charles kept an eye on me when he was put in charge as the baby sitter. It worked.
• It must have been in the spring of 1951 when we found another rental house called the Griffin home. It was a much larger home with oak woodwork, high ceilings, ceramic fireplaces, a dining room, several bedrooms, a wrap-around porch, tin roof, and all in all a very spacious home compared to the one on Hollywood Street. I don’t know the reason for the move from one house to the other, but I could guess that overcrowding had to be a factor at the Hollywood Street house.
• If my memory serves me, the six to eight months we lived in the Griffin home, I had time to learn what The Grit newspaper was and how to sell it. I learned that when your parents tell you to avoid the old saw dust pile left from an abandoned saw mill on the hill near our house that they meant business. Walking around the saw dust hill would bring tragedy because there were sink holes that would magically appear and suck you under, and you would be burned alive by the perpetual fire that was constantly belching smoke into the air. One day I was walking through The Pines. a grove of southern pine trees that was a passageway to my uncle’s farm, with my brother Larry and cousin CD (Charles David). They wanted to have a little adventure and see if there really were sink holes and fire, but most importantly, it would be shorter to walk through the saw dust pile to get home rather than take the “safe” route. Of course, I had seen the wrath of God poured out upon older brothers who decided to take the wrong path in life and then be punished by His representatives on earth (our parents), and I told Larry and CD that I wasn’t going with them. When I got to the bottom of the hill where Larry and CD should have come out, I waited a sufficient number of minutes. When they didn’t come out, I went wailing down the street to our house and told my parents that Larry and CD had died in the saw dust pile. My mother called her brother who was the father of CD and they went tearing off up the hill in our ’38 Ford. Of course, the reason the rebellious ones delayed on the fateful saw dust pile was that they enjoyed playing in the saw dust since they could not find any sink holes at least that they could see. So, why not sin even the more since sin is always enjoyable. Well, all I remember was that my name was “Mudd” and they got what was coming to them.
• School started in late August of that year. I was in the first grade for about six weeks and my parents decided to move again. Our Dad was now working at B. F. Goodrich in Tuscaloosa about 15 miles from Moundville. They had found a rental home in West End of Tuscaloosa and so we moved a few days after my birthday in October. (to be continued)
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