Sister Mary Wilfrid Huettal, OSB

(Picture taken in 2006 at the age of 97 for her 75th Jubilee as a nun of Scared Heart Monastery, Cullman, AL)


Sister Mary Wilfrid Huettal, OSB
July 19, 1909—February 16, 2009

A Tribute to Her Influence

I was 10 years old that September of 1955 when I entered the fifth grade at St. John the Baptist Catholic School, Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Within a month, Oct. 5, I turned eleven years old. Everyone said that she was a very strict teacher. As a very shy kid who always followed the rules, at least at school, I was hoping that she wouldn’t be mean or worse. Little did I know that the next two years would be two very prosperous and happy years. Her name was Sister Mary Wilfrid. I had had Sister Mary Thomas in first grade, Sister Monica and Sister Lucy in second, Sister Anastasia in the third, Sister Francine in fourth, and now, Sister Mary Wilfrid. All of these teachers came from Cullman, Alabama where their motherhouse was located—Sacred Heart Monastery. They were Benedictine nuns whose main ministry at that time was staffing elementary schools and high school schools in Alabama and Florida, and Sacred Heart College in Cullman. The OSB after their names stood for the words “Order of St. Benedict.”

The expression that “students take teachers and not subjects” was ever so true about Sister Mary Wilfrid. After the first day in class, I never knew why the older kids had warned us that Sister was strict and it wouldn’t be a fun class. That was far from the truth. More than likely, the negative propaganda was perpetuated by the rowdies of the previous class.

I don’t remember details of the curriculum we studied during those two sweet years, but I made average grades in all subjects. I do know that I received my first, very own Bible that first year, and we read it a lot and made reference to its contents on a daily basis.

The woman who commanded our class was a person who taught us a lot more than the subject matter at hand. She taught more by her many life stories than we could have ever learned from our math and science books. Self revelation was her technique to get the point across. Right at the start she told us about her time before she entered the convent in 1931. She had worked as a secretary for some business in Memphis. This would have been right after high school. There was an automobile accident that she witnessed which happened right in front of her place of work. The business was on the corner of intersecting streets. She saw it all and was a prime witness, but she shirked her responsibility and went home without saying a word to anyone. I can still hear her say. “This was NOT right. I should have stayed and become involved in what had happened. Now, boys and girls, I don’t want you to be like that. Now, you hear me. You must be involved in people’s lives. Don’t run away like I did.

When trying to settle a disagreement (fight) that had happened on the playground during recess, Sister Mary Wilfrid reminded us that we were not the ones who were called to dish out punishment for wrongs committed against us. She said, “Children, remember, God’s mill grinds slowly. It may be slow but it is sure.” Later, I would read where she got that quote. It was right out of Paul’s letter to the Romans in the 12th chapter. The apostle reminded his readers, “Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord."

In those days our little school rarely had a “certified” physical education teacher. Sister Mary Wilfrid, however, was more than a classroom teacher. She was also a dance instructor! Square dance, at that! All four classes of 5th through 8th grades would assemble in the large auditorium which was an actual gym, stage with curtain and auditorium wrapped up into one large facility. Sister cared little for matching sizes of kids to make up the four couples in each square dance group. As a fifth grader I was matched with an eighth grade girl named Rosalind Reynolds. Rosalind seemed to be about 8 feet tall and I had to stand on my toes and she had to bend down low for me to twirl her under my arm. The Victrola (this will not spell-check) and accompanying records were enough to initiate us into the world of square dancing. Sister would walk us through all the calls several times as she explained the “swing your partner,” “dosey-do,” “promenade left or right,” “sachet your partner” as well as a half a dozen other square dance moves. The fun part came when she turned the record over. The flip side of the record was just the music and no caller. Sister became the caller. Sister was in her glory as she began to change the order of the calls from what we had learned so that we really had to be on our “toes” to make sure we followed exactly her square dance commands. Where she learned to do this, I never knew. I do recall several years later when I was at St. Bernard Abbey in the high school seminary that Father John Capesius asked me where I learned to play the piano. I told him that my first teacher was Sister Mary Vincent Beckman, OSB. He replied with his thick German accent as it rolled out of the side of his mouth, “Umph, tat’s alle does nuns know how to du is pute on plaeys and plaey de piano!” I added, “And they sure know how to square dance, too.” Father John didn’t catch it and I didn’t try to explain. How could I?

To my delight the dance lessons continued after I left Mary Wilfrid’s 6th grade as we moved into Sister Barbara’s 7th and 8th grade. In the seventh grade, the Birmingham area of the Mobile Diocese had a Festival for the upper elementary/junior high grades. It was held in a large diocesan school in Birmingham—maybe John Carroll High School. St. John’s students practiced for months. Sister Mary Wilfrid choreographed not only the square dances, but she had us do various folk dances (German and American) and even an Indian dance all with appropriate costumes. My mother was brought into the act with her sewing ability when she designed and produced fringed, leather-like shirts for all the boys. We had lederhosen and knee socks costumes for the German dance. This was a first rate production. All the entries to the festival were adjudicated. When the final performance ended and the votes tallied, St. John’s School won the competition. A couple of years ago, I was talking with Sister Mary Wilfrid by telephone. I had called her as I did for several years on her birthday. She was 97 that day and I asked her if she remembered the Festival. Wow! Her memory was still VERY sharp and her story telling ability never seemed to wane. She remembered the entire event like it was yesterday. She told me that she “got into trouble” with the higher ups because they said that no school should be that good unless that’s all they were doing during the school day.

After graduating from the 8th grade in 1959, Sister Mary Wilfrid “followed” me with letters of encouragement, Christmas letters, and happy notes about how wonderful life is. In recent years, I remember getting a Christmas card (2005, I believe) and she told me that she was up in years, in fact, was 96 years old. She wanted me to pray for her since “no one should live to be so old,” she said. In a phone conversation a couple of years ago, Sister asked me for my home phone number and after she had written that down she asked me for my cell number. I asked her why she wanted the numbers. She replied, “I want to call you when I know I’m on my way out of here. I’m 97, you know.” Well, she didn’t make the call, but I’ve been expecting this day to come for a long time. Thanks to an alert public relations person at St. Bernard Abbey, Alabama (near Sacred Heart Monastery), I received an e-mail this afternoon telling me of Sister Mary Wilfrid’s death yesterday, February 16.

We all can think of that special person who influenced us a lot--most of the time it was a teacher or a coach. Sister Mary Wilfrid, OSB was that person for me as well as for countless other school children whom she taught over a 50 year career of teaching. I’ll miss her.

Ronald Davis (former student of Sister M. Wilfrid, OSB)

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