The Last Davis

I woke up this morning to discover that my mother's last living sibling had passed away. Lewis Douglas Davis was the oldest of the four Davis siblings, and the longest lived. His obituary can be accessed below.

Obituary for Lewis Douglas Davis

The photo above shows a proud father and his four little ones, all born within a span of six years. From left to right is Sylvia, the third child, then Doug, the oldest, born in 1933, then Granpa, whom I lovingly called "Pawpaw", with my Momma, the youngest, born in 1939, sitting on his knee, while Pawpaw hugged the shoulder of Kent, the second oldest. They are sitting in front of the Wiscassett Mills Office, which indeed defined their lives for a millenium. I think all of them may have worked there, at some point. I know my Grandfather, Lewis Theodore Davis, did. I know my Mother did when she first came home from Pennsylvania, me in tow, while my father fought in foreign wars, while we lived with my grandparents. And I know Uncle Doug did, because I well remember him living along the road that curved around the creek, before he moved first to "New Town", a more recent section of Mill Village, built to accommodate workers at a new branch of the factory, before he moved his family off the Mill Hill and out to New London for a better life and future, working double-shifts to be able to afford what he wanted for his family, so they would not have to work as hard as he did. 

Uncle Doug married young and the first two of his children were the first of the ten grandchildren for Lewis and Maude Davis. His third, and last,came a year after me, and I was fourth- born. Some of my memories of Uncle Doug included the first time I watched "Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer" in front of their TV with my cousin, Barry, sitting on the floor in the house on the S-shaped street. Another was when a skunk had gotten itself trapped inside his garage after their move to the woodsy, New Town neighborhood, unbeknownst to my Uncle, who discovered it in the worst imaginable way. The smell, the tub of tomato juice, his not being allowed in the house,and the horrible sickness following the incident, can bring back chuckles now.

There was a quiet period in my memories of my Uncle, a time between childhood and older adulthood. It came after the above picture was made, at my Grandparents 50th wedding anniversary, their four children standing behind and around them. There was a family fracture, not a rare thing in any group of people. I was still a teenager, and not familiar with all the details, so have no room to speak, but it was a period of time that spanned decades, where my oldest Uncle did not participate in family events with the rest of his siblings.The rift, I believe, was more between spouses ,than siblings,as I would run into my Uncle, on occassion, it being a small town. There would be no acknowledgment, if he wasn't alone, but he would make it a point to dive momentarily behind an aisle in a store or other obstacle, like a vehicle, to dash a quick wave, to let me know he had seen me. If he was alone, there would be a quick and friendly, if albeit nervous, conversation. 

Later on, things seemed to ease up and bygones became bygones. More important things were coming to the forefront as my grandparents, and then the siblings, aged. Uncle Doug was the one member of the family who shared my love of family history. He loved talking Davis. I'm glad I was able to share with him our Davis connections to Jamestown. .

I recall the day he brought one of those Coat of Arms certificates that explain the origins of names that originated in the UK and shows the family Coat of Arms.

He exclaimed, "We're Jewish" and Welsh. I had seen this before. The Davis name originated in Wales and is Welsh for "Son of David", or in other words, Davidson. It came from a group of Sephardic Jews who had arrived there in the 1250's. Our DNA tells another story. There have been a sufficient number of Davis men who have Y-DNA tested from our line of Davis's to tell it. 

We have held the name Davis for a very long time, since before our lineages arrival in North America. But sometime upwards of 500 years ago, our ancestors were Turnbulls. We match a great number of Turnbulls and Trimbles, which is a name that branches off of Turnbull. It dates back to the Boenician people from the Scotts/English border region and began with a man named Rule or Ruel. Ruel saved the life of King Robert the Bruce at Stirling Park from a charging bull, by turning the bulls head. 

Ruel was rewarded with lands in Bedrule and given the name Turnbull. He served at the Battle of Halidon Hill against the English army in 1333. He had a big black dog by his side as he dashed ahead of the Scotts into battle, challenging any Englishman in his wake to fight. Sir Robert Venal of Norfolk accepted his challenge, ending the lives of Ruel Turnbull and his big black dog. Luckily, he left descendants, and here we are. Sometime after the demise of Ruel in 1333, and before the arrival of Captain James Davis to Jamestown in 1609, a little Turnbull boy was taken in by, or born into, a family of the Sephardic Jewish/Welsh Davis's from the Tribe of David. I believe we probably descend from both families.

Rest in Peace Lewis Douglas Davis. I hope you're having a wonderful reunion in heaven with Papaw, and Grandma, Uncle Kent, Aunt Sissy and Momma, and all the others who've gone before.

C

 

A Tribute

For every one of us East Coasters researching our family tree, there's someone out west reaching back across the miles and generations to us. Over the course of my exploration of my family trees and associated branches, I've been blessed to have met several other of the curious, and many folks who share branches of a family tree with me. Cousins, whatever degree of closeness or separation, are cousins. With some I've touched base briefly, while others became a treasured part of my life. This is a tribute to one such cousin.

The photo above is of one William Franklin Davis Sr. and his second wife, Julia Helen Holder. Frank was born July 21, 1895, in Waxahachie, Ellis County, Texas and died October 25, 1973, in North Little Rock, Arkansas. I was alive when Frank died, but I wasn't aware of it, because I wasn't aware of Frank or our genetic relation to each other.  

I lead in with this photo, because it is so iconic, and atypical of our westward migrating cousins. From a halcyonid time, a young farmer looks across the horizon, does he think of the eastern shore his ancestors removed from or of the children who would come. Is it his crops he is thinking about as his pleasant gaze seeks the distance? Or is it the wonderful and godly life he has built, a man and his land, surveyor of all that is his?

Julia's gaze is a little different, she wraps her hands around the waist of her husband, standing so protective and assured in his overalls and button up shirt. Looking cautiously, maybe even a bit distrustfully, straight at the photographer, hers is not a happy expression. As a mother, she has the legerity to move at an instance towards a possible child just out of the frame. These are the people who raised an amazing man, by whose meeting my own life was enriched.

The junction of the Arkansas and Maumelle Rivers, near Dub's home in Lonoke, a photo he sent me.

 Frank Davis's father, Elijah Meredith Davis was from the southern part of Stanly County, along the Rocky River. Elijah was a descendant of Job Davis for whom this blog was named. He had migrated to Texas in the 1890's, with other family members and Rocky River neighbors, as always, in search of greener pastures.  He married there in 1894 to Alice J. Sibley.  They had two children, Frank in 1895 and his sister, Annie Mable in 1899. It must be noted that they, themselves, were cousins, although Alice was born in Mississippi. Elijah's mother was a Sibley. They moved all that way just to marry someone they were related to.  Elijah died in 1913, and what did Alice do? She married Jesse Sibly, Sr. and had 7 more children. Enough said. 

Frank, himself, would marry on December 6, 1916, to a woman named Minerva Elizabeth "Nervie" Tarwater. He was her second husband. They would have a son named William Ervin Davis on August 28, 1917, in Bald Knob, Arkansas. Do the math. It wasn't a happy marriage, and there were no more children, but the marriage endured until William Ervin was in his teens. Nervie would take her son and marry twice more, and she had no more children. I didn't find a record of a divorce, but that doesn't mean there wasn't one. 

Frank remarried on October 8, 1932, at the age of 37, to Julia Helen Holder, 22, in Beebe, White County, Arkansas. This time he found love. Six children followed. I got to know two of them.

1934 - 2025 William Franklin Davis, Jr. 

1935 -1992 Mildred Bernice Davis

1937-2024 Dondru Ann Davis

1939-1994 Mary Virginia Louise Davis

1942  James C. Davis

1945  Lloyd A. Davis

Dondru Ann Davis in High School

It was Dondru that I came to know first. She was the curious one with the prospicience to take a DNA test and end up among my matches and message me concerning my sedulous research into the Davis family. Yes, connected and related, we were. I remember sitting in the parking lot after work one day, eating pizza and discussing where Julia had come up with her unusual name. Dondru was beautiful and sharp, kind and cautious, with a quiet giggle that bore a crackling break in it due to her age. See, she was a quick-witted Octogenarian, that had never really known much about her family roots, or where her people had come from, besides Texas. They were unfamiliar with their North Carolina roots.

She would introduce me to her big brother William, who lived out with his deaf daughter, Theresa, who was a few years younger than I. William was the sharp one, she said, he was the one who knew their family history, of the North Carolina Grandfather who had followed the old order, "Go West Young Man".

William "Dub" Davis in High School

When I encountered William the amazing Davis, 12 years ago, I was in my early 50's, and he was pushing 80. He had just lost his wife, Joan, and had almost lost his way. His son, William Michael Davis,  had tragically passed in 2009, at 55, leaving five children. Despite the grandchildren, it was still just Dub and Theresa.

Dub, yes, that was his nickname, "Dub Davis", although I don't recall where it came from, perhaps because he was a Junior. 

William Franklin Davis, Jr. 

William's life is still full of living people, although he was widowed, so I'll only report my relationship with him.

My early conversations with Dub came smooth and easy. He had as strong a passion as I did for family history. We compared notes and both gasped in amazement as we put pieces of the puzzle together that each of us held a few pieces of. 

A view of Dub's fields in Lonoke

Dub knew some things about his grandfather, although he had never met him. He remembered reports from his father of a rough existence, a hard and heady Cowboy and eastern roots. Even Frank had spent more time with his mother than his father. 

A lonely but active, octogenarian, Dub was sharp as a knife, funny as Fred and stayed on the go as much as his farm, his health and his daughter would let him. Over the years, our friendship would grow as we shared the moments of our lives via phone and text. He was great on a computer despite his years. Hearing from Dub was a regular thing. He would usually respond first if he hadn't heard from me in a while. He knew I had a tendency to get overly busy. He would share his meals via picture, example, the grilled avocado above. Texas roots showing.

Dub loved the views of our North Carolina rolling hills as much as I love his views of the flatter Arkansas fields near his home, like the hay bales above. 

His daughter, who was divorced with one grown child, was a good cook and took care of her dad as much as he took care of her. Above is a delicious looking fruit salad she made for him. 

A few years back, when Dub was a young eighty-something, he and his daughter went on a trip to Belize. Here they are outside of a small touring plane. He shared the details of his holiday with me. 

William "Dub" Davis was a very patriotic American, as are most in his generation. Here he is last year on his porch on the 4th of July. 

One day, it dawned on me that Dub would be a perfect candidate to help out in my DNA search to link to more ancient Davis ancestors. I asked if he would mind contributing his DNA via a kit that I would put in my control, but that he and his daughter could log onto and see the results for themselves. I already had one of my mom's first cousins, and a few other more distant cousins, to help in my project. Those Y -DNA tests are tricky. They're pretty expensive, and can either reveal a lot, or nothing at all. In our Davis case, I was able to make three important observations. First of all, I was amazed that our Davis family had been a faithful bunch. They all matched each other perfectly, whether first cousins or fourth.  Second, due to also matching two descendants of Benjamin Franklin Davis in Kentucky and Illinois, one of the oldest sons of Henry Davis and Mary Marriott Davis of Surry County, Viriginia, I can safely say that this is our line, and I thought that it had. There is another match who hadn't made it past his Civil War era ancestor in Mississippi, whom I believe may have been a descendant of another of Henry and Marys' sons, Randolph. The documentation is just not there. Not yet. He was in Mecklenburg and Mecklenburg County, Virginia is like Montgomery County, NC, there was a lot of record loss. 

The last observation goes further back, about 500 to 600 years back, not a mere 200 or so. The Davis name originated in Wales with the arrival in about 1250 AD of Sephardic Jews. Davis is the Welsh version of Davidson or David's son. From the tribe of David. My mother's only living sibling, the oldest, Uncle Doug, who in his later years has gotten the genealogy bug, and lets me do the digging, carries around a certificate he ordered online somewhere, claiming we are Jewish. The DNA doesn't line up with that. Instead, we match to a large number of Turnbull's and Trimbles, which was an anglicization, or more appropriately, the Americanization of Turnbull. These hit at about 500 years ago, or around the early to mid 1500's, before our Davis ancestors left the British Isles, which they did come from. At some point before they did a Turnbull born son was born or raised a Davis for some reason, and here we are. We are not Jewish. Are we Davis's though? Yes, we are. Ask any Davis you know. We descend from Captain James Davis, who helped found Jamestown, and another colony in Maine, and his father, Thomas, also a Sea Captain. I believe that qualifies us as Davis's, although keeping in mind our Turnbull roots originated in Southern Scotland, and not in Isreal. 

I would wake up to a text from him at least three or four times a week. He would always find a reason to send me something or ask a question. Most times he would send a picture, with an explanation of what the picture was. Above, there were birds in the trees that you obviously can't see in the photo. 

This one I love. It's a windchime that hangs in their yard. Dub and his daughter communicated with sign language. Dub was not deaf, but his daughter is. 

He enjoyed astrological events, full moons, comet sightings, and the like. Here's a photo he sent during an eclipse. 

 I sent a notice to him when landing back in the USA after a visit to my brother, who I also discovered through DNA. I arrived at the airport to discover Dub had been worried about me. This is how our messages went. 

Last summer he sent the sad news that his sister Dondru had passed on. My first contact with their family, I didn't hear from Dondru like I did Dub. She had a larger family and more to do. She had developed an incurable illness. The siblings had each other, and then they didn't. Dub suffered another huge loss. 

I usually wake up at 5 am and spend a little quiet time on the computer, reading emails and messages, researching and blogging, before starting a busy day. Despite being an hour earlier than I was in CST, Dub would beat me up most days. He would also send message at midnight or beyond sometimes. I don't think he ever slept. 

This is a sign that his neighbors put up when he turned 90. I now had another Nonagenarian cousin to converse with. 

Dub sent me the above message on New Year's Day, a few months ago. It would be the last message I ever got from him. The next message would come from his beloved daughter. She remembered the bond he and I had, and wanted to let me know that Dub had joined Dondru, Joann and Michael, and his parents Frank and Julia, in the Great Family Reunion in the Wide Beyond. 

Theresa sent me Dub's obituary, seen above. His family was so unfamiliar with his parents, that they made a mistake, which she sent me notice of later, but I already knew. Dub was not the son of Mary Magdalene Tarwater. Neith was Frank ever married to Mary Magdalene Tarwater. He was married to Minerva Elizabeth "Nervie" Tarwater (1897-1978). Mary Magdalene Tarwater (1878-1956) was married to Frankline Erwin Holder, and they were the parents of Laura Holder Davis, who was Dub's mother. Yes, they liked to keep it in the family. Franks two wives were related. 

I miss those 5 am messages of pictures of frying ham topped with pineapples, and the fields high with milo. Dub had no service for me to attend, but I would feel out of place if he had, as I never met anyone of them in person, and only really knew Dub and Dondru personally. Instead of honoring him with a graveside visit, I will honor him in this post. His DNA will live on in our pursuit of our Davis ancestors. Until later, Dub Davis. Say Hi in Heaven to our old ancestor, Job, and tell him to please lend me some help or hints, to find his parents.