Last week while Bob, Chris and I were cleaning out the garage, we came upon a surprise. In an old bird seed bag was one of the few souvenirs Dad had from his active service days. We believe it is a D-Day-era parachute but we don't know its history.


It's dated 1944 and manufactured by the Irving Air Chute Company, Inc., Lexington, Kentucky. They were the original suppliers of the 101st and 82nd Airborne Divisions. The control lines have all been removed at about 24 inches below the canopy suggesting this was a used or rejected unit made unusable for further service.

I received a simple postcard today from Arlington Cemetery stating that the headstone has been installed. It was postmarked August 23rd. I suppose this is the last penny postcard Dad (and Mom) will receive. It will be made a permanent part of their extensive collection.

A Tornado in Back Creek???

Friday evening, July 27th, a strong line of thunderstorms passed through the Northeast. This ominous cell overtook the neighborhood and for the next half hour, pelted us with rain, hail, and swirling winds. The tree at the left is now gone as are several others from all over the development.


The image is a frame captured from a digital video.

Monday, July 2nd was the first anniversary of Mom's passing. Lisa and I placed a small vase of red, white and blue flowers on the grave site. The temporary markers are still there waiting for the headstone to be completed.

Mom and Dad were interred at Arlington National Cemetery on Monday, June 25th just after 2pm. I will post video and photos as they become available. For the record, the grave site is: Section 54, Grave 3627. It is within visual distance of the administration building and an easy walk from the parking lot.

As of this morning, the headstone text has not been finalized. Dad's POW status was not included on the paperwork given to the Arlington staff so I emailed to them a different document that mentioned his release from a prison camp.

Once there is agreement on the headstone, it will take about a month to deliver and set at the site. I'll let everyone know the schedule as it becomes more certain.

After a very short letter to the funeral home, Dad's obituary has been posted to the News Journal web site: http://miva.delawareonline.com/miva/cgi-bin/miva?obits.mv+69582

It is dated June 20, 2007.

This is the back of the prayer card. Bob drafted the first version keying on words found in the 101st Airborne Quarterly changing a few things. Chad and I changed a few more. I think it turned out beautifully. The front of the card was fittingly an eagle superimposed over the flag.

Do Not Forget Me

Tho’ the years have passed so swiftly,

With an open heart and open mind

I’ve watched all of you

My family

Grow into men and women.

My love for you has never waned

Tho’ the grass grows above me

The warmth of the earth surrounds.

I have been with you so short a time

But I will be with you forever

Do not forget me.

Chad had a very special relationship with Dad and Mom. They all had extraordinary impacts on each other's lives.

This is Chad's eulogy for Dad.


IN LOVING MEMORY OF

FRANK L. Davis

By Chadwick Boyd

February 9, 1923 - June 3, 2007

His name was Frank, Lester, Lec, Dave, Davis. He was Honey…Dad…Grandpa. He was a son, a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather. He was a friend, a neighbor, a leader, a teacher. He was an engineer, a jokester, an artist…a magician. To me, he was everything.

I met him when I was three…and it was kismet from the very beginning. I was a little boy, gregarious and determined, with a big smile and a lot to say, but without a full voice. I was full of potential. And he saw it at the start.

For the next 32 years, without condition, he worked hard –teaching me. Guiding me. Inspiring me. Loving me. Molding and shaping me into the man I am today. It’s a gift that I still am learning to fully understand and appreciate. And a gift that I am now entrusted with to share with others – to change the world in my own way – for good.

Grandpa is why I do what I do today. To be the expressionist I was born to be. To tell stories that help people. To encourage them to be better. To be the best that they can be. To live their best lives.

He pushed me to be courageous. To believe in myself…no matter what anyone else said. He pushed me – sometimes really hard – to “Do it. Do it. DO IT!!” (he would always say that). And he was fearless. Something that I always admired in him. He had fire in his eyes…behind this extraordinary glow of life. He truly loved living – every day…and making every day special…in simple – yet BIG – ways…for others.

Grandpa had a way of creating magic. All of you know that Grandpa was all about Christmas. One year, when I was about 8 or 9 in mid-December, I was sick. So Grandpa went out and bought a Christmas tree by himself. He brought it home to Grandma and me. It seemed small to us – strange for a man who LIVED for a big Christmas tree.

I was soooo disappointed. Disheartened. Christmas would never be the same. It was ruined. I went to bed, deflated, thinking “this is the worst Christmas tree ever! How could MY grandfather – Mr. Christmas – pick out the ugliest tree?!” The holiday was over.

When I awoke the next morning, Grandpa was already up and going. As I got out of bed, he stood by his bedroom door, waiting for me to head toward the kitchen. As I turned down the hallway, cringing a bit for fear of seeing that blasted ugly tree, I was STUNNED! I looked up, and before me was THE MOST BEAUTIFUL TREE! My eyes bugged out of my head; my mouth dropped to the floor…I gasped for breath. “GRANDPA! What happened? Did Santa Claus bring a tree overnight???!!! Did you go out and buy another tree??!!” Both Grandma and Grandpa belly laughed at my reaction. And Grandpa beamed with excitement and pride.

You see, Grandpa knew how disappointed I was when I went to bed that night. But, he saw the potential in the tree. So, he stayed up all night…twisting branches from front to back. Tying them with twine and rubber bands from one side to another. He drilled holes in the trunk and moved branches from top to bottom. All to create the perfect Christmas tree – just for me. For everyone.

And he delighted in the moment the next morning when I saw the transformed Christmas tree in sheer awe.

It was then in that moment that I learned that it was in the giving of the gift that was so special. It was the thought behind it. Therein lived the magic. The spirit of life.

Grandpa lived a life creating magic for everyone. He LIVED for it. He created a 9’ handmade Eagle to make earning the Eagle Scout honor worthy and special for 101 young men. He ingeniously made by hand – from a pattern out of a children’s’ coloring book – a Santa sleigh, eight reindeer and a Rudolph with a blinking red light bulb for a nose that brought joy to the hearts of children young and old – for more than 40 years. He made popcorn balls, concrete marble lights, handmade birthday cards, rubber banded everythings(!), a patented “Rocket to the Moon” board game, Whiskey sours – his “slushes,” reinforcement rod tree houses…and so many more magical things that ALL OF US here in this room and beyond could continue to list. And he prided in being in the moment when we experienced his creations.

My uncle, Glenn, sent me this note when he heard the news about Grandpa’s passing. It says a lot about how prolific Grandpa’s good deeds, his teachings, his expressions of love, his moments of magic meant to so many – those whom we know and those we never will.

“I am very sad to hear this news. Your Grandfather was an exceptional person. You are very fortunate to have had such a person in your life. Knowing him has been a true blessing for me as well. He was a role model to me as I matured and will continue to be a role model as (my son) Cole's scouting career takes off, with me as Cub Master. I could listen to his stories for hours on end. I will miss him greatly. I'm sure that he is now reunited with his true love, Clare, and all of his pain is gone. I think of him often, even today, since it is the 63rd anniversary of D-Day.

Unfortunately, we cannot attend the services on Saturday, but I will honor him by continuing with a leadership role in Scouts.”

There probably are a litany of others who have a personal story like my uncle’s…many of you, I’m sure…about how Grandpa touched their lives…and encouraged them to be better. Where he created magic for them. And inspired them to make a difference in their own way in their lives and the lives of others.

My friend, Ron Clark, writes in his book,

The Essential 55:

“To me, life is all about experiences, the ones you make for yourself and the ones you make for others. As a teacher and a person, I have tried to give special moments to people.”

I believe that. I know Grandpa did, too.

If I have done nothing else in what I shared with you about Grandpa today, I do hope that it has inspired you to make more of a difference in the lives of children. Guide them as they grow…hug them…tell them that all things are possible…as my grandfather did…show them in every way possible that they are cared for, and make special moments for them that will add magic to their lives, motivate them to make a difference in the lives of others, and, most importantly, teach them to love life.

My grandfather, Grandpa, surely did.

We had the funeral for Dad on Saturday. There were dozens of memories arrayed among the flowers and photos. Eulogies were given by Chad, Uncle Ray and me. Chad will post his somewhere in the future. Uncle Ray's was not written before hand but was nicely done. This is mine.

My Dad

Thank you all for coming together today to celebrate Dad's extraordinary life; a life of honor and an incredible drive to make each day better than the day before. Thanks too to the staff here at Doherty Funeral Home. Their professionalism makes this difficult task so much easier to bear. Jim taught us how it's done with our first experience only 11 months ago. Mike took good care of us this time. So we thank them for their caring and assistance.

I've dreaded this day for so long but here it is. After Mom's death less than one year ago, I thought we would have some time for Dad. After all, he was pretty worn out taking such good care of Mom while recovering from his own broken leg and pacemaker implant... and continuing to endure dialysis every other day. But that was not to be. Cancer came roaring into our lives and in three short months, he was gone. Like I say to the irritation of Maryellen and Lisa, "All time happens at the same moment. We are simply too simple to understand it."

=============

How do you sum up a life?

How do you express your gratitude for a lifetime of love that was totally unconditional?

How do you say goodbye to your best friend? A friend that is always there no matter what... never too busy to come to your aid and never asking for anything in return.

=============

For all of the struggle with Mom and her failing health, Dad never complained once about taking care of her; getting anything she needed; jumping up from the couch every 5 or 10 minutes to fetch the next cup of coffee or glass of water. His face never showed even the slightest reluctance but only concern and compassion for his "Honey". Her passing was hard for Dad but he was strong. For the next six months, he would fall asleep with Mom's picture sitting on his chest. But dialysis kept him busy. Three times each week and doctor's appointments sprinkled in between left him little time for boredom. Virginia would be there every morning at 8:30 to get "Her Man" up, cleaned and dressed by 10:00 so he could motor out to the paratransit bus. Virginia was a true member of the family having taken care of Mom for a time too. After getting Dad ready, she would get Mom something to eat and sit with her for a while. "Some of your time" is what Mom cherished most. Waiting for Dad to return after dialysis made a very long day of boring mid-day television.

Thank you Virginia for being such a good friend to both of our parents when they needed someone they could depend on and trust. (Dad just loved buying her a cheesecake and watching her face light up when she opened the fridge!)

==================

Dad was a true role model. As a youngster, I would play army man with my toy rifles and pistols but I knew Dad had been a real army man. Although he never talked about it, Mom would talk about how handsome Dad looked in his Army uniform and on rare occasions we would be allowed to look at his 101st Airborne books that had a panoramic picture of "A" Company with him standing tall in the middle of the photo. Dad was also pretty fast with his hands and especially his feet. He would wrestle the two of us and not even use his hands. He could throw knives from 60 feet and make them stick in any tree he wanted. He told stories of trapping muskrat, beaver and rabbits and selling the pelts to the fur trader from Sears and Roebuck. There was also the story of how he impressed Mom by shooting a pheasant through the throat at 100 yards so it wouldn't make any noise and alert the neighbors. He was the kind of hero you heard about in the movies... except this was my Dad!

============

When Mom died, Dad became my anchor. We kept Mom close by remembering her at every turn. Her clothes still hang in the closet. Dad was just beginning to talk about finding someone who would appreciate her sweaters and sending whatever was still usable to Goodwill. We had a few good months. We even went to Bethany Beach the day after Mom's funeral just to shake off some of the gloom. That trip was incredible. Uncle Ray, Cousin Mark and his new bride Laurel went along to make the day so much more special. Dad loved the smell of the ocean and visiting our old house on 2nd Street. Mom, Bob and I called it home during the Summers Dad was working on Rt. 1 and rebuilding the jetties at Bethany. The woman living there even invited Dad in so he could stand in the place he called home for three wonderful years. We spent several hours in Bethany, had coffee on the boardwalk, then shaved ice, and bought carmel corn... Chad couldn't go with us that day so we bought him some too....

Bethany became our Summer vacation spot. We didn't go to "The Shore" or vacation in some far-off place, we went to Bethany. That day became even more special when we stopped at Rehoboth which was always a tradition with us. On our weekend trips to Bethany, Dad would ease the transition between fun and the return to Newport by spending a few hours in Rehoboth to enjoy the sounds and lights of the boardwalk. On this trip, Uncle Ray pushed Dad who was riding in his wheel chair while Mark, Laurel and I followed behind. We couldn't keep up with them because Ray was running pushing Dad out ahead. Well... this was quite a spectacle as you might imagine. A 90-year old running up and down the boardwalk pushing an 83-year old in a wheelchair.

As the sun dropped over the bay, the lights on the boardwalk became brighter and the carnival atmosphere (and Ray!) lifted Dad's spirits. Heading South on the boardwalk, we began to hear music - Big Band music. Well it was the Tim Laushey Orchestra playing in the new bandshell so we wheeled Dad into a good spot and watched the show. There were these two bouncing children dancing to the music -- Connor and Cameron. Amy was there so we spent the rest of the night watching and listening. After the show, I wheeled Dad up the ramp to see Tim before leaving for home. Tim immediately introduced Dad to Elliot, the clarinet player who was also a prisoner during the war. He and Dad struck up a conversation and discovered that they were POWs in the same prison camp. The stories flew back and forth. They both enjoyed the chance to exchange experiences with someone who "was there".

=============

Dad had many names. To us he was simply "Dad". Mom called him "Dave" because his military buddies called him Dave on V-J night, the night they met. "Dave" also worked for the neighbors from Pleasant Hills who were influenced by Mom. Most of his family from Ohio called him "Lec" but some still called him "Lester". Everyone from the construction companies called him "Frank" as did the folks from his days on the school board and scouting -- and it was always Mr. Davis from the scouts. Grandchildren called him Grandpa. Michelle shortened it later to "Gramps". Then there were the occasional adopted grandchildren... Scotty, Brian and Tommy, and a few others that called him "Silver Dollar Dave". Dad was big on giving Christmas gifts of unusual currency. First it was the big silver dollars. He gave them instead of paper money because he knew that few of them would be spent. When the silver dollars became hard to find, he switched to two dollar bills, then to Sacajawea gold dollars, then to packs of ones. Last Christmas, it was dollar coins. And every year, the packaging had to be interesting too. Tall olive jars, little gold baskets, or fancy gift boxes. Gifts from Dad were creative inside and out. There had to be something special wrapped in something special. Dad always made life interesting at every turn and he did it for everyone who's lives he touched.

==========

From time to time, the family would grow a little. There was the "Jerry" era when Jerry Smuzynski, who was the same age as Bob, would deliver papers early in the morning. After his paper route, he would come to the house and join us for breakfast before heading off to school.

Darrell was another addition. He was like a little brother to us and Dad would spend hours with him.

Michelle lived with Mom and Dad for a time, then Brian took a turn.

Tim also spent a few weeks at the house and got to know Mom and Dad as family. Amy and Kiersten grew up with Mom and Dad in their lives because I was always 'over there'.

Mom and Dad adopted Chad as a son and grandson all at the same time. Chad's favorite photo says it all. When Chad went to the University of North Carolina, I remember Dad sitting in his corner chair writing letters to Chad on cash register paper... yards of it! He would roll the paper back up and send it to Chad in a box.

Lisa came into their lives and it was a special relationship from the start. Christmas meant sitting in the sleigh, the reindeer and the glowing inside tree. She has her own Christmas Stocking that is her favorite part of Christmas morning.

==========

Dad had no real vices except working long hours. Dad never smoked although Mom did until the early 60s. I can remember the tin ashtrays with the beanbag bottoms sitting around the house -- but there were no ashes lying around... or dust either. The house was always clean. Mom promised to quit if Bob and I promised to never start smoking. I guess we agreed to the promise but smoking was never appealing to either of us so that was an easy win! Mom quit cold-turkey and never smoked again. Dad always made a point of saying how proud he was of her for quitting and sticking to it.

Dad never drank except for a beer once in a while. Miller High Life was his beer when he did have one. It was bitter to me... never liked it. He never drank hard liquor that I can remember. The closest he got was his "Slush" at Christmas time. He was rather famous for his frozen whiskey sours making two or three big batches at every Christmas. Dad would make at least one batch for me to take home every year. When I'd be up late at night working on some computer problem, I'd get my slush container out of the freezer and wake everyone up shaving the ice into a glass with a big metal spoon. In all the years that Dad made his whiskey sours, he never wrote down his recipe. Wayne Raile is the only person we know of to have had it. So I can't wait for Wayne to perfect it. Christmas time would be the perfect time to do taste tests !

==========

Dad was about getting the job done -- no matter what. After we built the house in Middletown, Maryellen, Lisa and I were away, it was one of our longer trips over two weekends... Yellowstone I think. I had asked Dad to mow the lawn with the riding mower. It was a fairly easy job with the rider and he had a key to the house so I didn't think the request to be too difficult to pull off. When we arrived home, the lawn was mowed and all seemed well. We called to let Mom and Dad know we had arrived home safely and Dad mentioned that he couldn't get the key to the garage to work. So I asked how he got the riding lawn mower out of the garage. He said he didn't use the rider. After the key wouldn't work, he drove home, got his own push-mower, lifted it into the trunk of the '86 Chevy, drove back to Middletown and use it to mow the 3/4 acre lawn. Dad always seemed to have a plan "B".

In 1961, the family moved into the 'homestead' after only six years on Tennessee Avenue. Of course, this was an exciting time for all of us but especially for Dad. The new house was full of possibilities. He was upset that the foundation was dug square to MacArthur Drive rather than angled toward the intersection. Dad wanted room to add a garage to the side of the house later when the family finances had improved. But the builder set the house so that there was no room for the garage. Not giving in, he turned sure disappointment into some quick wheeling and dealing. Dad was able to negotiate the garage behind the house instead of alongside like all the other homes, a connecting roof and concrete floor, and the circular driveway. From that new configuration came the breezeway that he was so proud of, and the handmade patio with concrete circles and a wall made of pink and white quartz. He made sure his boys were involved helping him mix concrete and giving us each our own circle with hand and footprints captured in 1965.


===========

In October last year, Dad's struggles became more intense when he had severe pain between his shoulder blades. Whatever the cause of the pain, he was in the right place -- the Christiana ER. He experienced ventricular fibrillation.. an uneven heartbeat that leads to immediate unconsciousness. Bob and I were there with him and we called out for help. Within seconds, there were over 20 people crowded around the bed working on Dad. Two minutes of manual CPR with no results, they resorted to the defib paddles. That did it. He was back and fighting to get off the bed to go home. He was sedated and sent to the ICU where he stayed for three days -- including the breathing tubes. Towards the end of this ordeal, I remember Dad trying to communicate with the tubes down his throat. He was becoming frustrated because he couldn't speak to me even though I was only inches away. I suppose my face showed my helplessness. He saw that I was getting upset and he did an amazing thing --- he settled down, smiled as best he could and gave me a wink to say that everything would be okay.

He did the very same thing last Sunday night.

==============

Building, creating, teaching... That has to be his legacy. Building not only four lane highways, countless neighborhood roads, parking lots, quartz walls and concrete patios, but creating men from boys. He did it with his sons and grandchildren and he did it for countless other boys through scouting. An amazing leader, he was able to organize hundreds of people over the years to do better, do more, and take action.

His life was bigger than life.

He was a hero in every respect.

He was my Dad.

Frank L. Davis

February 9, 1923 – June 3, 2007

Frank L. “Dave” Davis, peacefully died on Sunday, June 3. He was 84.

Mr. Davis was born in Greenford, OH on February 9, 1923. He was the son of Leona Seubert and Harvey L. Davis, a clay miner, of Canfield, OH, and one of seven children. Frank is survived by the youngest and the eldest, his sister, Wilda Weaver (75) of Evansville, IN, and brother, Raymond Davis (90) of Syracuse, NY.

Mr. Davis lived a simple, yet extraordinary life. As a young man, he skillfully earned money for the family by trapping pelts for Sears & Roebuck and delivering the Grit newspaper. He graduated from Canfield High School in 1940 and was employed by the Erie Railroad as a plumber’s helper before enlisting in the U.S. Army's newest unit, the airborne infantry, in November 1942.

Mr. Davis was assigned to the 502nd Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101^st Airborne Division. Injured on his third qualification jump, he was reassigned to Company "A", 506th PIR following his recuperation. On June 6, 1944 – D-Day, he jumped into Normandy in support of the Allied invasion of Europe. On September 17, he participated in Operation Market Garden parachuting into Holland near Son. On December 19th in Belgium while leading his squad to destroy a German 88 anti-aircraft battery, Staff Sgt. Davis was severely wounded. Recovered by Corpsmen and evacuated to the 101st Division Field Hospital, he was captured by German forces when the hospital was overrun in the opening hours of the Battle of the Bulge. Transported into Germany, he was held in captivity for 99 days and pressed into forced labor repairing bomb-cratered roads and recovering civilian casualties from destroyed buildings. Locked in a cattle car for eight days by retreating German forces, he was freed by a tank squadron from Patton's 3rd Army. After a brief stay in a Paris hospital, Mr. Davis returned home to be reunited with his family and a long recovery. Mr. Davis was awarded the Purple Heart with One Oak Leaf Cluster.

While a Prisoner of War, Axis Sally read Sgt. Davis' name and hometown over shortwave radio in a propaganda broadcast that was heard by amateur radio monitors here in the States. His family received dozens of comforting penny post cards telling them this news, the first news of Sgt. Davis in over four months. The generosity of these people inspired Mr. Davis to begin a research project to identify as many short wave monitors as possible. Working together throughout the 1990's, Mr. and Mrs. Davis catalogued 429 monitors who were true Homefront Heroes. This research will be finished by the family and will be gifted to a national museum.

On August 15, 1945, V-J Day, while celebrating America's victory over Japan in the streets of Cleveland, Ohio, Mr. Davis met the love of his life, Clara Gugino. It was a storybook romance that began with a fateful kiss and endured for more than 60 years. They married in Fredonia, NY on May 4, 1946. Mrs. Davis passed away in July, 2006.

Under the GI Bill, Mr. Davis attended Tri-State College in Angola, IN, served as President of the Civil Engineering Society and earned B.S. degrees in Civil Engineering and Administrative Engineering. Upon graduation, Mr. Davis and his young bride moved to Newport, DE to work for The DuPont Company at the Engineering Department's temporary facilities over the Diver Chevrolet building on Delaware Avenue in Wilmington. A year later, he opted to work outdoors, and for the next 39 years served as a civil engineer for the Henry C. Eastburn and R.A. Boyer construction companies. Mr. Davis was the sole civil engineer for the 11-mile stretch of U.S. Route 1 between Dewey and Bethany beaches as well as the Valley Forge / U.S. 202 interchange. He also led the re-building of the Bethany Beach jetties after the March 1962 "Nor'easter." In 1961, Mr. Davis was granted a U.S. patent for inventing a “Rocket to the Moon” game board.

Mr. Davis was a dedicated community leader. In 1965, he volunteered as Cub Master of Pack 88 in Newport, rebuilding the Pack from 18 boys to 81 over the next six years. Moving to Boy Scouts with his sons, and with his loving encouragement, both sons became Eagle Scouts. Noting the absence of a memorable Eagle award ceremony, Mr. Davis designed and built a 9' eagle ceremonial display and traveled throughout the Del-Mar-Va region, making Eagle award ceremonies special occasions for 101 young men. For his exceptional service to scouting, Mr. Davis was awarded the Order of the Arrow Vigil Honor and the Silver Beaver Award. Mr. Davis also served on the Krebs School Board in Newport and later as President of the Conrad Area School Board from 1968-1972. Friends in the Newport community know Mr. Davis by his handmade Christmas display of Santa's sleigh, eight reindeer and Rudolph with the blinking red nose arranged in the front yard for the last 43 years. Many children will always cherish their photos taken while sitting in the sleigh.

Mr. Davis is survived by his two sons and their families, Robert L. and Carol Davis, of Bear, DE, and their children, Christopher L. and Leslie Davis, both of Sylvania, OH, Michelle L. Davis, of Houston, and Brian C. and Anne Marie Davis, of Fallston, MD; and John M. and Maryellen Davis, and Lisa M. Rickert, of Middletown, DE, and Chadwick Boyd, of Atlanta. Mr. Davis has written of his military experiences and favorite stories for a book he calls "Caged Eagle". The family will complete this work in his memory.

Funeral services will be held on Saturday, June 9, at the DOHERTY FUNERAL HOME, 3200 Limestone Road, Wilmington, DE 19808. The family will receive visitors at 11:30 a.m., with a memorial service to follow at 12:30 p.m. Mr. and Mrs. Davis will be eternally reunited during a committal ceremony with full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery on June 25 at 2 p.m.

In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations to the Del-Mar-Va Council of the Boy Scouts of America – www.delmarvacouncil.org or 801 N. Washington Street Wilmington, DE 19801-1597.

To send condolences, visit www.dohertyfh.com or call (302) 999-8277.