Pieced Together: Lucy Belle Friddle Davis and George Washington Davis

There is a photograph on my wall, taken from an airplane sometime in the last century: a white-roofed brick farmhouse, a dark stand of oaks, plowed fields running off in every direction, and a dirt road going by. It was the home George and Lucy Davis built, and it reached my wall the way nearly everything of theirs has reached me — hand to hand, mother to daughter, down through the women of my family until it eventually made its way to me.

I never met them. George died in 1963 and Lucy in 1974, both before I was born. What I have of them is a stack of documents, a handful of photographs, two long remembrances their daughter Martha wrote, the memories of my grandmother and my mother, and some photos of quilts. So this is not a story I remember. It is one I pieced together — which, given how these two spent their lives, feels like the only honest way to tell it.

The home George and Lucy built near Piedmont — the photograph that hangs on my wall.

Let me start where they started.

Grandma Betty

Grandma Betty and me
Christmas 1977

I have struggled a lot with how to start this blog post.  First, I realize it has been over two years since I have written a post.  Since my last post about my maternal grandfather's death, the world has completely turned upside down - in more ways than one.  Because of the pandemic, I am now primarily working from home, and I have been relocated by the law firm where I work from their Spartanburg office to their Greenville office.  This means that on days when I do have to go into the office, my commute is now about 20-25 minutes versus the 35-40 minutes that it was for almost nine years.  That extra 10-15 minutes makes a huge difference!

But even more recently, the life of every single member of the Foster side of my family was rocked to the core when we - somewhat suddenly - lost our matriarch, my Grandma Betty, on March 9, 2022.  My last living grandparent is now gone.

Pa-Pa Vealon

Elbert Vealon Foster
June 16, 1930 - January 14, 2020

This past Tuesday, January 21, my family and I celebrated the life and mourned the death of my maternal grandfather, Elbert Vealon Foster (or Elbert Veland Foster, or Vealon Elbert Foster, depending on which document you are looking at).  He had fought cancer successfully twice before, but this most recent diagnosis (sadly and ironically delivered to him on his last birthday - June 16, 2019) took him from us.

Introductions

For my very first blog post, I thought it would only be appropriate to introduce you to some of the people who helped to make me who I am - literally.  Meet my ancestors (and a few cousins and aunts and uncles).  Well, some of them, at least.  The background image of this blog consists of a photo collage of many of the people who made me...me.  All four of my grandparents, who I was so incredibly blessed to have with me until my adulthood, are captured in these photos.  Many of my great-grandparents are here, and their parents and grandparents.  Oh, sure - I never even met many of them.  The majority of the people in these photos were long gone before I was even a twinkle in my parents' eyes.  But without them, I would not be who I am today.  I wouldn't be anybody at all!  They were and are resilient, strong, hard-working southern folks.  So it is my desire to remember and to honor them - to tell their stories so that they become much more than names, dates and records in my family tree.  That will all unfold eventually, but for now, please allow me to make some brief introductions:

Meet my ancestors.  Well, some of them, at least.

Top row, left to right:

1. My 2nd great-grandparents Columbus Cromwell Foster and Tecora Savilla Bryant Foster holding their sons Columbus Ransom Foster (my great-grandfather) & William Kenneth Foster.
2. My great-grandparents Ruth Beatrice Davis and Luther Earl Garrett with their three oldest children - Luther Earl Garrett, Jr., Betty Louise Garrett (my maternal grandmother), and Carroll Charlie Garrett.
3. Four generations of Parham men - standing in the back from left to right: James Jackson Parham, Jr., Early Artis Parham, and James David Parham (my great-grandfather).  The young boy standing in front is James David Parham, Jr., my paternal grandmother's older brother.
4. My 3rd great-grandmother, Elvina Mauldin Black.
5. My maternal grandfather, Vealon Elbert Foster, and his older sister Margaret Florine Foster (later Limbaugh).  "Aunt Margaret" was also a family historian, and her work was a springboard for a lot of my research.

Middle row, left to right:

1. My paternal grandfather, Everett Frank "Pee Wee" Powell, with one of his older brothers, James Edward "J.E." Powell, Jr. and their father (my great-grandfather) James Edward Powell.
2. My 3rd great-grandparents, Allen Aaron Jones and Corel Cymbaline Martin Jones. They were ages 19 and 17 when they got married.  Judging by how young they look in this picture (and the absence of children), I believe this may have been their wedding photo.
3. My 2nd great-grandfather, George Washington Davis.  "Grandpa Davis" owned a large dairy farm in Piedmont, South Carolina.
4. This beautiful lady is my precious maternal grandmother, Betty Louise Garrett Foster.
5. Sitting on top of the car are my great-grandmother, Annie Mae Jones Parham, an unidentified family friend, and my precious paternal grandmother, Eva Alma Parham, in a bonnet.  The license plate on the front of the car says 1929.

Bottom row, left to right:

1. William Jefferson King, my 3rd great-grandfather.
2. My father's older half-sister, Bonnie Rose Bryant, who died in infancy in Elberton, Georgia.  I never knew about Bonnie's existence until after my grandmother's death in 1996.
3. My great-grandmother, Lois W. Bell Powell, who died at age 32 during childbirth after already having given birth to seven children.
4. My precious paternal grandmother (again), Eva Alma Parham Powell.
5. My 2nd great-grandparents, Andrew Paul Black and Elvie Lenora King Black.

More on these folks will come later, I promise!

Next Post