I remember you: Galen Davis was the very best of Du Quoin
A great athlete. A great educator. A great husband and father. A disciplined researcher and archivist. A great writer and poet. All packaged in a warm and infectious smile that was the very best of Du Quoin.
Galen Davis passed away Tuesday morning at the age of 93. The heartbreak is numbing. The loss is historic. Our ability to ever find someone like him is impossible.
Galen Davis, in his own words: "As the shadows of time begin to shade my memories, I turn once again to the thoughts of my youth. These, I cherish. I grasp these memories firmly...reluctant to let them go... for I may not be able to bring them back again.
"The curtain of time slowly moves nearer to closure on the stage of life. I struggle to hold it back. The footlights dim. Reality reminds me that the time that lies ahead falls short of that which lies behind stretching into the dim recesses of my memory. I cannot. I will not let them go They are too precious. Yet, I know I must not delay the clock. It must continue to tick off the seconds, the minutes, the hours until eternity.
"Now, I must search for whatever lies ahead, savoring the vision of crossing the final river and reaching the distant shore. I must be ready. I shall wait for you there."
Once I lock the door to the newspaper at night I tend not to read because I read all day. But, a few years ago, Mr. Davis gave me copies of the typed pages of his life and I have read every word time and time again. All part of a life well-lived, his wisdom, his laughter and THAT smile. Oh, that smile.
The thought of a Du Quoin without him had never crossed my mind. Today, that loss is real and sobering. I am overcome with guilt not having said that all-important last goodbye.
If you believe the notion that "integrity" is doing the right thing even when no one else is around, then you already know Galen Davis.
Galen was the son of a section foreman for the Illinois Central Railroad. During World War II the cramped cockpit of his B-24 bomber seemed roomy compared to the modest home he shared with his parents and five brothers and sisters at 210 East Adams Street for the first 19 years of his life. His older brother and sister were married and had already moved.
To this day, the distinguished gentleman known to generations of Du Quoin residents as simply "Mr. Davis" ranks among the top all-around athletes to wear the red and black.
Starring in football, basketball and track while competing on several of DTHS' greatest teams, Galen earned statewide recognition in all three sports while captaining Southwestern Egyptian Conference championship teams in each. The high fashion striped jerseys of the 1941 football team earned his gridiron teammates the honor of being the "best dressed in Illinois."
He held the long jump record (21 feet, 4 inches) at Du Quoin for 20 years and continued his multi-sport athletics career at Southern Illinois University.
His career as a pilot in the United States Air Corps during World War II is chronicled in the book "Du Quoin's Greatest Generation."
Galen returned to Du Quoin in 1952 after teaching and coaching a short time in Carlinville and later coached football and track. He was also an assistant coach in basketball and baseball, served as athletic director and later became assistant principal. Upon retirement in 1981, Galen began researching the proud history of Du Quoin Indian athletic teams. His Saturday mornings were spent taking notes from the sports pages of the Du Quoin Evening Call to chronicle the town's great teams.
The work would continue as he reassembled the pieces of Du Quoin's history and its greatest educator, the late Paul Hibbs. While Hibbs was his inspiration in education, wife Audrey was the love of his life.
Galen was selected to the Illinois Basketball Coaches Association Hall of Fame in 1984 and would become founder and inaugural inductee into Du Quoin's own Hall of Fame.
His soft-spoken demeanor and captivating smile masked an unprecedented discipline and a demand that we keep the pieces of our history together. He was "old school" and believed that the effort in winning is the honor while the trophy is only the decoration. He is the ballplayer who cared more about the number on the front of the jersey moreso than the name on the back.
He was a fierce competitor, but there was also gentleness. In the hand-typed memoirs of his life he includes this poem called "Miracles."
"God's miracles, some folks would say, were ancient things long passed away. But every hour I see a few -- a velvet rose, bedecked with dew or a trembling newborn spotted fawn and the sun's first finger rays at dawn. Each flowery field and fish-stocked stream fulfills a need in nature's dream--a friend who cares or the bird in flight or the moon and stars that fill the night. I just can't see how some can say that miracles don't occur today."
Knowing Mr. Davis was one of the great privileges of my life. Only once, twice, maybe three times in our lives we come to know such a great man.