Photography

ROGER W DAVY

March 11, 1937 ~ November 5, 2020 (age 83)

Obituary

Davy-Roger W. Davy was born on March 11th, 1937 In Tillamook, Or. Pre-deceased by His Wife, Nancy Davy. Survived by His only Sister, Valerie Davy Patchen, Walla Walla, WA also His Son, David Davy, his son and daughter-in-law, Larry and Christy Davy, Enterprise, Oregon; daughter, Merrillyn Davey, Costa Mesa, California; daughter and son-in-law, Cynthia A. (Davy) Calcagno and Dino Calcagno, Joseph, Oregon; and by 5 grandchildren, Matthew, Leah, Abby, Davy, Preston Davey and Blake Davey; and 3 great-grandchildren.

Roger Davy entered the world in beautiful Tillamook, OR.  Early on, his love for the country and old trucks was established by frequent visits to his Grandparents Farm.  His Grandpa Joe Williams, began his day with milking 12 cows, he would then deliver it to the local daries; upon return he would carefully cleanse the milk cans turning them upside. Only then, would begin his day working at the local saw mill. Roger loved spending his childhood following Grandpa around the farm.  Grandpa Joe Williams had a kind, and thoughtful spirit. One day he saw a young man walking down the road looking very discouraged, and Roger’s Grandpa stopped to ask him where he was going? The young replied, “I don’t know where I am going.”  Roger’s Grandpa Joe invited him home for breakfast.  Ed became part of the family.  He worked for Grandpa for many years, before leaving for the War. 


 

 Roger, as very little boy, loved going inside his Grandpa’s old barn, climbing into his truck, Roger would make truck motor noises, and pretend his was driving.  Later on, when Roger was about 10 years Grandpa, told him if you can fix up this old Model T, you can have it.  The challenge was on and Roger got it running in short order, he was a natural mechanic. He would sneak it out of the garage and drive up and down Hawthorne St in Portland, and then return it back to the garage.  


 

Our Father was handsome, had charisma, The It factor, he was cool before it became a word, he had empathy, wisdom, he was naturally talented in multiple mediums, incredibly creative.  I don’t ever remember a topic he couldn’t pick up on and carry a conversation.  He could custom build, and paint show cars, and show choppers.  He could para-glide in Mexico, and stock car race in Portland by the Old Waddles Restaurant.


 

When he first arrived in our Lives, he followed us home from Church.  I was little 3 years old, and I looked at the back window and said, “Mom there is a man following us home,” she replied with a chuckle, “Really?”  He came to visit us, bringing Captain Crunch cereal; a huge treat for three little Children.


 

They got married and our home began to fill up with his motorcycles, race cars, custom show cars, custom choppers, B.B King Records, Tom Jones, Englebert Humperdinck, Johnny Cash, Herb Albert, and so many others.  My sister and I would sing these songs on the way to church, as we slid in sideways to the parking lot.  Still singing out, “Hit the Road Jack, and don’t you come back no more no more no more.”  Other time, “These boots were made for walking, and that’s just what I’ll do...”Our Father was cool and good looking and two little girls riding in his back seat knew it!  He belonged to us.  And to this very day, our favorite music is the music of our Father’s old LPs.


 

It wasn’t long before a Motor Cross Racetrack was carved out in our backyard on the farm he bought us in Estacada, Oregon.  He used his tractor to create a beautiful Motor Cross track.  It had jumps and tight corners, twists and turns.  It passed in front of our old barn that they turned into a concession stand.  Hot dogs, candy, pop, old couches scattered around.  We loved it.  My SDA Grandma Miriam Merrill sold tickets at the gate for the riders that came; my brother Larry worked the yellow flag in the corners if anyone crashed to slow down.  My Dad Roger to the starting flag and finish flag.  I remember being very young and watching my Father amazed, I was so proud of Him.  He was the second man in my life; the first was my brother Larry.  I adored them both and felt like I was safe.


 

My sister Merrillyn and I would climb the trees in the field and look at all the riders below.  He bought my sister and I a mini bike, Larry had a motor cycle and we would race around our own private Motor-cross track.  One day, Dad came home with a donkey; my understanding was he had been in the circus.  We jumped up on him, and he took off like a race horse for the corner of the field, put his head down and threw us off the front.  Time and again, the donkey did this, so we decided the only safe was to ride him with a Helmet on!


 

We never knew what kind of car we would be riding in when dropped off at Portland, Adventist Academy.  Sometimes it was a car he was working on with no windows in one side, and he would throw some plastic up over it, slide us to the front steps of Hoodview Academy, with the speed of a race car taking a corner and then yell out, “GOODBYE MERRILLYN AND CINDY!!”  All our friends staring at what had just rolled in.  He was hysterically funny.  Not so funny, when you are pre-teen.


 

Larry and Dad rode horses together; they raced Desert Races together, Motor-Cross races together.  They talked old cars together.  When Merrillyn was beginning to drive, at her own initiate, we siphoned gas out of Dad’s lawn mower (Merr telling me to suck the hose,) we then transferred it over to her VW Baja Bug and off we went.


 

I remember she had a white steering wheel, she and I piled in, cranked the old radio to the theme song to the TV show of Laverne and Shirley; she jammed her foot on the peddle heading straight over Dad’s Motor-cross jump in the back yard at the farm!  We screamed with laughter our heads smashing into the ceiling of the Baja bug as we were air born.  Our Dad could never figure out where his lawnmower gas was going.


 

Our Father worked on his cars in our basement, I remember sitting on the stairs watching him, and I loved the smells of grease, oil, gas.  I used to want to be so near him, so I would gather nuts, bolts and washers from the floor around and put them in a can.


 

We would ride for hours into the hills of our farm, on horses sometimes with our childhood neighbor Miriam; we would explore caves, old cabins, mining camps, logging camps, swim in a creek with a hollow tree that had honey and bee combs inside.


 

It was our Father Roger, who gave us this life, it was his back bent long hours of old cars fixing and painting them, that provided for our little family.  How rich we were!


 

I’ve been around many wealthy and successful people but I have never been around a man as generous, rich, handsome and wise as our father.  As we grew up into the phase when boys started coming around, often times we girls got eclipsed a bit by our boyfriends loving our father more.  It was awesome, we all gravitated to him.  To this day, Larry Pestes, Dennis Miracle and others all wanted to keep in touch with our Father.


 

There are Giants of Grace in our land, our Father stood among these Giants.  I used to reach over to hold his hand during church, i felt like it was our connecting time, I was about five years old.  I traced the lines of grease in his palm, i understood that they were there for us, he was providing for us.


 

Going forward to the last week in his life, God gave my sister and I a window to speak words of love back into this noble man’s life.  God had impressed me many years ago, that any time I caught a window with my father; I was to speak into his life anything I would say in a Eulogy. 


 

I jumped at the Chance!  I only had 4 chances...


 

“Dad, I love you so much.  I am so grateful for the gift of you in our lives.  Your entire family adores you, every single one of us would be at your side if we could.  Dad, thank-you for marrying our Mom, selling your motorcycle, buying us a farm to grow up on, working hard bent over cars, Dad remember when we held hands in church, “Yes Cindy.”  Thank-you Dad for the grease in your fingers, Dad your bad back now is because you bent over all those cars, working for us.  Dad, you were a man’s man...I always wanted to grow up and marry someone just like you.  Dad, when you feel grumpy, because you are hurting let’s try to practice replacing it with gratitude statements.  If someone comes in to clean the toilet, wash the floor, change you IV, bring you food, clean your bedding, see them as serving you, and let’s practice gratitude. “Thank-you for risking your life to clean my room, (he had Covid), Dad, lets thank those that serve you for everything that comes through your door.  Dad can I buy you anything for comfort, and can I buy you socks, “Yes, I want black crew socks, “Dad, do you need fresh underwear. “Yes, Fruit of the Loom size 38.”  “Dad can I send you soft clothes for a fresh change?  “Yes.”  “Dad, look for the lessons in suffering, you will find gold in the midst of your own private pain.”  “Yes, Cindy.”


 

“Dad, the Bible says Jesus learned patience through the things that he suffered.”  This lap in your race he wants to gift you with patience, “yes, yes, that is right.”  “Dad, I am your girl for anything you need...Dad let me know.”  Yes what is your phone number?”  Dad, Dad, Dad...words, and more words, love, love and more love showered on this Giant man of Grace in my life.  


 

Dad, “Thank-you for ADOPTING three young Children”...


 

“Dad, I am sending you a care package.”


 

Dad, Don’t every feel you have any less value to us now; your Value and importance to our family is higher than any prior point in your life.  You are the “leader of our Band.”  Dad, we need you.”


 

“I know Cindy.”

 

“Dad you don’t have to be strong and independent anymore.  God is weaning you to himself.”


 

“Yes, Cindy.”


 

Me flying to find what he needed, praying “Dear God, please give me the Honor of serving him, the Great Joy of serving him.”


 

Dino and I wanted to bring him home to live with us, after he was Covid Free, we wanted him to live with us.


 

DAD....Roger W. Davy. My own private Hero.  Our Family Hero, our Dad.


 

God surrounded him with a team of grace, Larry, Christy, our beautiful sister Merrillyn, our cousin Genelle Patchen Pebbles, all the grandchildren, teams of medical professionals from Enterprise, CDL, Sandpoint Idaho, Bonners Ferry, Spokane, Walla Walla, and Beyond, Andrew, Abby’s husband, and countless Prayer Warriors.  A spiritual football team of Giants of Faith, my sweet sister Merrilly calling everyone for the family.  Neighbors who drove them this way and that way...


 

God pulled out a cloud of witnesses to surround our Dad in love.  Now, he went to rest, awaiting the Trumpets of God to call him forth to meet His Savior.


 

Lift me to you, dear Jesus.  We will trust you alone,  in this time of parental loss, we will trust in the Trail Breaker.  We did not arrive at this day of losing two parents within a week and two days, of each other without our Heavenly Trail Breaker going ahead of us.  God knows no haste or delay, no confusion.  He got to this day ahead of us, and He has waited for our little family to arrive behind him our family will trust the Keeper of the Stars, we will collectively reach for His hand in the dark.


 

Sleep well, rest...well Dear Hero of ours.  Our own Private Thomas Jefferson.  Our...Dad, Roger W. Davy who had the Grace, Love and generosity to adopt three children.


 

He has passed the Baton of Faith, in the race of our lives.  


 

Hebrews 11 


 

Cindy, Larry, Merrillyn


 

 

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