“Now, who is this, again?” Ardith asked, not recognizing the name or the voice of the caller. She not only wasn’t expecting a phone call, but was understandably tired, after having expended a great deal of time and effort in putting together an event for the newly established singles ministry at church.

“Why, it’s Quentin Davis, we met last night at church,” the caller repeated. “Remember?”

And suddenly, through no fault of her own, Ardith was thrust into a quandary. How to reply to the caller? Risk hurting his feelings, by confessing to having no memory of their encounter? Or offer a white lie, which somehow seemed compounded due to its genesis being rooted in a shared ecumenical experience?

If you know Ardith Davis, it will not surprise you to find that she told the truth. Likewise, you’ll not be surprised that she was able to assuage any damaged feelings sufficiently enough for the young man to continue on his mission, namely to ask Ardith to go to the symphony. Apparently emboldened by his success, he continued to call, and within a year they were married, a union which lasted 37 years, until Quentin passed away in 2022.

Hailing from Pikeville, a coal mining town located in eastern Kentucky in the Appalchian foothills, Ardith knew from a young age that she wanted to be a nurse. Having graduated high school in three years, and marrying her high school sweetheart, John, she enrolled in nursing school at age 16 at Good Samaritan Hospital, affiliated with the University of Kentucky. The ensuing three years were especially eventful, as she earned her RN, welcomed her first son David into the family, and moved to Peoria, Illinois when John was transferred. While there, the young family celebrated the birth of their second son, John III. Tragically, Ardith was widowed at age 40.

Fast forward to the years following that fateful night at the church. Quentin, an assistant city manager in Peoria with two daughters himself (Monica and Jessica) had claimed love at first sight, telling anyone within earshot that he had known right away that he was going to marry her. And when he got an offer from the City of Cincinnati to become its Economic Director, Ardith was thrilled, as it allowed her to move back to Kentucky.

She soon found employment in a hospital that would eventually become part of the St. Elizabeth organization, accepting a position as Director of Women and Children. When she retired, after a 45 year nursing career, she was the System Director for Woman and Children, supervising over 350 employees.

Quentin, upon retiring from the public sector, continued to serve as a consultant all over the world, enabling the couple to enjoy many adventures all over the globe. They traveled to numerous countries, and led friends on several international tours. “My faith has always been very important to me,” says Ardith, and she and Quentin participated in multiple mission trips to such places as Haiti and Africa. A particularly satisfying achievement was helping to start a library in Ankaase, Ghana. 

And then there was sailing. Ardith recalls that Quentin was an avid sailor, and had told Ardith early on that sailing was part of the deal. Vacations were often spent near a body of water of sufficient size to allow the couple to pursue their maritime meanderings. And eventually, their penchant for sailing led them to retire near the Gulf of Mexico, in southwest Florida.

Residing in another community, they heard talk of Pelican Preserve, and it wasn’t long after checking it out that they made the move. “There’s just so much to do here,” Ardith marvels, “and if you’re bored, it’s your own fault!” She almost immediately immersed herself in such activities as water aerobics, art classes, various book clubs and card groups, and served on her neighborhood’s social committee. She was also involved in a community group called “Caring Companions,” a group of residents providing respite care for caretakers who need a break or needing time to run some errands.

A trip to the local flea market with some of her 13 grandchildren and 8 great-grandchildren proved especially eventful, as the youngsters spied a puppy at one of the booths. “Oh, Grandma, you need this dog!” they informed her, and continued to incessantly re-inform her. They were apparently a very convincing crew, as Lexie went home with them that day. Quentin was somewhat less enamored with their new canine companion, and made the mistake of expressing his displeasure to several of his friends. The “friends,” sensing an opportunity to perhaps goad him a bit, were soon recurrently greeting him with “Hi, Quentin! How’s the dog?” Quentin, being perfectly capable of dishing out a razzing himself, could also take it, and he would accept the ribbing with a plaintive but good-natured grin.

“We had a wonderful life together,” Ardith recalls, as she tells me of their last days together. “When you’re thinking about a good memory, it’s often about somewhere you went together, or something you did. We couldn’t have been happier.”

Upon Quentin’s passing, Ardith willingly honored his last request of spreading his ashes in his beloved Gulf of Mexico, and back home in Indiana, in the cemetery where his mother and grandmother were buried. “I miss him every day,” she shared with me, “But the memories will continue to sustain me.”