This is the beginning of a history for a prominent family whose patriarch, a strong-willed civic leader who used his church pulpit to further his social ideals, succumbed in a very public way.

Rev. Paul Davis

It was unseasonably warm, as Rev. Paul E. Davis stood at the altar, dabbing at his brow with an already soaked handkerchief, a testament to the passionate delivery of his just-completed sermon.

Before him, just yards away, his flock of 300 parishioners was equally uncomfortable, men tugging at their collars as women fanned themselves with church bulletins. Choir members, looking splendid in their shiny, navy blue robes, shifted their weight from foot to foot as they tried to collect cool pockets of air in the billowing folds of their garments.

“And now the choir will lead us in Jesus Is Tenderly Calling Thee Home,” said Rev. Davis in a voice that had receded to barely a whisper, a sharp contrast to the bombast that rattled the stained-glass of the sanctuary just moments earlier.

Rev. Davis took a seat as the clear, powerful voices of the best altos, best sopranos and best tenors in town rose in unison and swept over a congregation clearly in need of a cool respite. Rev. Davis smiled softly, the repose of a man of God clearly at peace with himself, then slumped gently to his side.

There he remained, through the first stanza, then the second.

Sensing something was amiss, one member of the congregation slipped to the pastor’s side and quickly summoned for another. Within seconds, a half-dozen parishioners were at his side, doctors all.

That is how the Rev. Paul E. Davis died. But even as his assistant closed the service moments later, it was obvious people would not soon forget him.

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