End of watch: A salute to a former state trooper and good neighbor

May 4—I had not heard about the death of my neighbor Fred Davis, a retired state trooper who departed this mortal coil in March while wife Margaret and I were traveling in Ireland, until a family member made the offhand comment, "I wonder what they're going to do with Mr. Davis' house."

"You mean after he's passed?" Margaret asked. The startling reply: "You haven't heard? He died a few weeks ago. His obituary was in the newspaper."

I have learned that obituaries of well-respected Haywood residents don't make The Irish Times. And I had missed the obit while skimming two weeks' worth of newspapers after returning stateside; hence the unpleasant surprise learning of the passing of a good neighbor and an even better person.

My connection with Fred Davis goes back 40 years. We first crossed paths during my days as a cub reporter at this publication. Among my beats was "cops and courts," which had me hustling to cover everything from big-rig wrecks in the Pigeon River Gorge to trials on charges from embezzlement and fraud to arson and murder.

It was on the cop beat when I met Fred Davis. I found him likeable, approachable and relatable. He was firm, but fair. While often there is an adversarial relationship between police and reporters covering their work, Fred seemed to understand that I had a job to do — just as he did.

I think it was Davis who convinced this once-young scofflaw that buckling up behind the wheel was not only a law, but a damn good idea. He did so when I raced out to another fatal traffic accident on Interstate 40 and found a scene of mangled metal and a disturbing red smear indicating where an occupant of an involved vehicle had slid across the asphalt after being ejected through the windshield.

"That guy would've lived if he had worn his seat belt," Davis said, pointing at the scarlet stain. Lesson learned, officer. I have faithfully fastened my seat belt ever since.

The gorge is the scene of another significant Davis story. He played a key role in arresting the man charged with gunning down Trooper Giles Harmon in April 1985. Davis stayed awake for 22 straight hours after being on patrol the night of Harmon's murder, when he initially questioned truckers who helped identify a vehicle connected to the crime.

Davis, who eventually did get some sleep before getting back at it, was among officers who apprehended suspect Billy McQueen in the bottom of the rugged gorge two days later, dragging him in handcuffs up the steep, rocky ravine to face justice.

A year later, Davis revealed a softer — yet no-less heroic — side after the death of his daughter, who took her own life using her father's service revolver. Determined to help others avoid the grief and guilt he felt, he formed Parents Against Teen Suicide. PATS became known statewide for its work to educate about signs that someone may be considering suicide.

While there are lots of support organizations and prevention initiatives now, Fred was ahead of his time, choosing to forget taboos about discussing suicide in an effort to help avert future tragedies.

Fred was also a good neighbor. Some years ago, when I thought it a good idea to partner with a forestry student to fell a tree in my backyard, aforementioned tree got stuck in the branches of a nearby oak. Fred showed up minutes later, a come-along in tow, to help safely get the stuck tree to the ground — and keep it off of the nearby road and power lines.

He frequently would let us know when our little dog (now deceased) escaped our fenced-in yard to go scampering across his lawn. He called us when he spotted strange flickering lights in the canopy of our dogwoods, worried that a fire had started. The dancing light was only illumination from our water feature, but we appreciated him letting us know — just in case.

And he was a friend of my late father-in-law, with whom he shared a passion for gunsmithing. The two would trade pointers on sighting rifles and proper loading of gunpowder in bullet casings.

Fred Davis' obituary stated no services were scheduled. It also said, "...he leaves behind a legacy of kindness, generosity and unwavering dedication to making the world a better place."

Yes, he did. Rest easy, Trooper Fred Davis, end of watch March 12, 2024.

Bill Studenc, who began his career in journalism and communications at The Mountaineer in 1983, retired in January 2021 and now writes about life in the mountains of Western North Carolina.