Frank Davis had a 'Naturally N'Awlins' way of lifting spirits

 In Dallas or Atlanta or any other sterile American burgh where culture is measured by how many Taco Bells are razed to make way for a toll road leading into a gated office park with a 10-story parking garage fronted by a man-made waterfall splashing over fake Styrofoam rocks, Frank Davis would have been a speckled trout out of water – a Ninth Warder with a bridge to nowhere.

Maybe it's the river water or the crawfish or the coffee and chicory, but in New Orleans, culture means God, family, Saints, food and music – a five-horse, "Naturally N'Awlins" superfecta whose 1-2-3-4-5 order can be scrambled at times without hurting the chances of cashing a winning ticket.

Frank Davis, WWL-TV's beloved everyman, died Dec. 9 at 71 of a rare autoimmune disease. He left us all at his teeming banquet, feasting on the memories he graciously left behind.

Davis was "Naturally N'Awlins" to his core. He was as smart as they come, but he had the kind of self-deprecating humor that is cherished in a city that does not treat know-it-alls kindly.

"He was just a wonderful human being," said Sally-Ann Roberts, Davis' Channel 4 colleague for decades. "Frankly, my faith tells me that Frank is on that heavenly balcony, cheering us all on. As the old folks would say, 'Frank sent up a lot of good timber.' If Frank had studied medicine, he would've been a stellar doctor. If someone had called on him because there was trouble in the cockpit and we needed someone to fly the plane, Frank would have done it and taken it in for a landing."

Davis had big arms and a bigger heart. When Roberts lost her husband the day before Thanksgiving in 2002, Davis came to the funeral and quietly waited his turn to offer his condolences.

"Usually, people are in line and then they move on," Roberts recalled. "Frank had a sixth sense about what people needed. He hugged me for the longest time and told me, 'You're not alone. We're here for you.' That's what I will always remember about Frank."

Bob Weaver, Davis' long-time cameraman and fellow parishioner at St. John of the Cross Church in Lacombe, said being with the man in front of the camera was a life lesson. So often the camera lens can feed a latent narcissism, transforming the TV "talent" into the king of an alternate universe. Davis, on the other hand, was never afraid to admit when he didn't know something.

"We'd be heading out to a shoot, and I'd ask, 'OK, Frank, how are we going to handle this?'" Weaver recalled. "Frank would say, 'Hey, like I should know! We'll just make it up as we go along and see what we're getting ourselves into.'"

People who never met Davis but only saw him fish, cook and laugh felt he was their best friend.

"Hey, Frank, where's the fish?" someone would shout at Davis as he and Weaver had their camera set up for a man-on-the-street interview.

"Out in the lake!" Davis would shout back.

"Frank would have a conversation with anybody," Weaver said. "I never saw him shy away or brush off anybody. When we were at lunch, people would come up to him, and I'd just sit there like a bump on a log and eat what I ate. That was fine with me. Frank always took the time not only to talk to people but to listen to people. That was a gift of his."

Davis was that kind sounding board for a 16-year-old at Jesuit High School who wrote him one day in 1992, asking for advice on a broadcasting career and, pushing his luck, requesting an autograph. Davis wrote a lengthy letter back to Dominic Massa, who now is executive producer of special projects at WWL.

"It was a typical fan letter," said Massa, who has kept Davis' reply as an article of faith. "The fact that he took the time to write me a long letter of encouragement helped me with my career. He told me, 'Don't let that y'at stuff fool you. I have English and journalism dripping off every hem, but in order to get the message across, that's how I do it.'"

At Our Lady of Lourdes Parish in Slidell, where Davis and his wife Mary Clare were parishioners for many years, Davis was the weigh-master at the Men's Club's first fishing rodeo, and when the club started a big, fund-raising chicken dinner for the parish, he donated "Frank Davis Bronzing Mix" – part of his seasoning line – to add some zest.

"That's all we put on the chicken," said Craig Oakman, former Men's Club president. "All he wanted was some feedback – 'Did it come out good?'"

After Katrina, Davis may have done his best TV piece ever, and it had nothing to do with making people laugh. He had heard that old friend Pete Fountain had lost his home on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, and he and Weaver were able to track down the music icon in Donaldsonville.

"He did it like a newsman would, but in the Frank Davis mode," Weaver said. "He talked to Pete about losing all his memorabilia. It was a very touching story."

And every year, like clockwork, Davis cranked out the Ash Wednesday stories – "He was very solemn about Ash Wednesday," Weaver says – and the St. Joseph Altar stories.

"I've got to tell you, after awhile, a St. Joseph Altar is a St. Joseph Altar," Weaver said. "But doggone it if he couldn't find something different and bring back a poignant story."

There is something sacred about someone finding his vocation in his work and gathering people around the campfire to lift their spirits. Not many this side of heaven can do that.

"No matter how bad a day you had, he always made you feel good," Weaver said. "It may have been a terrible day in the city of New Orleans, and the news wasn't good, but his piece played toward the end of the show, and that piece made everything OK. It made you forget the troubles you heard in the news block."

Sally-Ann Roberts calls it a gift from God.

"Frank was a living light," she said. "As people of faith, we can learn from his example. When you go into the world, you don't have to quote Scripture to people. People don't care how much you know, as the old people would say, they want to know how much you care. He didn't preach a good sermon. He lived a good sermon."

Weaver was at morning Mass at St. John of the Cross the day after Davis died. After Mass, he chatted with Father Gil Martin, the pastor, about losing the man he probably had spent more waking time with in the last 20 years than anyone else on Earth.

"It's hard to believe that he's gone," Father Martin told Weaver.

"Yeah," Weaver said. "He's going to be missed."

Weaver stood there for 30 to 45 seconds.

"I couldn't speak," Weaver said. "My throat just closed up. I was trying to hold back. Men are not supposed to cry."

Frank Davis' Funeral Mass was celebrated on Dec. 14 at St. John of the Cross Catholic Church, Lacombe. Donations to St. Jude's Children’s Research Hospital may be offered in his memory.

Peter Finney Jr. can be reached at [email protected].