“He fought the good fight and now he’s in the real Safety Town,” Farrell said.
Chief David VanArsdale said Davis was also an avid motorcyclist and a great cop.
“He wasn’t a street cop,” VanArsdale said. “He was a motorcycle cop.”
“Kids thought Davis was ‘cool,’” VanArsdale said. “That’s his legacy.”
Ernest Howard, a retired Middletown police major and former Monroe police chief, recounted how he and Davis enjoyed playing golf, travelling and riding motorcycles.
He said when the school resource officer position opened up in 1984, Davis was the first choice for the job, but wasn’t certain he wanted to give up his motorcycle. However, he agreed to take the position.
“That started his love affair for children,” Howard said. “He gave his life for the city’s children and adults.”
He also revived Safety Town, which has become a huge success in Middletown.
Jim Malott, who partnered with Davis as a narcotics officer, said Davis “wanted to get drugs off the streets of Middletown” and that he never turned anyone away who needed help. He and Davis received a number of commendations for their work with state and federal drug agencies.
More than 250 people attended the funeral at Towne Boulevard Church of God on Saturday. Davis was buried with police honors at Woodside Cemetery.
Many of the mourners at Davis’ visitation Friday night at the church said they were there because he taught them about school safety during Safety Town. Among them were seven of the nine Middletown Police Explorers, all in uniform. Braden Rauh-Lovejoy said Davis inspired him to join the police force.
“He was such a great man,” said the 16-year-old junior at Butler Tech.
People in line wondered how many lives Davis may have saved through his 26 years as school resource officer and director of Safety Town, a program for kids entering kindergarten.
They repeated a lesson that Davis taught them about bus safety, for some more than 20 years ago: “Big Yellow Fellow. Seat on Seat. Back on Back. Feet on Floor. And Hands on Lap!”
Two members of the Middletown Police Honor Guard, their badges covered with black tape, kept watch with bowed heads at both ends of the casket.
Several members of Davis’ family stood for more than four hours during the visitation. His widow, Beverly, sat on a stool in front of the casket. The line of mourners sometimes stretched out of the front door of the church.
Flo Randall, one of Davis’ close friends, wasn’t surprised by the large crowd. She said wherever Davis went, he touched the lives of young people. When Randall worked in the athletic office at Middletown High School, Davis often stopped by and just as often forgot his hat.
Then students would hide his hat.
“He was the perfect person for that job,” she said. “He just had a love and a passion.”
About the Author