Storytelling Culture featuring Donald Davis

Donald Davis was born in Waynesville, North Carolina, a small town in the mountainous region of western North Carolina. He received a BA from Davidson College, and a Master of Divinity degree from Duke University Divinity School. Davis served as a Methodist minister in High Point, North Carolina for over 20 years before retiring to become a professional storyteller. He has recorded over 25 storytelling albums and written several books. His long career as a teller and his promotion of the cultural importance of storytelling through seminars and masterclasses has led to Davis being dubbed the “dean of storytelling.” He has appeared on National Public Radio, CNN, and ABCs Nightline. Davis is a strong advocate of storytelling, not just the profession, but also storytelling in everyday life. He feels that we connect with one another through the stories that we tell each other across the family dinner table. So meet us all at the table now. 

I'm Lainie and I'm Laura Beth, and we are Steel Magnolias the strength of steel with the grace of a magnolia.

We're here to have uplifting conversations about life in the South. And we've got plenty of room at our table. So pull up a chair. 

Well, good morning, Mr. Donald Davis. Good morning. So good to have you on the show with us. Thank you. So many questions that I have for you. But let's just start with you're a North Carolina guy. Yes. Tell us why do you think the storytelling culture is so strong in Appalachia?

Well, storytelling is strong whenever identity is more important than Fortune.  What I mean by this wherever you live, if you go to a party, if the conversations are about, how's your mama, you know, what are you going to do to that house over there? They're about people and places, then story is very strong in that culture. If you go to a party, and the conversation is about are you going to get a raise next year or can you afford that mortgage? It's about fortune. You're not in a story culture. So you know, in the Southern Appalachian Mountains, we're in an identity culture. The the important question is, who are you? Where do you come from? Who'd you come from? And that's what story is about. And you'll find the same thing, say, in an ethnic neighborhood in New York City. The question is, you know, who are you? Where do you come from? Who do you come from? You won't find it in the suburbs of Atlanta, where everything is going to be about, you know, wages and, and sending kids to college and, and how much of a mortgage we can afford. So that's, that's the that's the watershed right there. And so we find that you find that strong sayl and the down east coast of Maine, you find it across, you know, the lumberjack band of the Upper Midwest, you find in the southern Appalachians, we find it any place where that identity question is the primary question of conversation.

That is remarkable. I have never heard it put that way. But everything you just described makes crystal clear sense. So so what I'm wondering is, do you have any thoughts on if a community moves away from that identity culture? Is there any way to ever rejuvenate it or restore it?

Well, what happened is, you know, one of the biggest migration cycles in this ever happened is that you know, Scots Irish migration cycle coming in in the early 1700s up to the middle 17 hundred's and those were people who were moving to preserve their identity. You know, the bloody wicked English had taken their country and identity is gone. And so when they come with them, what do they bring? They bring all the things that preserve, this is who we are making whiskey in the hollers the same thing. The Scots were doing, you know, up there, and the whole issue about whiskey was not morality. It was about taxation. And so even to this day, who deals with alcohol is taxation, if that's what it's about. So it goes straight back to that sort of battle between the Scots and the English. They're the dances that came, the songs that came, the stories that came, because there's the foodways that came, because those are all the things that define this is who we are. When people move to preserve, when people move as fortune seekers, they don't bring any of those things. They often change their name when they come through migration. You know, at Ellis Island, they Americanized their name, they often make up new stories about where they came from. They often very quickly want to abandon the old language and become, you know, immediate English speakers. Because now, you know, we're seeking are fortunate, we're not maintaining our identity. But if you get, you know, another huge migration cycle that's about a density maintenance is Jewish migration, where you know, where every attempt, and then when we think about slavery, you know, the two ways you enslave people is by taking away from them their ability to seek their fortune, and taken away from them, their identity. That's right. And so that's why story is so important in any slave population, and why preserving, you know, music, preserving food, preserving anything that defines, let's remember who we are, where do we come from? Who do we come from? And so those things are so so really, really important.

It's interesting, one of the things that comes to my mind is and maybe interesting to you, as a former 20 year plus Minister, the wisdom of God, to, in His Word include remembrance is Oh, yeah, yeah. And a lot of the gatherings

and when we come down through, you know, we come to those places in the Old Testament, where you have all these big gaps, in a sense of begat, so and so begat. So what is that about? It's remember who we came from. We come from, where did we come from? And as we follow, especially, you know, those Old Testament stories that come on, and on and on and on, and on and on, again, again, they look back with those identity questions. Were the people of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, were the people who survived in captivity in Egypt, were the people who came from here, who came from those. And so those are so so so important all the way through. So great, and what I'm, and what I'm working either with a business, I want even new employees to learn the stories and the stories maybe 100 years old, of the people who founded that business. Yes. You know, who were the people who started so and so bank in a certain town?

And what was their motivation? Yeah, why?

Yeah, why did they do it? Why did they do it? What were the troubles they had? What were the successes they had? Because that's, that's, that's part of our identity culture. And if you just jump in and say, Okay, let's look at the bottom line, how can we change that you're missing, you know, a whole bunch of what really brings people into a place. Because what brings people what brings you into a place is the feeling of whether you emotionally are appreciated, and whether you emotionally belong there. So, for example, when you go to the doctor, you really need to need two things. One is you need to get well. But the other thing is, you need to tell your story. And if you don't get to tell your story, you're going to go to another practice or you're going to keep coming back again. Because that's that's an equal need. You know, when we when you go to get your car fixed, you want to get stand there and tell your story about how long it's been making this noise when he makes this noise. Who else drives the car? What you think is wrong, things may have nothing to do with fixing the car. But they're our needs, it's our story needs that are just part of the way we're made. Fascinating. Yeah. And if you bring you know you bring, you know, one of the grandchildren brings her new boyfriend home for Thanksgiving. And the way he is in or out, is the way in which he attends to listen to the stories around the table. That's, yeah, if he goes to the other room and turns out a football game, he'll never be back again. But if they sit there, and he asked questions. Well tell me more about weird uncle Ralph. You know, well tell me about that house where your granddaddy lived. It's not there anymore as well. He's in then because see, that's that's the piece emotionally accepting and being being curious about the whole family that wants to be there.

Go. Oh, good. Wow. You're speaking all of our love languages of curiosity and you know, remain present listening. And yeah, this is this is good. I'm loving this.

Well, storytellers like to gather to they like to gather and

yeah, so one of the ways that we found you is from the 50th, annual International Storytelling Festival, right here in our home state in Jonesborough, Tennessee. It's upcoming early October, October 7 through 9th and you are one of the featured storytellers. At that event. Can you tell us a little bit about what makes that event so special?

Oh, it's a it's, well, first of all, it's kind of like a reunion gathering, not just of tellers, but people who love story. And because it's the national festival, people tend to, you know, come from all over the country and around the world, you know, everybody comes from all over the place. And for that reason, it's it's mostly an adult audience, because, you know, when people are flying in from California and, and England and places like that, they tend to be adults, instead of whole families come in. So we have, it's largely an adult audience. And on the one hand, is the easiest audience ever. Because people know why they're there. They love stories. And they're wonderful listeners, on the other hand, is the hardest audience ever. Because people have heard everything, you know, they've heard every body's version of every story. And you can't fool them, you can't trick them. They're wonderful, wonderful listeners. And they're so great to play with. It's, I feel like I'm, you know, throwing out a story like a like a rope to the audience. And they're grabbing the other end of it, and we're pulling it up between us. And we're kind of walking the story back and forth. They may never say anything out loud, but their laughter and their posture, and their silence is just so it's a being in that audience is different from say, listening to a recording, because you're surrounded by people who are who are listening with you. And, and you feel people, people laughing beside you, or you feel people around you with this pause of just deep silence. And it's a very different listening experience, not just for tellers, but also for listeners. So it's a very special event. I've been there 42 years, out of the 50. And, and actually, even though the festival didn't happen for two years, during COVID, my wife and I chose to go to Jonesborough those weekends anyway. Because we wanted to visit the merchants up and down the street, let them know we missed them. And we missed being there. And that we didn't just come to town for our own benefit, that we come to town knowing we come you know, for their benefit as well. I play in a little band during that weekend, the Jonesborough novelty ban, sort of on the side. And so last year, the festival wasn't happening. But on that Saturday, we set up down on Main Street and we played for a while in the afternoon. And then all the merchants had a special event that that afternoon and evening where they stayed open late and had had drinks and tapas in the different shops in town. And so I got to go around and visit and be with people because it's not just about you know, showing up and getting paid and leaving. It's about community. Yeah. So even though we couldn't have, you know, 1000s of people there, my wife and I as two people could go and, and and visit with people have a little family reunion that was very important. I'm actually there every year for the whole week. Every week. There's a teller in residence in Jonesborough, from spring through fall, and I'm always the teller in residence for the week of the festival. Because a lot of people come early, especially people with RVs you know, getting set up having a good time. People want to come to town and shop before the big crowds get there. So in normal weeks, the teller and residents does a high performance at two o'clock each day. And so I do three performances a day. Let's say 11 Two and four, Monday through Thursday, again on Wednesday night, we have a big performance in one of the tents that's already put up. And even though the festival doesn't start until Friday, Wednesday night, we could easily have 1000 to 1200 people there already already on Wednesday night, because they're just getting there for the week of the festival week and ever, the feeling of that time period. What a fun time it makes it. Wonderful.

Now, I'm curious about this bow tie. This seems to be a kind of signature. For you tell us about this bow tie. You seem to always have one. Every every picture of me that's taken from the time I'm like a three year old dressed up for church. I'm always wearing a bowtie. And what are the most influential people in my life and childhood was my uncle Grover. He was my oldest relative. My dad was born in 1901. And Uncle Grover was his oldest brother, and he was born New Year's Day 1885. And that was just my uncle. And I, you know, grew up with him. He was a lawyer who never went to law school just read law and took the bar exam and practiced into his 90s. And he always wore a hand tied Bow tie, and he showed me here, here's the here's my tie for the segment. I just wear that when I'm working said don't have one oh, now because we're just playing. back tonight. I do a recording session to this evening for a show called the apple seed. That is a storytelling program on WBYU radio. So this is the tide tonight will be a pink shirt. And this tie is black with flamingos on it. So be ready. So my uncle Grover taught me how to tie you know, a bow tie and gave me some of the first ones I got. And then right on from then it kind of says, You're here to do something important. But you're different from the ordinary. Yeah. So when I go into the school shows, and they see me they know, I must be there to do something important. But I don't look like the principal or I don't look like any of the teachers. So it's just a different kind of mark. I love it. When I when I'm when I'm signed by by ASL, you know, signers for up for deaf people with audience, their sign, for me is a sign that goes like this. Making the boat Ah, no, that's what they've already invented. To do that precious?

Well, would you be willing to share a little story with our listeners?

Well, let's see. Most of the stories that I have, are, are mostly about 30 minutes long. Okay, but let me see if I can tell you just a little story, a little short story or a little anecdote. 

I went home from school on the first day of school. And that night, we sat down for supper. And my dad looked at me and he said, Well, you went to school today. Did you meet the principal? And the problem with that question was, I didn't know what the word principal meant. So I had no idea whether that met the principal or not. So I said to my daddy, I said, I don't know what is the principal. And he said, well, the principal is the person who is in charge of you at school. And I knew right away who it was. I knew it was Miss Annie Ledbetter. Miss Annie Ledbetter was sort of, you know, substantially built woman. Pants never touched her legs. She had five dresses. She had a Monday dress and a Tuesday dress and a Wednesday dress and Thursday dress and a Friday dress it up every day. You know, her dress just got brighter through the week. And her Friday dress was a red dress. It was sort of this double knitted stuff that could go in and out with the tide. And he had a it had little white stripes on it up and down little white stripes went back and forth. And one day Harris Prevot told her she looked like a big brick building. And she just laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. And you know, it was years before I realized how wonderful it is to start first grade with a teacher who knows how to laugh. But my daddy said No, she's not the principal. She's just your teacher. And I said, Well, she takes care of me. That's all it matters. He said no, the principal doesn't just take care of one group. He said the principal takes care of everybody, all the students and also All the teachers and then I know for sure who it was, Is Miss Calhoun. Miss Calhoun has lived in the lunchroom. We'd never seen her anywhere else. She wore this white uniform. That was the same color as the white government surplus flour we got. And this white, you know, heavy white hair that that was like, you know the guts, same colors, the government surplus lard we got. And every day, she would make homemade yeast rolls. And what you help to us, you got to go on Lilly Aaron, and you could go sneaks through the lunch room, because the show was watching her make yeast robots. She had this huge big stainless steel like a big bowl. And, and I have that bone now, because my mother taught at Hazelwood school, and years later, they were throwing things away, and I rescued that bowl. And it is big, you could bathe twins in it, it is huge. And she would have this big mountain of living yeast dough, and her hands would be down in there. And her hand or her arms were real floppy and her or her hands or arms were the same color as the death See, couldn't tell where the dev stopped and she started. And she'd be going around. And all of a sudden she goes squirt, and a big row of falling the pants squirt big row of fun pan, and she'd fill up a whole pan. And then she'd paint the top with melted government surplus butter and bake them and the Oh, they smell so good from one end of the building to the other. And you know, back then we didn't have breakfast at school. So if a teacher saw a little kid and knew that that little child hadn't had anything to eat, a teacher would say, Sweetheart, go down there and see, Miss Calhoun. And they'd come back in a little while, maybe about 10 o'clock in the morning with a big ole fat hot roll with butter running out of it. And their whole life would be improved after that. And I said It's Miss Calhoun.   My daddy said, No, she's not the principal. She's the lunch room lady. I said, Well, she takes care of everybody. That's how you said the principal was I thought it was our But that said, let me try one more time. See if I could explain it. He said the principal. It's not like he owns the school. But it seems like it.  The principal's not the king of the school. But it seems like it the principal's in charge of the buses, and the playground and the building and all the teachers and all the children. And then I knew for sure who it was. It was Haskell Davis.

Haskell was my daddy's first cousin. And he's the first person we met when we got to school every day. He would stand there and he'd hold the door open with his arm and we go to school under his arm. And as you come under his arm it's a good morning little Davis. Good morning mill little Messer Good morning, little Ratbot, Good morning. A little moody. Good morning, little Morgan. And it's like feel my muscles feel my muscle has to Haskell weighed about 95 pounds. about 93 pounds was red hair and freckles. And he had a skinny as he was he had a bicep that was like a ball bearing. Wow. And we'd reach up but we touch that muscle. It was hard as a rock. And then we behind the shoulder. Because Haskel had the amazing power of multiple locations. He could be in the downstairs boys bathroom, and upstairs in the library at the same time. He could be in the lunchroom, and out where you burn the trash at same time. He was everywhere. And I knew he was the king of the school. Because Haskell was in charge of the throw up compound. They kept it in this big barrel in a in a closet in the hall. And you know, we didn't have 911 If a teacher had trouble, they just opened the door at our high school. And here he had come down the hall with a dustpan full of throw up compound and a little broom with a sawed off sawed off arm on it. And he'd come in and shake that on the offense and get it all up and he's gone. I thought he has got to be the principal. And I said to my daddy, it's Haskell died. And my dad had just laughed and said, No, Haskell’s the janitor said we would call him the custodian, but I would County just can't afford four syllables. And I said, Well, I give up. Who is it? My daddy said it's Mr. Leatherwood,our neighbor I hadn't even seen Mr. Leatherwood of school. I didn't even know he was there. And besides, I thought he already had a title. I thought his title was Larry's daddy. I had no idea he was the principal, said, Daddy, I guess I just got it wrong. I just don't know. I just don't know what you're supposed to call somebody. And he looked to me and he said, No, son, you got it, right. Because you know, if something needs to be done, it doesn't matter who does it. And you also know that everybody you meet in this world just has one of two titles. everybody you meet is either somebody I'm scared of or somebody who might help me. And what you need to do is spend as little time as you can with people, you're scared of as much time as you can, with people who might help you. When I started the first grade, my dad was 50 years old. Because he was 44 when I was born, but he was old enough to have a lot of wisdom that you know, the the 27 year old daddy's never had.

Yeah. So good. I love it. Thank you for sharing that. Thank you. Thank you precious.

It's a good question to ask your child though, on the first day, because if they've met the principal that tells you a lot.

We live on Ocracoke Island, our principal actually lives right up the street from us, and she has a little boy. And when before he started to school when he was in preschool, the report came home one day that that that he had he had Nicholas had shoved a boy at school. And so So Leslie said, Nicholas, did you shove somebody at school? And he said, Yes. And and she said, Did you shove him first? He said, No, I shove Brian first and I shove Jimmy after that. When they were asking about he was about the fourth one he had just so stories come from everywhere.

That's hilarious. That is so great.

Ocracoke Island. Yep. never gotten to the Outer Banks. But

oh, it's wonderful hideout. You know, we're on the road. Well, this trip is six weeks long. And then we're home for a week. And then we go out for another six week trip. We've been through 11 State 12 states on this trip so far. And so when we go home going to Ocracoke, since we get on the ferry, it's like a time machine. It's, you know, three hours on the ferry. And then we disappear into a little community, we have a wintertime population of between six and 700 people. And, and you know, you don't pass they're on the way somewhere, you know, so it's our quiet, disappearance place to be there. And the people live there don't care what I do when I go off into the world. So I'm good when I get home.

Do you still hear a high titer brogue there a little bit?

It's really disappearing, you know, television is what's bringing the end, because television is a stronger speech influence on kids than their grandparents are. So it's hard to find somebody say, pretty much under the age of 60, who really has that brogue left, though, you know, the kids in school are are always learning about the importance of their language. But the television influence is so strong, and you know, all over our country. That's what's happening. The the regional accents are so disappearing completely, because that that we have that national influence instead of local influence as kids growing up.

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So true. Yeah, they even did a small piece here in Nashville recently that showcased different news anchors from about the early 80s until today, and you can hear the difference in their dialect and how much it changed. It's just really fascinating. Well, you've lived in other areas of North Carolina as well. Are there any other favorite places in your home state that you like? You know, I grew up there in the mountains in Waynesville, my family actually came into that part of the world from Scotland and Wales in the middle 1700s. And I still have family and relatives there. Then I went off to college at Davidson College, and I went to graduate school at Duke. And then as a Methodist minister, I lived in Lexington and High Point, way back in the mountains in Cherokee County, the last little county in the tail end of North Carolina, then in Charlotte, and then back in High point before I retired, so Ocracoke is the only place in the east end of North Carolina. That's extreme east end. So here and there, and there's no other state, you know, to me like North Carolina, because it's my family home for four generations. Yeah, that's the place.

Such very beautiful landscape. There.

It is. It is.

Well, you're also we have listeners all over. So for any of our listeners that are in these areas, I wanted to mention, you're going to be at the Athens, Alabama Storytelling Festival in October 18 to 22nd. That is a wonderful festival. Good, good, well, and then you're even going to be in Midland, Texas at the Midland Storytelling Festival, December 1 through third.

And this week, I'm in Lehi, Utah for the Timpanogos Storytelling Festival, which is the other festival that's probably, you know, as large as the Jonesborough festival. The count things differently, because here, there's a lot of outreach to schools where we come we're early, the festival really starts Thursday night, but I have things starting tonight, and then tomorrow, as we go on through the week. And this is a wonderful festival as well. They're they're just all over the place. Wow.

Well, now your full schedule, we'll put in our show notes at where everybody can see the full schedule, because you're even in North Carolina at libraries and different

things like that. We're gonna have to make it to one of these good storytelling facets.

You need to do that. Come down there to athletes, that's what we're called. Yeah. Just drill the road.

Yeah, that's actually closer than Jonesborough for us. So it really is a long hour down there.

Well, Donald, thank you for sharing your talent with us today. Just for the preservation in story that you've been so actively a part of for 40 plus years. So thank you, thank you. We will, we will hope that our listeners do check you out and be blessed as well. So Donald, Peace be with you.

And peace be with y’ all as well.