Wayne Martin "Pat" Davison

Pat was raised in the Portland area, and from a rough childhood, he built a life defined by resilience and motion. He enlisted in the Navy during the Vietnam War, came home an adventurer with that classic Marlboro Man presence (strong, independent, a little weathered by the road), and never really stopped moving or making things with his hands.

He became a farrier and one of the last blacksmiths certified by the state of Portland. That skill took him places few people go.

Pat fixed the Clydesdales’ wagon and rode with them in the Rose Parade, a moment that still feels almost larger than life when I picture it. Somewhere in those years he met my mom. Later, when the recession hit, he rejoined the Navy, headed to the East Coast, and became the third-best Navy recruiter on that coast.

Pat had a way of connecting with people that made them trust him.

He eventually moved back out here and finished his working life as a red-badge nuclear welder at the shipyard—precise, steady work that suited the craftsman he had always been. Then he retired here, surrounded by the people and places that mattered to him.

What we want you to remember is the man behind the résumé. Pat was a beloved dad, brother, and friend. He showed up. He fixed things: wagons, ships, situations. He carried himself with a quiet toughness that came from having already faced hard things early, and he passed a version of that strength on to the rest of us.

Pat is survived by his girlfriend Christine, by me (his daughter, Rita), by his granddaughter Heidi, and by many beloved friends and relatives who loved him for exactly who he was.