David Glynn Knight Sr.

1930 - 2024

LANCASTER, S.C. - David Glynn Knight Sr. - our daddy - sure didn't do much to support the image of a stereotypical truck driver.

He didn't cuss - the worse we ever heard him say was "Ah, shoot" or "Jumped up it" or maybe "I'll be John Brown."

He didn't chase honky-tonk women - he stayed married and loyal to Mama for 62 years, the last five of those years caring for her day and night as she battled melanoma.

When she got too weak and sick to cook - and, wow, was she a make-me-never-want-to-stop-eating cook - she'd sit at the kitchen table and direct Daddy, teaching him how to cook her unforgettable roast and gravy and egg noodles, her chicken and dumplings and her oven-roasted chicken thighs in cream of chicken soup.

Of course, for years and years before, he spent pretty much every Sunday morning following her directions on how to make her world's best banana pudding as she made the rest of her big Sunday dinners.

After she got sick and he took over cooking duties, he was smart enough not to cross Mama on any of her cooking lessons - smart, but got kind of arrogant because he started telling everyone what a great cook he was. Heck, it got so that when the church bereavement committee needed to cook for the family who'd lost someone, the committee always called Daddy to fix a big pot of green beans. I'm not sure if they bought Daddy's "I'm the greatest cook around" boast or if they just wanted to humor him - and figured he couldn't mess up green beans too bad.

Daddy didn't hang out at bars and drink. He told me he'd never drunk a beer, only tasted one once. And I never saw a beer in our refrigerator or a bottle of wine or liquor in our house. Again, I think Mama had a lot to do with that - Daddy knew she'd chew him up good if he ever drank alcohol - or brought it in our house.

Daddy didn't blow his paychecks - nope, he got married when he just made $50 a week, but saved, pinched every penny, and eight years and three children later, built a BRICK house - and a BRICK house was a BIG thing in 1959. True, he never bought a new car - just used one after used one from Fat Powers in Lancaster. But he never missed a payment on that house.

And he and Mama got all four of their children through college, even though he dropped out of school in 10th grade and went to work at R.H. Collins Grain, working in the feed mill and loading grain and meal and feed on trucks until he turned 18 and began truck driving - for 46 years and 4.5 million miles before he retired.

They loved Gamecocks and went to home and away games for years.

Daddy knew all about hard work. He was a full plowhand at 11 years old, which meant he had a mule assigned to him and headed out to the fields at sunup and plowed until sundown.

After Daddy retired from truck driving, he gardened a lot, mowed his yard and weedeated that steep bank in front of our house and even worked as a security guard part time a few years at USCL.

Daddy's favorite thing to do always was to spend time with his siblings, and the last few years of his life, he looked forward to riding at least three days a week with Jerry and Marydelle to Bojangle's for breakfast for whichever biscuit was on sale, and whenever they could, meeting up with his sisters Ruby and Frances and all his Bojangle's friends.

And he loved being with his children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

And Daddy was super faithful to Rich Hill Baptist Church all his life. He and Mama got us up pretty much every Sunday, took us to Sunday school and preaching, even though we were always late. They always tithed at least a tenth every Sunday, no matter how tight times were for them. Then, that Sunday night, they'd take us back to Training Union and preaching. After church, Daddy climbed into bed to sleep until about 2 a.m. before he got back in that trailer truck to head out for the week. Sometimes, we'd even get to climb in the truck with him and get in the sleeper.

Daddy, age 94, died Friday, Oct. 25, 2024, at White Oak Manor in Lancaster, S.C.

He was born July 30, 1930, in Lancaster, a son of Robert Marshall Knight and Mamie Hammond Knight, and the husband of the late Jerry Virginia Snipes.

Mr. Knight is survived by two sons, David G. Knight Jr. and his wife, Susan, and Bill Knight and his wife, Peggy, both of Lancaster; daughters, Deborah K. Starnes and her husband, Richard, of Chesterfield, Va., and Amy V. Knight and Lisa Elizardo of Bumpass, Va.; a sister, Frances K. Horton of Rock Hill; a brother, Gerald J. Knight of Lancaster and his wife, Marydelle; and Ruby Knight Hinson and her husband, William; nine grandchildren and 14 great-grandchildren - Ellen Virtue and her husband Matt and their children Bowden and Emory Catherine, Mamie Simmons and her husband Thomas and their children Emma and Everette, Hammond Knight and his wife Laura and their son David Leonard, Dylan Knight and his wife Eva, Mandy Sharp and her husband Louis and their children Kensie and Caroline, Luke Knight and his daughter Mary Ellen, Kevin Knight and his wife Tiffany and their children Ally and William, Ashley Knickerbocker and her husband David and their sons Nathan, Justis and Joshua, and Jeremy Starnes and his wife, Meredith and their daughter Laeklyn.

And dozens of nieces and nephews.

Mr. Knight was preceded in death by his brothers, Willie B., Jimmy and Charles; and sisters, Mary Ellen Rogers and Mildred Ellis.

The celebration of life funeral service for Mr. Knight was 2 p.m. Monday, Oct. 28, at Rich Hill Baptist Church, led by the Rev. Rod Yow and Dr. Kenneth Lance.

Burial followed in the church cemetery.

The family received friends following the service in the family ministries building, and suggest memorial contributions be made to Rich Hill Baptist Church, 1557 E. Doc Garris Road, Heath Springs, SC 29058.

We'll miss Daddy so much, but we're so lucky he shared some of his best traits with us.

His son Davie's good looks and quick wit. His son Billy's big love for God that led him to be a preacher, even though we siblings know the REAL Bill. His daughter Deborah's caring heart that led her to be a nurse, even though - as Daddy said - she only used that education for a couple of years because she married an engineer she's still milking for every cent she can force him to earn. And his daughter Amy's fascination with dead stuff that led her to be a forensics person, who shares all kinds of gory stories about eyeballs she's had to pick up off the highway and dead people she's had to wrestle off toilets.

But probably the greatest trait he shared with us is our love for talking to anyone who'll listen to us for just a minute. He loved people, and they loved him, and we've spent our lives trying to win half as many friends as he has.

He was a great man.