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Here Cullen began to cultivate an interest in athletics that led to a number of ribbons for his sailing skills and a reputation as an expert skier.But only as a secondary feature of his personality: “Cullen — in fact all three of the boys — was totally programmed for the business world,” says one acquaintance. Like a cat, Priscilla Davis curls her feet up under her celebrated body as she settles into her white velvet couch.And you know that if you could throw her high in the air, Priscilla would land on her feet.
One woman (who had in fact cancelled earlier plans to stay with Priscilla at the mansion that August night) said, “I adore her. If she knew you were a pint low on blood, she’d give you a gallon.
As a junior at Texas A&M, Cullen began to reaffirm his father’s intention that he, like his brothers, enter the family business, vowing, in a letter to his parents, to study more and play less.
In a closing postscript to his father, Cullen writes, “You don’t have to count the ‘I’’s in this letter because I already have.
The barbs followed common themes: as one of Priscilla’s critics puts it, “All she ever did was create problems.
She’s gone from white trash to millionairess on a fake pair of tits.” The city of Fort Worth, the country’s largest small town, had years ago adopted the Cullen Davises for their vast gossip value. His father, Ken Davis Sr., known by the nickname “Stinky,” was widely respected in the oil supply industry. “He was the meanest man I ever knew,” says one former employee. A sign resurrected from the bathroom of the old Ken Davis headquarters says, “No Reading of Any Kind Permitted in This Lavatory.” An occasional pang of civic pride triggered generous but again eccentric response — among his major projects were the Fort Worth Planetarium and a camp for girls.
Finally, they believe that minutes later Davis gunned down Gus Gavrel, a youthful visitor to the house, the night’s fourth victim, still alive but now paralyzed. A writer pronounced the murders “the biggest goddamn thing to happen to Fort Worth since the railroad.” The Fort Worth Star-Telegram ran eight full pages of the story in one day. As people tried to forget the killing of a 12-year-old girl, the murder became not a whodunit, but a gleeful trespass into the private lives of Fort Worth’s rich black sheep.