Lloyd "Ken" Kenady Davis Jr.

Lloyd "Ken" Kenady Davis, Jr. passed away peacefully at home on the 22nd of July 2026, at the age of 72, after a courageous battle with pancreatic cancer. In his final days, he was surrounded by his three children and by his devoted companion of fifteen years, Barbie Barbles.

He is survived by his children, Lloyd Kenady Davis III and his wife, Nicole; Helena Davis Mendez and her husband, Greg; and Robert Cramer Davis and his wife, Corinne; his seven grandsons, Worth Davis Mendez, Lloyd Kenady Davis IV, Robert Townes Mendez, Gregory Brooks Mendez, William Bennett Davis, Robert Hudson Davis, and Patrick Harris Davis, all of whom knew and adored him as "Papa Ken"; his beloved companion, Barbie Barbles; his former wife, Mary Davis, with whom he shared twenty years of marriage, three children, and a warm lifelong friendship; his sister, Terry Harrison and her husband, Bruce; and many nieces and nephews. Ken was preceded in death by his parents, Lloyd Kenady Davis and Helen Davis, and by his sister, Susan Davis.

Born on the 6th of March 1954, Ken was a lifelong Houstonian. As a child, he enjoyed playing baseball and exploring the woods of his Memorial neighborhood. He graduated from The Kinkaid School third in his class (he could recall the two people who finished ahead of him until his final days) where he was a member of the golf team and a cheerleader, the latter of which his children never let him live down. He obtained his degree in mechanical engineering from the University of Hartford in Connecticut.

His career was spent at Fisk Electric, the company founded by his great uncle and headed by his father, where he spent many years helping lead the family business. His work took him around the world, including extended assignments in Cairo and London, where he developed a lifelong affection for England that never waned. While living in London, he survived two bombings and an air emergency in the span of just one month—first, when his home was mistakenly targeted by a disgruntled former De Beers employee, and later during the 1983 Harrods bombing while he was Christmas shopping. Shortly after, his plane had to make an emergency landing over the Irish Sea after an engine exploded, leading some to question whether Ken's real occupation involved espionage. He returned to London twice a year for most of his life, usually with his children, happiest with no agenda beyond wandering its streets. Characteristically, he refused to book restaurants online, preferring to walk miles to ask for a table in person. When asked what he loved so much about the city, he always said "Everywhere you turn, there's history."

Above all, Ken was a devoted father. He worried about his children constantly, checking in on them at every turn. He was their steady source of wisdom, and they went to him for counsel throughout their lives. He prized two gifts above all others: travel and education. He took care to model openness and vulnerability and taught them never to be afraid to ask for help.

After a lifetime of adventure, Ken became a man who found extraordinary joy in ordinary things: a Starbucks venti "extra wet" cappuccino, which the Starbucks on West Gray had memorized, Haagen-Dazs chocolate ice cream, an ice-cold Coke, Beck's Prime cheeseburgers, Carrabba's, the Astros, and Post Oak Little League. He could often be found jogging for miles, a routine he concluded with a satisfying Merit Ultralight. In a world drawn to artifice, Ken remained humble. His iconic wardrobe rarely changed: khaki shorts, an Izod shirt, aviator sunglasses, and New Balance shoes. He never sought attention, carrying himself instead with humble confidence, elegance, and impeccable decorum.

From a very early age, Ken developed a lifelong love-hate relationship with golf. Fortunate enough to play some of the world's most beautiful courses, he was asked once about his favorite hole at his home course, River Oaks Country Club. His reply: "I hate them all." A single-digit handicapper his whole life, Ken always strived for progress, not perfection, and no one was a tougher critic of his game than he was. His golf buddies often told stories about the round when Ken, disgusted with his swing on the third hole, turned his back and began cursing and kicking at the ground, only for his playing partners to point out that he had, in fact, just made a hole in one.

He possessed a dry, direct, and self-deprecating sense of humor. He was a voracious reader, an enthusiastic student of history, and someone who valued thoughtful conversation over small talk. His children and their spouses exchanged photographs and messages with him every day, conversations that almost always centered on his greatest source of pride—his grandchildren.

Nothing brought Ken greater happiness than watching his grandsons grow. He would often take all the boys out to dinner and load them up with soda and candy before dropping them at home, much to their parents’ chagrin. He never missed a football, basketball, or baseball game at Post Oak Little League where he coached many years ago. Former players of his can still recall his groundball mantra: "Butt down, chin up—you may get a fat lip, but at least the ball won't get past you." Even during the final months of his illness, he attended every game and proudly cheered his grandsons on from the stands.

He was a friend of Bill W. for twenty-seven years and truly practiced its principles in all his affairs. For decades he quietly dedicated himself to helping those struggling with alcohol and addiction rebuild their lives. He gave his time generously and became a trusted mentor to countless people battling the disease. Many people are living better lives because Ken chose to invest in theirs, and his legacy will reach far beyond what most people will ever know. Even in his final weeks, he expressed one remaining wish: that he could still be of greater service to others.

The family extends its heartfelt gratitude to Barbie, whose faithful care carried him through his illness with dignity; to Dr. Beinart and nurse Natalie at Houston Methodist; to Mirta, his longtime housekeeper; and to his caregivers, Ibrahima, his night watchman, and Irma, both of whose compassion and kindness brought great comfort during his final days.

To his family and friends, Ken represented something increasingly rare: a man of quiet gentility, integrity, and consistency. In an age of self-promotion, he remained gracious, understated, and entirely himself. Ken measured success not by titles, wealth, or possessions, but by service, humility, honesty, and connecting with others. He was a devoted father, an adoring Papa Ken, a loyal friend, a trusted mentor, and a true gentleman. He leaves behind a family who adored him, friends who will miss his wit and wisdom, and countless others whose lives are better because he walked beside them for a while.

A memorial service is to be conducted at eleven o’clock in the morning on Tuesday, the 4th of August, in the sanctuary of St. Luke’s United Methodist Church, 3471 Westheimer Road in Houston. Immediately following all are invited to greet the family during a reception to be held in nearby Fellowship Hall.

In lieu of customary remembrances, the family requests that memorial contributions be made to the Council on Recovery by selecting the link below under "Donations".

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