Sally Ann (Davis) Slaton

We rise today, not to mourn the celestial discharge of a cosmic family counselor, but to celebrate the life of Sassy Sally, a woman who, like a stubborn Kansas wildflower, pushed through the toughest prairie and bloomed with a vivacity that defies description, and who passed away peacefully on May 19, 2024, at the age of 84, at the Ashland Health Center in Ashland, KS.

Sally Ann Davis Slaton was gifted to the world on July 17, 1939 in Arkansas City, KS to Russell and Louise (Leach) Davis. Her motherhood debut began in the primordial ooze of 1959 in the prairie expanse between Russell, KS and Denver, CO, the portmanteau hamlet of Kanorado. There she embarked on her own Odessey, albeit with fewer cyclopes and considerably more toddlers. By the late 1960s, her brood had grown from two to four, a personal apocalypse that most of us wouldn't survive without resorting to ritual sacrifice. But Sally, bless her intrepid soul, simply raised an eyebrow and signed up for four years of higher learning, presumably because the dumpster fire needed more gasoline. While at Garden City Community College, she engaged with the Mennonite Brethren community, who proved an invaluable support system and even gave her an “in” for her last two years of study at Tabor College, where she graduated in 1974, and was eager to hit the ground running as the state of Kansas’ newest warrior of social work.

While some may cower before the wrathful gods of student finance and screaming offspring, SalGal, a modern-day Jeanne d' Arc, took on the dual challenges of education and single parenthood with equal zest. Ultimately, on March 5, 1977, she took a partner; a man with a bachelor's modus operandi and with the rockin’ 70’s sideburns and poly leisure suits to prove it, expanding the brood to six holy terrors and resulting in a chaotic 80’s version of The Brady Bunch. From there, she balanced the tightrope of a blended family in small-town America with the grace of a ballerina on a unicycle in a crossfire hurricane.

In spite of everything, her wonderful and sharp sense of humor remained a constant. Family gatherings became evangelical tent revivals for the stories her spawn would delight in regaling; each one erupting with the explosive energy of an angry thunderstorm. How she navigated the tempests of life, both literal and figurative, remains a mystery, but, like an iron-willed pioneer woman unintimidated by those potential high-energy twisters, SalGal would grab a metaphorical lawn chair and a beer and head straight for the funnel cloud. Fear? In her vocabulary, that word was filed somewhere between "can't" and "won’t." Because of her courage, her unwavering equanimity, and her incisive wit, each of us in our own unique ways are thriving in this crazy, mixed-up world.

Sally was preceded in death by her husband of 47 years, Curtis, her parents, Russel and Louise Davis, and her older brother, Larry. Survivors to continue telling the tales of legend and the lies of legacy are her younger brother Fred (Phyllis) Davis, Jacksonville, AR, her children Ron Rohlf, Hays, KS, Dawn (Ronnie) Carter, Clyo, GA, Mark (Mary) Rohlf, Hays, KS, Craig (Ana) Foster, Atchison, KS, Marcia (Kevin) Prince, Cushing, OK, and Sharon (Tommy) Bryan, Coquille, OR. Sally was also blessed with 13 grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren.

So, SalGal, wherever you are, whether basking on a sunny Rocky Mountain cabin porch with a glass of wine or swapping tall tales with the Leprechauns, know this: Every time we think of you, a smile as wide as the Kansas sky will bloom across our faces. You may be gone, but your indomitable spirit, like a stubborn wildflower, will forever push through the toughest terrain, reminding us to face life's storms with a laugh and that metaphorical lawn chair.