Life Well Lived: The Love Story That Changed Davidson College

He stayed connected in quieter ways, recommending Davidson to students, keeping in touch with people he cared about, giving modestly every year, but he wasn’t one for reunions or nostalgia. Life, art and love had carried him far from campus, to Alaska, which remains his home today.

Still, Davidson never left him.

That belief — and the love story at its center — is what ultimately led Kes back to campus and inspired a gift honoring his late wife, Missy Boaz Woodward ’73, whose courage and presence helped change the college forever.

Finding Davidson

Woodward grew up assuming he would attend Duke, but a campus visit left him disappointed. On the drive home to South Carolina, his father suggested one more stop.

“Maybe we could drive by Davidson,” he said.

They parked, walked onto campus and were almost immediately greeted by a man Woodward least expected to feel drawn to: the head of the ROTC program, Colonel Outlaw. He introduced himself, asked what they were doing and, after a brief conversation, invited them to join him for a cup of coffee. It was a Saturday, yet he called and asked a professor to come say hello, too.

“I couldn’t believe it,” said Woodward. “There was no introduction, no appointment, and everyone was so welcoming.”

By the time they drove away, it was clear. He would apply early decision to become a Wildcat. 

Two Weeks, One Proposal

At the end of his first year at Davidson, Woodward agreed to drive a close friend to Atlanta to visit his girlfriend at Agnes Scott College. There was one condition: they had to find Woodward a date, too. The friend’s girlfriend reluctantly persuaded her roommate, Missy, to come along, even though she already had plans for that day.

The foursome spent the afternoon at Six Flags Over Georgia.

Two weeks later, Missy visited Woodward at Davidson. When he drove her back to Agnes Scott, he proposed.

“It was our second date,” he said, “and she said yes. I remember when I told my mother the news, she asked if Missy was her real name, and I had to tell her I had no idea.” 

They married a year later, after which she transferred from Agnes Scott to Davidson, and celebrated 40 years together before her untimely death in 2010. 

Becoming an Artist

If anyone had told Woodward as a high school senior or even as a first-year Wildcat that he would become an artist, he would have laughed. He excelled at math and science and had never been to an art museum. 

That changed because of Missy and Davidson College Art Professor Herb Jackson.

Missy was an art major, and during Kes’ sophomore year, he sat in on one of Jackson’s classes. The professor handed his student oil pastels and a board and encouraged him to try. It was the first art he ever made.

Missy took him to his first art museum, the National Gallery in Washington, D.C. He remembers standing in front of each painting for a long time, thinking, If I could try to do something like this, why would I do anything else?

Jackson’s teaching and example made the possibility real. Art wasn’t just something you admired; it was something that could become a person’s life’s work.

“I never looked back,” said Kes.

Missy and Coeducation

After the Woodwards married, Missy began taking classes at Davidson as the spouse of a student. She did well, but she couldn’t be a degree candidate. The late President Emeritus Sam Spencer ’40 had spoken publicly about the possibility of coeducation; the possibility became reality when Jack Bevin, the academic vice president, called Kes and Missy into his office.

“We’ve decided to go co-ed,” he told them. “Would you like to be the first degree candidate, Missy?”

She had already completed a year of coursework and proven herself academically, so she formally applied as a transfer student and, in the spring of 1973, graduated as the only woman in the class.

When she crossed the stage, the crowd cheered, and the language of alma mater shifted. “Sons of Davidson” became “sons and daughters of Davidson.” Television cameras rolled, and reporters took notes.

Missy never thought of herself as a trailblazer, but many others understood and appreciated what she set into motion. She faced challenges, like learning to swim to pass the required swim test while juggling work and classes. When she was denied access to the pool, she’d had enough, and walked straight to President Spencer’s house at 9 p.m. He came to the door in his bathrobe, listened and promised to fix it (which he did).

A Life of Yes

After graduate school, Woodward applied for a curator position in Juneau, Alaska. The job required an Alaskan resident unless no qualified candidate could be found. When he was told a second time the job wasn’t for him because they had to hire an Alaskan, he asked, “Well, what does it take to be one?”

“Being here with the intent to stay,” was the response.

Woodward said, “I guess I’m an Alaskan” – they hired him on the spot.

At the time, Missy was traveling in England with her mother and sister. Woodward sent a telegram to her hotel asking if she could pack up and move to Alaska when she got home.

For 40 years, that’s how they did things. If one of them had a wild idea, the other said yes. And somehow, it always worked out.

A Return to Campus

When Missy died, President Emeritus Spencer was one of the first people to call Woodward. Soon after, he heard from women from the Class of 1977, the first class of women admitted as first-year students. Many had never met Missy, yet they sent her widower a packet of handwritten letters, letters he still has, describing what it meant to them that she had opened the door for them.

It went even further. Nearly two dozen of them donated to the social service agency where Woodward’s daughter-in-law worked, serving women in the Seattle area. They also planted a tree on Davidson’s campus in Missy’s honor.

When Davidson celebrated 50+ Years of Coeducation in the fall of 2023, Woodward attended the events to represent Missy. The weekend overwhelmed him in the best way, thanks in part to the ’77 grads who welcomed him. 

A Gift of Gratitude 

Inspired by the weekend and his reconnection to campus, Woodward reached out to the college about making a substantial gift in recognition of Missy’s place in the college’s history. He considered a number of ideas that didn’t seem quite right until he was presented with a suggestion he had never imagined: naming the Missy Boaz Woodward ’73 Atrium in the Katherine and Tom Belk Visual Arts Center.

He immediately loved the idea of Missy’s name featured in a place devoted to creativity and learning. 

“I never expected anything that visible,” he said.

At the dedication reception last year, women from the Class of 1977 showed up, yet again. Kes’ wife, Dorli McWayne, who has developed her own deep love for Davidson and all it means in Kes’ life, was there, fully supportive. When they began dating, one of the first people McWayne met was Herb Jackson. Woodward told her that introduction was necessary if she wanted to truly understand him.

Friends, students and faculty gathered in a space that symbolized both where Davidson had been and how far it had come. The atrium is a memorial as well as a living testament to curiosity, love and saying “yes.” 

“If I hadn’t gone to Davidson, if I hadn’t taken an art class, if I hadn’t proposed after just two dates,” he said, “I can’t imagine it.”