On Tuesday, Willie Davis and Barbara Montague-Davis had as much power as any Wall Street CEO or Washington lobbyist. They were among the voters who elected Barack Obama.

The Providence Journal / Bob Thayer

As he does every work day, Willie Davis watched the sun come up from one of the parking lots at Green Airport in Warwick. He does the midnight to 8 a.m. shift for the company that manages the lots. His job is to keep an inventory of the cars. Through the first dark hours of last Tuesday, he recorded 800 plates on a handheld computer, breaking for what he calls lunch around 3 a.m.

He is 56 years old, and likes the work, in part because he has diabetes and walking is good for him. His goal is to eventually get on the day shift.

“Normal sleep; normal life,” he’ll tell you. But he’s glad to have the paycheck.

He got to his home in South Providence around 8:30 a.m. His wife, Barbara Montague-Davis, 51, was waiting for him. She had the day off but usually works two jobs, first as a substitute teacher in Pawtucket, and after 6 p.m., at UPS in Warwick. They don’t have children, but do have a mortgage, and need the three jobs to keep up with their bills. Even then, they say, it’s a struggle.

Around 9:30, as planned, they walked together to their local polling place at Juanita Sanchez, an inner-city Providence high school. They each voted.

And I am writing about them now, on this weekend after Barack Obama was elected president, because as much as anyone, it is people like them who changed history.

There has long been an assumption that power in America is controlled by the well-connected. But not on Election Day. On Tuesday, Willie and Barbara Davis had as much power as any Wall Street CEO or Washington lobbyist.

They were kind enough to chat when I approached them as they headed back home. Barbara wore a sweatsuit; Willie, as he likes to be called, wore jeans and a New England Patriots hat.

They got married six years ago — a first marriage for both of them. Barbara grew up in the neighborhood in the 1960s when few black families were living there. She saw the neighborhood turn all black, and now sees many Latinos mixing in, and even some whites again. Willie grew up in Louisiana, coming to Providence to do factory work between college years for tuition money. He decided to stay, working almost three decades for Monet Jewelry. After that, he did the night shift at the post office and then moved to his current job.

They now share Barbara’s 2005 Camry because Willie’s 1996 Buick is out of commission. They recently went on a cruise — their first vacation in five years.

“We had to scrape,” said Willie.

They seldom are able to afford restaurants. Barbara buys her clothes at Macy’s when they have a sale, and gets Willie’s clothes at JCPenney.

They are African-American, but insist that’s not the reason they voted for Barack Obama.

It’s not about race, said Barbara, it’s about issues, which she follows closely on CNN.

“Anderson Cooper’s my man,” she said.

She is worried about the economy, and feels the Democrats are better for that.

Willie said it was about issues for him, too — he’s distressed that the smallest state has the highest unemployment.

“Jobs, the economy, Wall Street, health care,” he said. “My 401(k) is tumbling down.”

I noticed Willie had an “I voted” sticker on his Patriots hat. I asked if he considered the election historic. He did, but not just due to Obama. Between him and Sarah Palin, Willie explained, a barrier would be broken no matter who won.

But both remembered moments in their own lives that made it remarkable to realize there could soon be a black president.

In Louisiana, Willie went to a segregated school.

“Till my senior year, ’69-’70,” he said.

When she was 10, Barbara passed a test that got her accepted at the sought-after Henry Barnard elementary school, run by Rhode Island College. She was one of a handful of black students there, and remembers other kids asking her, “What are you doing here?”

Though Willie found prejudice more blatant in Louisiana, even now, he said, there are subtle forms of it in New England, like being looked at suspiciously when you shop.

But he said his mom, a school custodian, and dad, a high school football coach, raised him to see no difference in race.

“We’re all the same,” he said.

“Ditto for me,” said Barbara, whose own mother was a medical secretary at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Providence, and her father, a truck driver.

As I took notes, Barbara asked me to stress that they’re not spokespeople for anyone — neither African-Americans nor their neighborhood. They don’t run anything, she said. They’re just two people trying to make ends meet. They’re nobody special.

It’s true; they’re not. And it was exactly such folks who changed the country.

It was time to go.

Willie said he planned to rake leaves, and then get some sleep.

He had to be back at work by midnight.

mpatinkin@projo.com