Clifford Leonard Scott (October 4, 1914-October 21, 1951)
One of the earliest memories I have of my Father is from about my fourth summer when, during wheat harvest, along with some neighbor kids, I sneaked away to the local grain elevator and rode on boxcars which were being switched on and off the siding. Someone spotted us and reported it to our parents. My mother decided to paddle me and I think I was putting on a big show (i.e., begging her for mercy or something). Suddenly my Father appeared in the bedroom and took the paddle from her and struck me on the butt several times. It was so painful and terrifying that I peed my pants. I think it must have scared him too that he'd lost his temper and hit me so hard, because he never raised his voice or struck me again. I can't say that I never played on the boxcars again though. I remember him bringing tractor trucks home sometimes from where he worked and sitting in them and running his air tanks down pulling a small lever which made a delightful hissing sound.
Dad at the farm by his old chevy in the late 30s.
Dad by his truck at the hopper in Waco, Missouri in about 1943. It had been almost impossible to get a job during the depression and he was happy to have this one. It also kept him out of the war.
At a Honkytonk on the N.E. corner of the Crestline 'Y' that we called the Rock House.
Dad in Dayton, Ohio when he was about 34.
Dad's full sister was Lucy Lavinia Linda Lucretia Scott (August 29, 1913-August 29, 2004). Perhaps Grandma Jane, after her divorce, saw men as sort of necessary evils or something because Aunt Linda appears to have been the chosen one. She got to go to college, but Dad, for some reason, didn't. Mother said Aunt Linda couldn't even have her period without going to bed for a couple of days and being waited on hand and foot. She was always known as Lucy until she got her master's degree and decided to be Linda. She married a Jay Darnell and they had no children. Shortly after I was born she got a Chihuahua pup she named Penny (which was in vogue at the time) to carry around. She soon tired of this and he ended up sliding around the kitchen linoleum at the farm for about 10 years. A really great farm dog. Ha! In the early part of the war she and her husband went to Dayton, Ohio where he worked for the Dayton Daily News and she worked at Wright Field for awhile and then started teaching. They stayed there until they both retired in the late 70s. In 1947 when Dad's job at Waco petered out we (at Grandma Jane's insistence) went to Dayton and stayed with Linda and Jay for about six months. Grandma Jane blamed Mother for "luring" Dad back to Crestline. Particularly after Mother married Harry, she and Grandma were barely on speaking terms for a few years and there were remarks from Grandma about Mother being responsible for Dad's death and showing no respect by marrying so soon afterward. So now you know that family relations are not always what they seem. Dad's half sister, Aunt Hulda, by contrast, was always an absolute sweetheart.
My Father was less than doting. He took me fishing sometimes and once I got to go with him on a truck run to Kansas City. As a family we went out to eat once in awhile and attended movies in Joplin or Columbus fairly often. In 1950 the four of us took a drive through Colorado in a Buick Roadmaster Dad was proud of. We went to the farm for Sunday dinners often and, after eating, he'd sleep on the couch until it was time to leave. He was a bit promiscuous (I learned when I got older). Women were attracted to him. He seemed to have that quality that other men can never identify. He enjoyed a few drinks sometimes and was known to play some poker and shoot dice. He smoked cigars and pipe and I remember the smell was everywhere in the house and cars. He always seemed to have a wry smile on his face. He was a broud-shouldered 5'11" with light blue eyes and unusually large hands. I guess I was sort of in awe of him, but respected a distance that seemed defined though unstated.
A couple of months before Christmas in 1951, my first year of HS, I was awakened one morning by my Uncle Gib in our front room yelling into the telephone, "Scott got killed last night". There had been an accident at the chemical plant and Dad and one other man from Joplin had been the only two casualties. Apparently they were working below a tank that exploded. They were on overtime and it happened late in the evening so they were probably very tired. Someone made a fatal mistake. I heard later that safety precautions at the plant were almost nonexistent and nowadays (possibly then) one could probably sue their socks off. We never even thought of it.
Up until his death I don't remember Dad and Grandma Jane ever having much to do with one another, but right before the funeral she discovered there were very few pictures of him. She had pictures taken of the casket and grave, and even had the picture from his driver's license enlarged to hang on her wall. It was sort of eerie.
My Father was less than doting. He took me fishing sometimes and once I got to go with him on a truck run to Kansas City. As a family we went out to eat once in awhile and attended movies in Joplin or Columbus fairly often. In 1950 the four of us took a drive through Colorado in a Buick Roadmaster Dad was proud of. We went to the farm for Sunday dinners often and, after eating, he'd sleep on the couch until it was time to leave. He was a bit promiscuous (I learned when I got older). Women were attracted to him. He seemed to have that quality that other men can never identify. He enjoyed a few drinks sometimes and was known to play some poker and shoot dice. He smoked cigars and pipe and I remember the smell was everywhere in the house and cars. He always seemed to have a wry smile on his face. He was a broud-shouldered 5'11" with light blue eyes and unusually large hands. I guess I was sort of in awe of him, but respected a distance that seemed defined though unstated.
A couple of months before Christmas in 1951, my first year of HS, I was awakened one morning by my Uncle Gib in our front room yelling into the telephone, "Scott got killed last night". There had been an accident at the chemical plant and Dad and one other man from Joplin had been the only two casualties. Apparently they were working below a tank that exploded. They were on overtime and it happened late in the evening so they were probably very tired. Someone made a fatal mistake. I heard later that safety precautions at the plant were almost nonexistent and nowadays (possibly then) one could probably sue their socks off. We never even thought of it.
Up until his death I don't remember Dad and Grandma Jane ever having much to do with one another, but right before the funeral she discovered there were very few pictures of him. She had pictures taken of the casket and grave, and even had the picture from his driver's license enlarged to hang on her wall. It was sort of eerie.