Scott’s Childhood and Youth Memories  Recorded by Dawn Orrock, 2001 Scott and I do a lot of driving to and from our children’s homes, as well as other places. As we travel, I ask him questions about his younger years.  The miles zoom by as he recalls his childhood. I will record some of those memories. One of Scott’s first memories was waking up on his 6th birthday.  He was told they were going to have a family picture taken that day.  Luckily, we have that picture.   Spending two years in the first grade was embarrassing to Scott.  He must have been quite sickly when he was little. When visiting their parents and younger siblings, Scott’s sisters from Salt Lake City would look at him and ask him if he had the rickets.  He would say, “I ain’t got dis-rickets!”  Not knowing just what rickets are, I am guessing it referred to thin, sickly children.  He had several childhood diseases: measles, whooping cough and chicken pox. Mumps came later, keeping him out of school that first year. Scott’s father was a farmer.  His mother, Fanny, was a plodder—hard working, faithful in the Gospel, and determined.  Scott’s father, Joe, was also known among the children of the family as a hard worker, and according to him, could out work any of his sons-in-law.  Often he would walk to the farm, a distance of about three miles, to work all day and then walk home.  He was known to be honest in all his dealings with his fellow man. That was very important to him.  Scott’s father was also a procrastinator.  When not  working on his small farm of 35 acres, he would often be found at the service station through the block, visiting with other men, sitting around telling stories.  Life was hard, but, ‘neighboring’ was a natural part of their lives.   Cash was brought into the home through the sale of sugar beets, sheep, wool, and from time to time, hay, eggs and milk.  Farming was the main source of living for the residents of Richfield and the surrounding area.  Money was scarce.  Scott’s mother sometimes worked at the turkey plant in town—a smelly, hot, building—to bring in extra money.  Scott said that he and his dad worked there on occasion. One Saturday, Scott was going to a Primary party at the swimming pool.  The pool was free, but there was a little counter at the pool where penny and nickel candy, plus drinks, were sold.  Scott’s mom offered him three pennies to spend at the party.  She told him she had planned to buy a yeast cake with the pennies to make bread (one yeast cake cost 3 cents), but she wanted him to have them.  Scott said that after he thought about it, he just couldn’t spend those three pennies and brought them back to his mother after the party.  Word got around the family of his sacrifice, and he became quite a hero.  He said he got his money’s worth out of those three pennies. Both Scott’s father, Joe, and mother, Fanny, graduated from 8th grade.  That was the usual amount of education many people had at that time.  Scott’s father always looked down on teachers, which is interesting, since that is what Scott became.  Joe also felt musicians weren’t worth much because “they were always doping it up.”  (Even then?) Joe was very proud of his girls and how hard they worked in the sugar beets.  Looking back, they had the advantage of working together. On the other hand, Scott was always alone.  I’m sure they knew a different dad because of their involvement with him on the farm.  One result of Scott’s experience on the farm is that he has never liked working alone. While Scott was digging a trench for a water line to extend from the house to the corral, his older sister came by and made the comment, “Look at that kid work!”  Scott said you couldn’t believe how fast he threw the dirt after that comment.  He didn’t get much praise when he was young. Scott tells of a tender moment he had that involved his father.  Scott’s parents didn’t own a car, which meant that if he went anywhere outside of town, the car had to be provided by his friends’ families.  One year, all his friends went on an Easter picnic out of town, possibly Big Rock Candy Mountain.  Scott didn’t get invited.  He was so sad.  In those days, people always had a picnic or went hiking the Saturday before Easter Sunday.  Scott’s home was located right across from the town park.  He took his Easter goodies, which were a deviled ham sandwich, Campfire marshmallows, and a Hostess Cupcake; and in the middle of a clump of pine trees, he sat on the grass to have his own lonely Easter picnic.  Scott became aware that his dad had walked up behind him. Joe dropped a candy bar over Scott’s shoulder and into his lap with the other goodies.  His dad didn’t say a word but just kept walking towards their house.  Scott never said a word either, but at that moment, he knew his dad was hurting for him and wanted him to know it.  In years past, when Scott would tell this story, he would get choked up.  It meant a lot to him. When Scott wasn’t helping his dad, summers were full of playing with his buddies.  Of course, there were times when his dad needed him to help on the farm, grubbing brush from the fences and ditches, weeding the sugar beets and helping to haul hay on the wagon.  He wanted Scott to feel responsible and would say to him, “Aren’t you glad you’re here working, while your buddies are bumming around town?  At least you’ll know how to work, and they won’t ever amount to anything when they grown up.”  (Scott tells me now that they all have made more money than he has.)  Scott didn’t seem to have the same vision his dad did, at least not when he was young and summer was passing  by.  He hated the back-breaking job of weeding those darn sugar beets! Sometimes Scott would ride home on top of the wagon loaded with hay, his hat over his face, enjoying the soft, bumpy ride.  His dad would be a little irritated because Scott didn’t sit by him on the wagon.  He probably would have enjoyed visiting with Scott.  That only occurs to him now as he looks back on the experience. One summer, while working in the sugar beets, Scott asked his father if he could have 50 cents to spend the next day for the Fourth of July.  The Fourth of July was always a big celebration in our little towns.  Scott was feeling a little nervous, because his dad hadn’t mentioned anything about it.  Joe said, “Why don’t you have your own celebration.  Get a pocket full of fire crackers, weed down a row and set one off. Then weed down another row and set another one off.  Whoopee!”  His dad was quite a tease, but this was serious business.  Scott wasn’t quite sure how to take it.  Of course, the next morning, his dad handed him the coveted 50 cents! We have always heard the story of how that 50 cents would be spent by young boys on the Fourth of July.  The parade would start at 10:00 a.m.  At about 9:30 in the morning, the guys would get together at one of their houses: Chad Parks, Bob Johnson, Jim Ramsey, Steve Greenwood and Scott.  They would all walk over to Orvil Hanson’s service station and buy a bottle of root beer (5 cents) out of the ice tank, which contained water with floating ice. Then they would walk across the street and wait for the parade to come down Main Street.  After the parade, they would go into Mont’s Lunch Stand and buy a hamburger (10 cents) and a mug of root beer (5 cents). Chips came with it.  They would ‘mess around’ downtown until time for the movie, which started around 2:00 p.m. (10 cents).  They’d each buy a candy bar (5 cents) to eat at the movie.  On the way home, they would stop at Cook’s Ice Cream and get a milk shake (15 cents)—the end of the day, the end of the 50 cents.  And what a great ending!   One amazing summer, when Scott was about 12 or 13 years old, twin girls (one cute, one not so cute) and their friend came to Richfield to stay with the twins’ grandparents.  Jay Hill paired off with the cute twin, Robert Christensen with the other twin, and Scott with the girls’ friend.  They spent the summer entertaining the girls, playing Tarzan in the grandparents’ apple orchard, where there was a tree house.  There were Charades on their big veranda and swimming at the local, free swimming pool.  The couples just ‘messed around’ all summer.  Scott said he was always a bit nervous, wondering when his dad was going to ask him to go work on the farm.  But his dad never did ask him, the whole summer long! During one of our long car rides, Scott began to talk about how he and his buddies would play in the Hollow.  The Hollow was an area of about five acres, located a couple of blocks north of Scott’s house, just below the canal.  It was a big willow patch in a wash, with lots of trails running through it.  They played Cowboys and Indians and would tunnel into the sides of the dirt walls.  When they played Cowboys and Indians, they would always start with the hero (usually Chad Parks) riding up and saying, “How far is it to the next town?”  Scott said it wasn’t always Cowboys and Indians; sometimes it was Cowboys and Bad Guys.  The bad guys would catch the girl, played by Jim Ramsey, the frailest of the guys, and they would rescue her (him).  Sometimes these games were played in the park, sometimes in the corrals behind Jim’s place.  Wonderful, wonderful childhood!! I once asked Scott if his family ever did anything together.  Family gatherings were what came to his mind.  He had six sisters older than him.  All the girls lived outside of Richfield, except Maxine.  When any of the sisters would come home for a visit, their mother would fix a big dinner.  The dessert was usually ice cream, made in the ice cream freezers you had to turn by hand.  Scott’s dad would announce to all the kids, “The one that eats the most potatoes and gravy gets the most ice cream.”  By the time they had eaten all they could of potatoes and gravy, a little ice cream went a long way.  All the more for Grandpa Orrock! Scott’s dad always enjoyed having his family come home.  He enjoyed the little kids and also liked to tease and play with them.  When the kids would cry, he would say, “Your face looks like the map of old Ireland.”  We are still hearing about Scott’s dad’s sayings, many of which I would not repeat: farmer talk.  Scott, when speaking of his dad, usually ends up saying, “I feel so bad for my poor dad.” Scott and his buddies would play and hike all over the red hills, west of Richfield.  In those more  innocent days, all of Richfield and surrounding hills were open for play.  Sometimes they would bring their lunches in brown paper sacks, then peel the bark off a tree, wrap it in paper from the sacks and try to smoke it.  Can’t think of anything worse!  They were never very successful. The local swimming pool was rebuilt by the WPA during the Depression.  Creek water running into the pool on one side and out the other made the water very cold.  Kids were only allowed to swim for one hour.  They would sign in when they came, and after an hour, the lifeguard would go around and make them leave.  Scott said he nearly drowned once.  Moss would gather on the bottom of the pool where the water came in.  Scott was little, and the water would come up to his neck in the shallow part.  The force of the water and slickness of the moss kept him from walking across the pool.  He slipped and couldn’t stay up.  He said he kept trying to get up but would slip again.  A lady sitting on a bench by the pool said, “I think that little boy is drowning!”  One of Scott’s friends, Steve Greenwood, pulled Scott out. (Thank you, Steve!)   Winter play was often Fox and Geese in the snow.  The kids would make a big circle in the snow, with ‘spokes’ going through the circle like a big wheel.  One would be the fox chasing the others, who couldn’t leave the spokes or wheel.  This game was often played out on the school grounds at recess.  Scott said they sometimes played it at the park. Scott had a pair of ice skates.  He didn’t skate much because of his weak ankles.  He said he did skate “quite a ways” down the canal once. Even though Scott always felt poor, he had great Christmases as a child, (much better than ours!).  Some of the gifts over the years included two tricycles, a little red wagon and a sleigh. Scott had received all these things and more. His older sisters, June, Opal and Lou, were working in Salt Lake City during his younger years.  A big box filled with gifts from his sisters would arrive at the post office around Christmas time.  That box held most of Scott’s Christmas.  He had good sisters.  The bad memories were when Lou’s boys (Scott’s nephews, Donald, Jerry and Jack) would come after Christmas and break his best toys.  He finally forgave them.  I did learn through Orrock family reunions  that those boys’ most cherished memories were of Richfield.  Little did Scott know.   Scott’s first tricycle was small. When he graduated to the larger tricycle, his job was to deliver the milk to some patrons in town, with one living quite a distance away.  Three cows were milked both morning and night.  Scott tried a few times to milk them, but his dad said, “You can’t do it, you’re going to dry them up!”  (If you don’t get all the milk, a cow will stop producing.)  At least Scott could deliver the milk. First the milk was strained through cheesecloth to get any leaves and such out that might have fallen into the pail. Then his mom would get two washed and cleaned honey buckets and a quart jar.  Pouring the milk into the jars, she would measure out two quarts into the bucket.  She would then pour at least a cup or more into each bucket to make sure she was giving the full amount promised.  Off Scott would go, balancing the buckets on his handle bars, to deliver the milk.  Now and then he would get a tip from one of the ‘nice’ patrons. One patron, a doctor, insisted he receive his milk in a regular milk bottle.  That meant the bottles had to be purchased, along with caps for the bottles.  Scott recalls that the cream that rose to the top of the bottle reached far down in the milk.  They had good milking cows.  One day the doctor asked Scott if his dad washed his hands before he milked the cows.  Scott said, “Of course!”  He went home and told his dad.  Joe was furious!  Not long after that happened, Scott’s dad stopped selling milk to that doctor. The little red Radio Flyer wagon was often used to get ice from the ice house in town.  The ice house was a building in town that stored large ice blocks covered in sawdust to keep it from melting.  During the winter, the ice was harvested from a lake or reservoir and brought to town on wagons to store in the ice house.  Sometimes Scott would go to Forseys’ Ice Plant, where large blocks of ice were made and stored all year around.  Scott would buy a block for 25 or 50 cents, pull it home in his little red wagon, and ice cream for the family gathering would be made in the ice cream freezer.  Believe me, nothing ever tasted so good as that yummy, homemade ice cream! Johnny Sialis, a sweet man, was the sheepherder for several of the farmers when the sheep were in their summer home on the mountain.  Johnny was often called Johnny Mex.  Most people thought he came from Mexico, but in later years, Scott learned from  his brother, Bill, that Johnny was actually a Basque from Spain.  In late fall, the sheep would be brought down off the mountain, traveling the Glenwood road, to the stockyard near the railroad, located east of Richfield.  Farmers would separate the sheep into different corrals then herd them from there to their various farmyards in town. Scott’s dad owned around 40 sheep.  One late fall day, snow was falling, and little Scott went with his dad to collect the sheep from the stockyard.  In a semi- protected corner by a fence lay Johnny Sialis’s pretty little sheep dog, a collie named Queen, with her new little litter of pups.  Johnny told Scott he could choose any pup he wanted for himself.  Scott chose a little brown and yellow pup with a white yoke around his neck.  For those who remember Lassie, Scott’s dog looked like him, but smaller.  He named this beautiful little dog Buck. Buck and Scott spent a little over two years playing and loving each other.  Buck was a very mild-tempered dog.  One day, Buck and another dog were running across the road, oblivious to the car that was coming.  Buck was hit!  Scott heard the commotion from his house.  Buck was able to run a little ways toward home, fell, and was foaming at the mouth when Scott arrived.  A neighbor, observing the scene, ran home and got his gun to put little Buck out of his misery.  Vets were not an option at that time.  Scott remembers crying for days and days.  For a long time afterwards, Scott would have fantasies of Buck returning to him whenever he saw a dog that looked a little like Buck.  Perhaps that is why Lizzie was so special to Scott.  She was a Boarder Collie. Some time afterwards, his dad got Scott another dog.  This dog was not as gentle and playful as Buck and ran with a ‘bad crowd’ of dogs.  One day, Scott’s and another dog jumped a fence into a rabbit pen, killing several rabbits.  The owner of the pen came out and shot Scott’s dog. Primary was fun for Scott.  He remembers earning badges for his Primary Bandalo.   They would get their SHSK badges: Spirituality, Health, Service and Knowledge.  He wonders now if he may still have that Bandalo someplace in his memoirs.  [We did find the Bandalo.  Scott had his picture taken wearing it.  See below.]   Scouting was another of Scott’s favorite memories.  He had a great scout master, Reed Ogden, a distant relative of his.  Brother Ogden would pack his little 1938 Chevy full of boys and take off for the hills.  Their tracking skills, hiking, fire-making, cooking, etc., were done in the hills around Richfield.  Boulder Mountain was one place they held their Camporee, the big time campout for all the scouts around. The boys’ mothers made the tents for the Camporee.  Gathering together behind a neighborhood home, the mothers would build a fire under a #3 tub. Then putting a solvent and paraffin into the tub, they would melt the paraffin and dip in the bleached muslin material, making it waterproof.  Sleeping bags were made by the moms tying a quilt and putting in a zipper.  Grub boxes were made by the kids themselves.  I have often heard stories of these experiences.  Once, Scott took us as a family over Hell’s Back Bone.  Scared me to death!  This was a place from Scott’s scouting memories.  It was bad enough traveling over in a station wagon. I can’t believe the kinds of transportation we had in those days!   Scott had a tendency to look at life as though his ‘cup was half empty.’  This was one of his memories that bought about that bias. Scott turned thirteen on August 23, 1939.  On that day, he received a wonderful bike for his birthday.  He treasured this bike.  It was a two speeder.  According to him, it was the best-looking bike in town!  Scott rode his bike all around town during the last few weeks of summer.  When school started, Scott rode his bike to school.  When coming out of school one day, he found his bike was gone!  Scott had been responsible; he had chained his bike to the bike rack, but the chain had been cut!  His bike was gone!  For weeks, Scott, his family and buddies searched the town.  He had notified the police, but to no avail.  One day, he got a call from the police. They had found his bike.  It had been thrown into a big ditch.  The bike had been so mistreated that it could never be ridden again. Scott has lost two very precious things in his life, his dog and his bike, plus all the broken toys his nephews had destroyed.  Life can be hard, but I like to remind him of sun filled red hills, a hollow, apple orchards, tree houses, scouting and Fourth of July’s.  The cup really can be half full when we remember the right things!