Home
My Family !
Photo Album
Family History Services
My Family History Corner
Privacy Policy
My Mother
Contact Me
Links
Site Map
|
 |
 |
Joseph Andrew Scow - my great-grandfather
Written by Cheryl Workman Cooper, my mother his grand-daughter.
He was a completely fascinating person to me, his granddaughter, and I followed him around as a little girl to hear his stories and to see the many things he could do to entertain me. I was the envy of the neighborhood when he did summersaults and handstands for me and a group of admiring children, and our delight never ceased to watch him with a long length of hand braided lariat. He was a magician, twirling and whirling, weaving intricate patterns in the air, as he stepped in and out of the rapidly moving loop, even hopping over and under it, all the time looking very casual, and so slim and elegant. He never looked his age until the very end of his life, and then the hard use he had given his body seemed to show at last. But let me see if I can help you to know him a little from just a few of the stories he used to tell me. One of these stories concerns a time just shortly after he arrived in Ely, Nevada, when it was a wide-open booming mining town. Joe was probably about 15 years old then and on his own, (he had left home soon after his mother, a widow, had remarried, and although he never said much about it, I gathered he didn’t care much for his new step-father). He had a job working in the mornings in a saloon and dance hall there in Ely, as a “swamper.” This included sweeping the floors and sprinkling the cleaned dirt floor with fresh sawdust, a daily thorough scrubbing out of the much used, and often slightly missed spittoons. This was a real messy job to do and the brass had to be polished and rubbed bright. He says,” I was finishing my work one day when I heard a lot of shouting and noise outside, so I dropped my broom and took out the swinging doors to see what was going on. I found a big crowd of men escorting down the street a strange kind of wagon. No horses pulling it, (not even a place to hitch any horses). It was rolling down the street by man power, but it could only be one of the new fangled “automobiles” we had heard about. There were three of them on their way from Los Angles to the East Coast. There were no roads, as we know them today, no bridges across rivers and streams, no easy way across mountain heights. I joined the cheering crowd, and helped push the auto to Baum’s livery stable, (for it was in need of repairs), but it was the first one into town, so the two drivers were greeted as the heroes of the hour. That night I quietly made my way into the back of the saloon so I could listen to the talk and bask in the reflected glory of these brave men who were daring something never tried before. I listened to tales of flat tires, broken axles and flooded rivers that had to be forded. The talk was noisy and the hour grew late, but I fell asleep there, leaning against a sack in the back room. Next morning there were no more than a handful of men to watch the newly repaired auto make a. new start in the great race. I stood there dreaming how it would be to sit in the great leather seat, high above the ground and could imagine how it would be to feel the powerful motor that could run on and on, faster than horses, and never needing to rest or be watered and fed. It was very exciting and I could hardly believe it when one of the drivers waved me over to him and offered me a ride to the edge of town. I nodded, (too excited to talk), and he lifted me up and we were off… Well, that was the first auto I ever saw and the only one for quite a long time: for the other two went by a different way, but I will, never forget that I rode in the first car I ever saw. And when I saw my first airplane, I yelled and waved at it, but it wouldn’t come down so I could have my first ride.”
“Another time I was sleeping out alone, I woke to hear the voices of three men planning to rush my camp. No doubt they figured me to be a miner returning to town with a rich haul of silver. I crawled away from them and worked my way around to the other side of the almost dead fire. Quietly I took 5 shells from my gun and threw them into the coals, then I dived behind a big rock there. In the gunfire that followed, one of the men was shot in the leg, another had his hat shot off his head and so they rode away, leaving a mighty scared boy, who was relieved to know that an old trick he had heard about really did work. They thought they were attacking several well-armed men and they decided they were outnumbered. Before the dust had settled I had gathered up my few belongings, saddled my horse and I was on my way too, before they decided to come back and try it again”.
Joe did a lot of things in his lifetime that we can see duplicated on the television most any night of the week, but it was real then and a lot more believable the way he told of his adventures to me. He spends some time riding for the short-lived Pony Express. He had at least two trips as shotgun guard with Wells Fargo stage coaches taking a big load of silver bullion to San Francisco. He had to “stretch the truth” to get to ride with those young men who delivered the mail so long ago. And I remember the twinkle in his eye as he reminded me that, “ It’s always best to tell the truth, but if you have to tell a lie, tell it the best you can.”
When Joe went courting he was a sight to see. He rode into Grafton, Utah, a tiny town on the banks of the Virgin River in Southern, Utah. He had an especially beautiful horse: that could always be expected of Joe. His love for horses was exceeded only by his love for Ella, whose life he entered as an exciting cowboy, with fine clothes, silver mountings on his saddle and bridle, and he galloped down the main street of town, followed by a crowd of ragged barefoot boys. Here was a stranger, a new face and he wore a gun at his side with practiced ease. Joe met Emily Ellen Wood there in Grafton and it was quite surprising how often “business” too him back there in the following weeks. They were married in St. George, had a wedding dance in little church in Grafton, Utah which was attended by the whole town.
Joe was never a big man in stature, he was a slender and quick and clever man with his hands. But he was the sun, moon and stars to his wife and children, he was devoted to them and one of the first words his baby daughter learned to say was: “ Papa fix.” He made beautiful leather things for horses, braided hackamores and ropes, and liked to carve in wood. He made his living working as a cowhand, ranch hand and farming. Also as rodeo contestant sometimes, although this wasn’t too profitable even in those days when the cowboys in the rodeos were real ”cowboys” and very talented with their hard-learned skills.
Joe had a lifetime love affair with horses, and they seemed to know he was a true horseman. It is told how one dark stormy night, a neighbor woman in Canebeds was in labor, trying to have her baby. There was only a midwife there, and complications arose, making the need for a doctor a necessity, and in a hurry. To get to the doctor by the road would take hours and so the family asked Joe if he could possibly ride a horse over the hills to carry the message to the doctor. All the horses were in a big pasture, acres in size and. the storm would have made them nervous and next to impossible to catch, But Joe was never one to give up, so he said he would try. He put a bridle over his arm and filled a bucket with oats, and walked out into the pasture, whistling softly. There as he stood still and waited, he felt a quiet nudge at his back, then a big head came over his shoulder, and there was Weasel, the best horse in the herd at the time. And the one he would have picked out if he had had a choice, to take on such a hazardous ride. Saddling quickly, he mounted and headed out into the night. To go straight to Pipe Springs for the doctor would mean crossing through some unbelievably bad rough country, but Joe knew the situation was desperate, and he made the ride in record time. After he and Weasel had eaten and. rested the next day, they started back, and he was amazed to see in the daylight the size and depth of the washes and gullies they had jumped in the night. It took him a lot longer to get back home when he and the horse could see their way they were both afraid to cross by the same way they had come. The baby was safely born, and the family of the young mother could never do enough for
Joe after that. They always remembered his bravery and were appreciative of it as long as he was alive to thank.
Joe had two special horses, Old Red and Sir Galahad. They were very finely trained horses and were much in demand by the other cowboys at rodeos, Joe often made a lot more money renting them out to the other contestants than he made riding in the rodeo events. But this doesn’t mean he was a poor rider, on the contrary, he was very good, He could place coins under the soles of his boots and ride a galloping horse, or a bucking bronco to a standstill and the coins would still be there. He rode in rodeo parades and would fill his pockets with pennies and nickels and then going on to do a headstand on the saddle, he would race the horse down the street, with the children following, running to gather the coins. Needless to say, he was always popular with the children wherever he rode.
Joe had a sense of humor, he enjoyed a joke as much as anyone. He was returning from a job in the mountains and came upon his boss at the ranch planting a garden. He sat on his horse for awhile watching, then asked, “What have you planted?” Mr. Cummerill thought a moment and replied, “Beans, potatoes, corn and onions.” Joe got a worried look on his face and said, “You didn’t plant the potatoes next to the onions did you?” Mr. Cummerill said, “Yes I Did, Why?” Joe grew more worried and then said, “They will never come up that way.” “Why not asked the farmer?” “ Well the onions will get into the potatoes eyes, and then they won’t be able to see to grow.” As Joe rode off he looked back and saw Mr. Cummerill rolling on the ground with laughter. Joe tells of another time with this same man, who was short of stature with quite stubby legs. They were chasing some pigs that had scooted out under a fence, arid as they were caught the men would put them into a barn, Joe told him to close the door tightly so the pigs inside couldn’t see any light or they would rush the door and escape again. Which is just what happened, the pigs came charging out and before Mr. Cummerill could get out of the way, a big boar pig ran between his legs, or tried to but there wasn’t room, and off ran the pig with Mr. Cummerill astride, backwards. The onlookers weren’t sure if it was safe to laugh until the pig rodeo was over and Mr. Cummerili ‘dismounted’ in the field quite a ways away.
Joe was good with his lariat, both on foot and on horseback, but he did find himself in a predicament one time. He was in Montana one time, and saw a big moose in the distance, The huge set of horns was a challenge to a man with a reputation as good “roper” so he gave chase, and soon “had the bull by the horns,” but this was just the beginning. The animal was a lot bigger than it looked, and from the way Joe and the horse were being pulled along, a lot stronger too. There seemed to be a lot of big open country ahead of them, but Joe wasn’t sure he cared to see it being towed along by a mad moose, so he worked his pocketknife out of his pocket and cut the lariat. The moose continued in his way, and never offered to return the lariat trailing from his horns. While in this part of the country, Joe bought three pair of beaded moccasins’ made by Indians, to take to his children at home. One pair of these moccasins is still around today. They have been worn by Clinton, Itha, & Mliden, then Delbert, Kendel, Thain & Twain, Cheryl & Diane, then Paul, Valerie, Michelle, Kendell, Darryl, Travis & Marlow. It remains to the future to see how many more of the generations of children & grandchildren will participate in this family tradition. It’s plain to see what is meant when its said “They sure don’t make things like they used to”.
Joe was injured when a horse rolled over onto him, and was not able to do as much in the rodeos after that. But he could work just as good from the horse’s back. It was just when he had to dismount in a hurry that his hip gave him trouble. In the later years of his life he lived in a little house on an adjoining lot next to his daughter, Itha, and I was the granddaughter. I spent a lot of time with him, sitting and listening to the stories he told about his younger days. He always had his meals with us and on Christmas he would be there to open presents with us. He would have to carefully cut open each piece of tape and then slowly fold up the paper; it seemed to take him a long time to get his packages opened. He used to hold the package up to his head, then shake his head and say, “It rattles.” He liked to tease and was a lot of fun to play with.
Once there was a group of horses trapped in a brush corral, and he called to his three children, Clinton, Itha and Milden to stand across the opening to head off the horses, while he selected and roped the ones he wanted, but the horses had other ideas: seeing only those three small “Barriers to their freedom” standing there, they headed for the ‘gate’ and Joe watched as Clinton and Itha rushed out of their way, but Milden was in the middle and couldn’t get moved fast enough, and the band of wild ponies looked as if they would stampede right through him, but they didn’t t, they went right over him. He had fallen as he ran toward safety, and each horse leaped in a graceful arch over him as he lay in the dust, hands covering his head. Well, Joe picked him up, brushed off the dirt and later he rounded up the horses again into the corral and captured the ones he wanted. I remember he always was one to finish what he had started.
He had some real good horses, exceptionally beautiful, and always well-trained. There was Sir Galahad, and Chief and Old Red. Now Red was the special favorite. Joe had gotten him from Dan Livingston, and the story goes that he traded a jack mule and some money to boot for Red. That was the beginning of a real love affair between the horse and the man. Red was never tied when he was with Joe, and he followed Joe all around like a dog would do. Red was a beautiful dark reddish bay horse, not a sorrel, he was a quarter horse, and he was a short stocky, big barreled horse, very quick and fast for short distances. He was destined to win a lot of money on privately arranged races. The side bets were not to be sneezed at, for any cowboy with a favorite horse was willing to back up his opinion with a bet. Joe, Milden and a friend, Matt Cropper followed the rodeo circuit for quite a while, and although Joe was very good at this, he was a little old to just be starting. There was one time in Heber City that Joe and Red were responsible for saving Reed Horton’s life. He had ridden in the rodeo and as he tried to “Climb down” from a bucking horse he became tangled in the stirrups and the horse was dragging him. Joe on Red rushed to the rescue, although he was not riding as a pickup man that day. Joe was in the right place at the right time to gather up Reed, and Reed always said, his life had been saved that day. Red was never tied, even in the horse trailer. One time he became upset when a noisy car passed them while he was in the trailer. And he jumped out, and ran down the road, passing the car where the men were riding, he snorted & stomped loudly once when a passing car loaded with drunks threw a lighted cigarette into the straw filled trailer. Joe and the others stopped and filled their hats with water from a stream to douse out the fire. Red traveled many a mile and was loved by many a cowboy. Joe often rented out his very good roping bull-dogging horse to other rodeo contestants and made good money that way, but he was very particular to see that Red was never mistreated and never did a
man get Red again if he hadn’t been good to him. I remember Grandpa saying: “ A good horse is as good as a good man.”
Arizona, Nevada, Montana, Wyoming & Utah were just a few of the places they traveled, and Joe with a very heavy heart sold Red, when he was in sever financial difficulty. He had several children to raise and his health was not good, so when he was offered a fabulous price, he decided to sell him. Grandpa was not any longer able to ride in the rodeos and Red was a rodeo-trained horse. Well, Red continued to do a great job for his new owner and. died in action in a rodeo in Arizona some time later. Grandpa used to tell about a time when horses all around the area were dying from a kind of brain fever, and those horses not vaccinated were to be shot. Well Red had not (for various reasons) been vaccinated, but he had not been within miles of the affected area. But the sheriff was after him and determined to shoot him. Word of this reached the house before the sheriff did, and Milden was sent out the back way with Red, taking him safety to another area while Joe very hospitably talked to the sheriff about this and that, killing time so his horse could be gotten safely away. Maybe he remembered how many years before his children had seen a beloved dog killed by an over-zealous sheriff because he had not been there immediately to pay the dog license. Sometime the letter of the law isn’t in accordance with the spirit of the law. He was to lose his other special horses also. He took Sir Galahad and Chief and six others out to the open range to winter over when he could not afford to buy hay. And when he went to get them in the spring, at Rush Lake Ranch, (North and West of Cedar City), they were not to be found. Perhaps someone else knew the value of those fine horses.
Click Here to read about my wife Emily Ellen Wood Scow.
Site Navigation Bar:
Home My Family Photo Album Family History Services
My Family Corner Privacy Policy
My Mother Contact Me Links Site Map
|
Muirhouse Family History Services
Orem, Utah 84097
USA
Phone: (801) 319-2539
Relocated from Springville, Utah in Sept 2006, then from West Jordan, Utah in April 2007.
© Copyright 2008 - Muirhouse Family History Services
Privacy Policy
|
|
