Harrison (Harry) Cockrell Scrivner

Harrison, Harry or H C Scrivner, the son and one of 13 children of Joseph Scrivner and Polly (Mary) Benton Scrivner was born and grew to manhood as a farmer near Millers Creek, Estill County, Ky. Much of his working life he worked as a farmer and a blacksmith. He married Sarah Howell, daughter of Achilles Howell and America Thacker on October 23, 1885. To them, 13 children were born, all living to maturity. In 1910 Harry packed all his livestock, farm equipment and his family on a train at Irvine, Ky and migrated west to Kansas where two of his brothers were already established in farming and raising cattle. In 1918 his wife Sarah died as a result of the Spanish Flu epidemic. Sarah never liked living in Kansas and asked her son, Sam to return her to her beloved Kentucky when she died. He gave her his promise and she is buried with her parents in Crawford Cemetery, Estill County, Ky. When I was young, my "grandad", Harry lived in Potwin, Kansas. I spent lots of time with him as did many of the kids nearby. He always had a big fish story to tell and all the boys loved hearing his wild tales. He lived in a small two room house (with an outhouse). To keep visitors and kids off his bed, he strung a barbed wire from head to foot. It worked, no one played or sat on the bed. When I would stay the night with him, I slept with him. He said I kicked like a mule. One time when I stayed with him he wrapped a hedge post in a blanket and laid it in the middle of the bed. "Now, by grab, kick that" he chuckled. The term "by grab" was the nearest I ever heard him swear. I don't recall him ever going to church, but he often read the Bible. I recall once he baked a cherry pie. A neighborhood boy by the name of Paul Dean Whiteside came to visit and asked for a piece of pie. Paul was about 8 or 9 years old. When he had finished the pie, he asked for another. Grandad just set the whole pie in front of him. To grandads delight, Paul ate the whole thing. Grandad always smoked a pipe. In about 1942, while in military service, my brother, Dale came home on furlough and brought grandad a crooked stem pipe. It had a huge bowl that would hold at least a half can of Prince Albert tobacco. It was great fun for grandad to watch the surprised expression when he "bumed" a pipe full of tobacco from one of his unsuspecting uptown cronies and he dumped a half can of PA in that pipe. All in good fun, it always got a rise and a laugh out of his buddies. In his last years, grandad lived with us on the farm. In April of 1951 his heart failed him. He was admitted to the hospital in El Dorado, Kansas where he died of what they, then called hardening of the arteries. He, along with two of his brothers and nieces and nephews are buried at the McGill Cemetery, just south of Potwin, Kansas. Raising his children, he was extremely harsh, using the razor strop, liberally, on any child who disobeyed him. Today, it would be considered child abuse and they would probably have him in jail, but, all his kids grew up to be successful and were good, honorable families who loved and respected their father. Now all of his children and most of his grandchildren are gone with the exception of myself and 4 or 5 cousins. His children were: Sam Tudor, Walker Jamison, Millard Burnam, Ollie Pryse, Herman Howell, Mary Jennings, Matty Clay, Beverly Broaddus, America Howell, Wesley Simcox, Neal, Rhoda Retta and Jessie Woodrow Wilson. Mary Jennings was my mother.