In my family there were lots of memorable dates that came and went. Some of them marked the "good times" and others, well they marked times we all wish would never have happened. One of those dates that we'd probably never thought would bring the "life changing" event that it did was December 24th, 1976~Christmas Eve.
On December 24th of that year I was a "newly wed" having been only married a month. Rick and I were living in a mobile home at the edge of my hometown of Haven, Ks. It had been fun to get ready for that first Christmas together and when we fell asleep late on the evening of December 23rd, our preparations were complete.
Three miles south of town, in a newly painted two-story farmhouse, my family was sleeping as well. Mom and Dad in their room with my little 7-year old niece Kimberly asleep in her own bed between theirs. Upstairs was my brother Dick in his room and my sister Sherry, her husband Wes, and their 3-year old daughter, Brandy asleep in my bedroom, only vacated by me the month before.
The traditional Scott family Christmas tree, cut down from the pasture only days before, was decorated and standing in the southeast corner of the living room, wrapped presents piled underneath it. The fireplace had only a few hot coals left burning....all would appear was well.
In the early morning hours we heard it....noise and yelling outside. Well, you know friends when someone is beating the heck on your front door at 4 in the morning then something is dreadfully "not right". By the time we made it to the front door, we saw them.
My brother, Dick and sister, Sherry were standing on our front porch steps. And what was even more weird than seeing them at our house in the 'wee' morning hours was the fact that they were dressed in pajamas. Unfortunately, it didn't take long to figure out what was going on. My sister's simple 5 word exclamation "The house is on fire!" and the mammoth orange glow on the south eastern horizon told the story.
It didn't take that long, in all honesty, for that old farmhouse to go. The fire started in the new fireplace, caught the back porch on fire and then quickly spread to the kitchen and the remaining seven rooms. And out of the burning and smoke filled house, came the people that would definitely have been in my "keeper" pile of my "living lightly" assignment, my family. Because my sister Sherry was pregnant with the little baby who was to be my niece Mandy, eight lives were spared that day.
The series of events that followed were filled with irony. Daddy had this uncanny habit of carrying the set of keys for every vehicle that he owned on a key chain in the pockets of his work pants. Luckily he found the pair of work pants quickly in the darkness and because the phone was already dead and gone, he went to his pick up to use his CB radio to call for help. Daddy's radio handle was the "Bald Eagle" and it only took a couple of tries of calling for help before a trucker going by on 96 highway recognized who was screaming for assistance. The trucker notified the Haven Fire Department to get help. But try as everyone might, it would be of no use. The Haven fire truck only made it to the outskirts of town when the clutch went out. Precious minutes flew by as they quickly got a second fire truck to pull the first one out to fight the blaze. By the time we made it there from town, there was little to do but watch it go. I will never forget the look of despair on my father's face....This big, strong and hard-working man who always put his family before himself and provided for them had to stand helplessly by as the fire finished engulfing everything inside.
Praise the good Lord above, miraculously no one died. Except for some smoke inhalation, no major injuries befell anyone that day. And you know even IF everything you ever owned was now reduced to a pile of ruins inside the deep abyss of the basement walls, well who really cared anyway? Eight lives were spared that day...THOSE people lived to tell the story.
In as quickly as the house burnt to the ground, equally fast was the way in which friends and neighbors came to our family's aid. Haven postmaster, Raleigh May, was the first one at the back door of our family's business, Scott's Cafe. He pressed a check for $100 into my dad's hands, telling him he knew there would be more to come. Man, was he ever right about that. Food, clothing, furniture and household goods filled the back room of the cafe in the hours following. Paul Grier, our local pharmacist, went down to fill my dad's numerous prescriptions for his heart ailment and would take absolutely NO money. The Hempstid's opened their variety store and invited Mom to get anything they might need. They too would take no payment. And these were just a couple of the many folks that helped. Even now, 35 years later, the surviving members of the Scott family remember that little town with a humble and thankful heart. If you HAVE to learn how to "travel light" in such an extreme manner, well you can only hope that it's in a place like Haven, Kansas.
Taking time off from writing in the blog until next week when I return on Tuesday to the "land of miracles". May you each have a blessed Christmas!
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