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On August 11, 1973, my wife and I flew to Weatherford, Oklahoma where I first met my new wife's family. My favorite new acquaintance? Thirteen year old Scott Merchant. We hit it off. He was a good looking, not too tall, very smart, well spoken and infinitely inquisitive. I can honestly say that I loved and respected little Scott from day one. He wasn't better than other children that I was around, but, I just felt that he had great promise.
I asked Scott and his brother Tim if anyone wanted to go flying. Both did. The boys' mother, my new sister-in-law said, "Fine," so off we went.
(As I said at the beginning of this blog posting, this is a very, very short summary of my acquaintance with Scott Merchant.)
We flew. Two neatly dress boys taking their first ride in an airplane--a Cessna 172 that I rented from the local airport fixed base operator. Tim (on the left leaning against the wing strut) enjoyed the ride, but, one ride was enough for him. Scott (on the right in the shadow of the left wing), on the other hand, was 'hooked.' If you click to enlarge this photo, you can see the boys better and you can see me checking the fuel in the right wing tank.
Scott started collecting books on aviation and flying, saved his money and took flying lessons. He became a pilot before graduating from high school in 1978, earned his commercial pilot license and instructor's ratings before starting to college and worked his way through Southeastern Oklahoma State University teaching flying lessons and working as a charter pilot when time permitted. He also met and married Vicky who flew airplanes with a passion equal to Scott's. I accompanied Scott at each level of his life--advances in flying, advances in education, jobs, marriage and children. I loved Scott, his family, his life and everything he did.
In October of 1978, Scott played hooky from SWOSU and spent the weekend with John Crook (left) and me (not shown) in Harlingen, Texas where we camped on the Gulf of Mexico beach and drank in the Confederate Air Force annual air show. (Yeah, we got stuck in the sand!)
After graduating from SWOSU in the fall of 1982, Scott went to the Marines where he flew T-34C Mentors (turboprop), T-2 Texans (jet) and the A-4 Skyhawk (jet). After earning his wings, Scott called me and asked if he should choose the Marine fighter pilot career path or cargo pilot career path. The cargo pilot career path would, Scott thought, better prepare him to move to the airlines after his service in the Marines. I said, possibly so, but, you can always fly big, fat, cargo and passenger airplanes with lots of windows, but, this may be your only chance to fly fighters. My suggestion, Scott, take the fighter pilot path.
Scott looked at the Marine AV-8 Harrier 'jump jet' and the FA-18 Hornet and decided the FA-18 Hornet was the plane for him. Off he went to Miramar where he became a Marine FA-18 pilot. During the next four years, he saw the world from the air and from the deck of Navy aircraft carriers. He ended his Marine service flying FA-18s out of Beaufort, South Carolina.
In 1986, Scott stepped out of the Marine FA-18 Hornet and into the cockpit of a FedEx Boeing 727 cargo plane. He spent the next five years flying for FedEx, crossing the nation almost daily flying mostly in the dark, as FedEx planes mostly do. He called me every week from a hotel is some US city where he spent the day reading books before returning to Memphis that night. Scott worked, read books, loved his little girl, flew as he liked to do and developed his small lawn and garden service just outside of Memphis. Life was very, good.
In February of 1991, we got a call from Memphis. Scott had driven himself to a Memphis hospital so that a doctor could treat his lower back pain. One doctor, three doctors, seven doctors looked at Scott, and, three days later told him that cancer was rampant in his body and he had 75 days to live. FedEx flew Scott on a small jet to MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston and, within just a few days, doctors there said there was nothing they could do.
Scott spent about two months in a room on MD Anderson's tenth floor and I stayed in the room most of those days and nights. Each day, commercial and military pilots from around the country dropped by Houston for a visit. After a short visit with Scott, I would lead the visitor, blinded by his or her tears, back to the hospital elevator. Two or three of Scott's former college, and now airline pilot friends, happened to drop by during Scott's 31st birthday party.
In early April, treatment switched to pain relief only. Scott spent a few minutes each day with his mom, wife and two-year old daughter, once having the opportunity to hear the heartbeat of his new baby still in the oven.
In mid-April 1991, Scott died. Had one of the biggest funerals ever held in Weatherford, Oklahoma. He's buried in the nearby town of Corn, Oklahoma close to his beloved grandfather. Scott learned much, worked hard, did good and had fun--a fine mentor for his nieces and nephews.
This blog posting just touches the surface of one of the great experiences of my life. I got to spend 18 years with a walking, talking, living, breathing class act.
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