John E. Scott

John E. Scott

November 12, 1931 ~ October 02, 2020


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John E. Scott, age 88, passed away October 2, 2020 at his home in Vero Beach surrounded by loving family.

He was born November 12, 1931 in Carlisle, Pennsylvania to the late Walter and Sylvia (Ella) Scott.

Mr. Scott served in the United States Army.

Prior to retirement, he was employed with Ford Motor Company for 31 years as a Quality Control Engineer.

Mr. Scott received his bachelor’s degree in hotel management from Michigan State University.

Survivors include his loving wife, Helen; son, Mark Scott; daughter, Amy Hardin; step-son, William Schroeder; and grandchildren, Bonnie and Scott Hardin, and Nicole and Melanie Schroeder.

He was predeceased by his brother, Eldon Scott.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to VNA Hospice, 1110 35th Lane, Vero Beach, Florida 32960.

Arrangements by Thomas S. Lowther Funeral Home & Crematory, Vero Beach.


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Mark - Son

October 10, 2020, 9:09 pm

Sifting through memories to share, of times spent with Dad, I realize that he’s never not been with me, so all memories become memories of times spent with Dad. It’s not just my early memory of riding on his shoulders as we walked around the neighborhood in the evening, or those good times canoeing the rivers of Michigan during our Boy Scout troop’s annual Father-Son canoe trip, or us riding bicycles together through the streets of Chicago (did I really drag Dad on a bicycle ride through the chaotic streets of downtown Chicago?!). But to an extent greater than he probably realized, he was there, too, during those summers I worked as a canoe guide up in Temagami; he was with me when I flew half-way around the globe to teach school in Swaziland; he came along as I boarded a train for my big move from Chicago to San Francisco; and he was right by my side as I bought a piece of land in Truckee for the cabin he so wanted to see finished. He has traveled with me from the southern hemisphere to north of the Arctic Circle, always a constant companion. So, Dad, if you’re reading this, rest assured, we’ve got a lot more traveling to do together!

amy kerr hardin - daughter

October 23, 2020, 4:45 pm

In thinking about what to say about my father, I don’t wish to provide the predictable platitudes. Instead I will offer the way I choose to remember him. A piece of his story as a fun parent.

When I was about ten years old, Dad took me to work for a day. He was very excited to show me the massive computer room at the Ford headquarters. There were men in white lab coats roaming among computers the size of the cars they made. It was freezing cold, so we didn’t stay long.

Next, he took me to the assembly line and we watched car bodies being run through “pits” of paint. This is where decades later, those layers of paint are being harvested by jewelers and collectors. For Dad’s 80th birthday we gave him a Fordite piece. At that time, he didn’t know it was a “thing”, but he appreciated the gift.

Our next stop was the test track. We got into a souped-up Mustang and went round and round. Dad was having so much fun driving fast and furious. I remember being surprised we were allowed to drive so fast. I asked him if we were going to be in trouble.

A few years later, we went camping in northern Michigan. We were driving a leased full-sized Econoline van – hardly a race car, but that didn’t stop Dad. One day we took a drive and when we hit a straight-away with no other traffic, he decided to see if the van would live up to it’s specs by hitting 90 mph. We did 115.

Stories like these are how I choose to remember my dad.

Bonnie Hardin - Granddaughter

October 24, 2020, 2:38 pm

Throughout my entire life, no matter where I was living or what my interests were, Grandpa always had something interesting to share with me in connection. From National Geographic clippings sent through the mail, to updates in my inbox about a new development being built by Michigan State, he kept up on news from everywhere and always made sure to pass it on. That is something I have always admired about him—his ability to stay close even while separated by great distances. On top of that, every life development of mine inspired a story from him about something he recalled from his youth, or something he’d read about. If he couldn’t remember in the moment I could always expect a follow up with the details he wanted to share. His curiosity was endless, and his exploring spanned the world. His passion for life and enthusiasm to share it with those he loved will always stay with me.

Scotty Hardin - Grandson

October 24, 2020, 6:11 pm

My best memory of Grandpa is a summer evening when I was very young, and we were all sitting out on our front porch. Grandpa was feeding chipmunks and coaxing them up onto the porch while Bonnie and I imitated him and tried to tame the little animals by offering them a seed at a time. He was really good at it, and we weren’t so great, so after a while the chipmunks became too excited and aggressive and one of them attacked me. Mom and Dad said no more feeding chipmunks after that, for fear of some chipmunk-born illness, but years later I saw a decades old photo of Grandpa peacefully feeding another chipmunk out of his hand. People and animals all seem to agree — Grandpa was the easiest person in the world to get along with.

John Vennerholm - Best Boyhood Friend

October 30, 2020, 12:13 pm

Memories of my best boyhood friend, John Scott.

My parents built our home on South Vernon in about 1939. The first friend I ever had there was Walter and Ella Scott’s son, John. He and I were classmates at the Lindbergh primary school and, for years, we often walked to and from school together. We were all part of an incredibly close group of kids in our immediate neighborhood and we rode our bikes everywhere. I can never remember calling him anything else but “Scotty”. For some unknown reason, all of us boys had strange nicknames. I remember being called “Venner” or “Nhoj”. The McCormick boys, Allan and Douglas, were called “Puss” and “Pants” (we never figured out why, but those were their nicknames). Tom Nulf, (whose mom was later to become our high school nurse), was named “Mot”. John was always called Scotty or just Scott.

At some time in those early years, Walter Scott and my dad got together and bought the vacant fifty foot lot between our homes and landscaped it with what we called a sunken garden. In the summer, there were flowers on the small hillsides and in the cold winter, the whole front part of the lot was filled with water and it became the neighborhood skating rink. In those days during the war, I remember clearly how we boys would play soldier with our plastic helmet liners, our knickers and “high tops” (laced leather boots that came up to the knee), and we all had our homemade wooden rifles and machine guns to protect the whole neighborhood. One special memory of mine is an old photo of all of the neighborhood guys and girls standing on the ice, we boys with our uniforms and weapons and Scotty and his dog “Blackie” with him on a leash. We were awesome!

Later on, my wife Ginny and I were high school classmates with him and Norma, and we remember their marriage. Our paths separated after graduation, but all these years since have not lessened my recollection of Scotty’s gentle and infectious laugh and his unending way of always seeming to be so happy. The photo that you sent to me, Helen, is absolutely the way that I have always remembered him. He was truly a best friend and my life has been better for that.

I will miss him.

John Vennerholm, 29 October, 2020

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