Scott - J.T.
JAMES T. SCOTT
Source: H.W. Beckwith History (Chicago: HH Hill, 1880) p 357
SCOTT, J.T., postmaster, Waveland, was born in Putnam County, Indiana in 1831 and is a triplet son of Alexander and Martha Scott, who were natives of Pa and Ky and came to Putnam County about 1825. Here the father died when he was 82 and one day old. The mother died at 44 years of age.
The subject of this sketch remained at home until 14 after which he went to learn the tailor's trade, which occupation he has followed all his life. He kept the post office at Portland Mills for 10 years and has held the office at Waveland since 1874.
In 1840 he married Miss Annie BOSWELL of Putnam County who was born at Russellville 1833. Her parents were natives of Ky and came to Putnam County in an early day. Mr. Scott has long since been a devoted member of the Presbyterian Church and is one of Montgomery County's staunch republicans. = kbz
Source: (LOVE THIS) -- Lines Complimentary to J.T. Scott, Waveland Postmaster - by Dr. Joseph Russell
Postoffice honors ever due
To James T. Scott be given,
A man so tired and yet so true,
Should find reward in heaven.
A Merchant, tailor, too is he
And gives it close attention
All forms he'll fit just to a "T"
No cause here for contention
Besides his cler,s two hands he works
Upon his tailor board
He from a duty never shirtks
And stands up to his word.
When pressed with care with shears in hand
To cut to lines of measure
Some one intrudes with harsh command
And thwarts his mite of leisure
"Please Mr. Scott, my mail hand out,
The train will soon be going."
Then quick as thought Scott turns about
With business overflowing.
One wants a letter stamped in haste
Another wants an order,
One wants some mucilage to paste
Some wrapping in disorder.
One wants some paper, pen and ink,
A postal card another,
And when the mail comes in you'd think
The tumult quite a bother.
The schoolmiss calls four times a day,
"Please, Mr. Scott my mail, Sir."
She gets no mail, but goes her way
And calls again next day, sir.
And thus the calls from morn till night
WHich might perplex a devil
But he with temper strangely right
With meekeness meets each evil.
And when the tension of his nerves
Are for the time exhausted
His well lit pipe at once conserves
The ills upon him foisted
A plucky patience, blended well
With persevering drift
has made our hero to excel
In honors and in thrift!"
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