Oscar Morris Lyman, Sr

Oscar crossed the plains with his parents as a baby. His youth was spent in the Salt Lake valley and in the Parowan, Iron County area. His education was brief, but he had a great desire for knowledge.

His mother loved to tell how he would lay in front of the open fireplace with no other light and read everything he could get within his hands, while others slept.  His eagle eye was as true as a straight line.

He was known  for his marksmanship.  He was taught by his loving parents the difference between right and wrong; his choice seemed marked for right.  He formed no bad habits for liquor, tobacco or the forbidden things.  He was skilled in his work with wood.  With his own hands he had built the house in which he left his family.  Long years after his death, the house was replaced by one more modern.  But the picket fence which he built to enclose his home still remains straight and the cedar posts he planted as part of this fence to this day stand firm and solid in the earth.  At the time of his death he had been called for missionary work, having received his call to serve in England and he had accepted.

He met his death at the age of 27, leaving his wife and two boys.  His death occurred at the 22nd of October, 1874.  At this time he was working at a sawmill as the engineer.  This mill was between fifteen and twenty miles from Parowan, up what is called Red Creek Canyon.  From the tragedy of that day we get a glimpse of what science was given this generation in safety valves and safety assurance.  The boiler of the engine was filled by an injector; apparently this morning it failed to work, and the crude water gauge revealed no trouble.  After adjusting valves, Oscar went out of the mill to speak to his friend, Edgar L Clark, who was passing by on horseback.   They had been life-long friends as both were at Winter Quarters while the emigrant saints were resting there.  After talking a few minutes only, they parted.  As they did, Oscar suggested that he had dreamed that night the mill blew up.  With a word of caution from his friend, he ran up the plank-way whistling a happy tune.  Going directly to the engine, this time the injector worked and cold water struck a hot crown sheet.

As Uncle Edgar turned his horse to follow the road, his ears heard what his eyes had just failed to see.  So this beautiful October morning, while the spirit of harvesting fell over the earth, this young life fell before the reaper as though it was ripened grain.  In these few years this noble man had apparently accomplished all he came to earth to do.  He had been industrious and studious far beyond his time and year.

 By:  Florence Mickelson – Written in 1969

• Updated from Find A Grave Memorial via Phoebe Madora 'Aunt Madora' Halterman (born Benson Lyman) by SmartCopy: May 14 2015, 8:17:30 UTC

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