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Note: his obituary: "Clyde Crawford Coons, 74, of Ogden died at 6:35 a.m. Saturday at his home. Mr Coons had resided in Ogden since June, moving
here from Pretty Prairie, Kan.
Funeral services and burial will be in Stafford, Kan. Local arrangements are in the charge of Freese Funeral Home, St Joseph, where
friends may call from 7 to 9 p.m. Monday.
Mr Coons was born Sept 3, 1895 in Boise, Idaho, a son of Joseph and Minnie Fuller Coons. He was married to Jessie Ruth Forbes in 1919. His
wife died in 1963.
He leaves a son, Robert of Ogden; a daughter, Mrs Lois Hruska of Omaha, Neb.; four grandchildren and a great-grandchild. Three brothers
and a sister also preceded him in death.
Mr Coons was a member of the Kansas Association of Swedenbargian Churches."
From the Pretty Prairie Times, Oct 30, 1969. This article was written by
the minister who had the service at Stafford. (article mailed to son,
Robert Coons from Mrs W. N. Hamilton who lived in Pretty Prairie)
"TO A FRIEND, by Eric Zacharias "Clyde Coons is dead. Wednesday morning, his friends will gather around the little wind-swept plot in the Stafford cemetery and lay his
body to rest. Life will go on.
One might well ask. Why write these words. Clyde did not amass a fortune. He knew no wide spread fame. His name perhaps will soon be
forgotten. He came into the world with little and left little of wealth
behind. He lived in a little house on the edge of town. He expressed no
need for riches. One day--not long ago--he left. He was a friend. And I
missed him.
I suppose we would have to confess that Clyde did not have much ambition. Aggressiveness was not a gift with which he was heavily
endowed. He spoke of his youthful years. A coon hunt was always better
than hoeing corn. A fishing pole, too, and a pond or a stream. There was
always another day for working the field. I never did see a man like
him--who could sleep cross-legged in a chair--with the warm sun full in
his face.
I suppose we would have to confess that Clyde enjoyed his wine--somewhat more than ordinary, he did. For he made it himself, you
know. And it pleasured him to see the ferment--and the seasoning. He knew
its warmth well. And his samplings were generous.
I recall some years ago. When the Feed Store still was open. Clyde was sitting in the doorway--as he often was wont to do. With Sissy lying
at his feet. And we were just talking. A child of four or five ran
by--and kicked at Sissy. Clyde took the hand of the little child and
said, "look, isn't this better?" And stroked Sissy's black coat. The
child ran on. It isn't much. Still, this lesson in kindness to one of
God's creatures....
Clyde never did much around his place. His house--well. Clyde was not a housekeeper. The dust collected. And trash. But if there was need
of a hand. Be it for one hour or more. Or if one had need of anything
that Clyde had--just ask. And repayment was not on his mind. He always
had time. And he gladly shared it with friends.
It isn't my place to make judgement. I see Clyde simply as a human being. With strengths. And weaknesses, too. Like all of us. And, too,
like all of us he was given the gift of time. A few short years on this
ole earth.
And I'm glad to have sat with Clyde. Just sitting in the sun--and sharing the thoughts men think."
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