SAM ALLTON

"Mr. Sam," the man who brought beauty to Jenks died Feb. 15.

It somehow seems fitting he should leave while everything seems brown, because he was born on the first day of Spring, March 21, 1909, and will be much more remembered during the seasons when everything is green.

Sam was six when his family arrived in Jenks by covered wagon in 1915. After his marriage to Tessie, they opened Allton's Greenhouse and worked together until health could no longer make that possible.

As the Allton business grew, so did the family. They raised daughters, Carol Merrell of Bethany; Pat Kennan of Tulsa and son, Sam Allton Jr., while they also gained customers from around the world.

In 1967, Sam told a reporter, "I borrowed two old sashes from a neighbor's chicken house and spent the money to replace some of the broken panes. Then I planted cabbage and was able to protect them with the sashes. The neighbors bought my vegetables and pretty soon I got to where I could borrow $80. Then I bought 20 sashes and got started." He had opened his business with 80 dollars.

Always known for the hearty pansies and tomatoes they grew, the Allton's would mail out as many as 800,000 pansies a season as customers would spread the word to friends worldwide.

Sam always had time for groups, especially if children were involved. He loved to send them home with something they could grow of their own. One small boy who went home with a pansy told Sam his mother had given him a big kiss and hug, but he knew it should have belonged to Sam.

The Allton's have always generously supported many projects. Most people in town have lost track of the donations that have been made to Jenks and its groups by the Allton family.

When purchases did not look the same at home, Sam would always patiently diagnose the problem and try to make it right. He never seemed to mind how many times he had to tell you what you needed to know.

He said the secret of his wonderful tomato plants was the use of plants that were suited for Oklahoma weather.

The wiry little man who was the eldest son in a rather large Irish clan loved poetry and memorized volumes. When he discovered a mouse that chewed through one of his Harvard Classics -- Dante's Inferno, he said, "Would you look at that, a mouse has chewed his way through hell."

Because he usually worked seven days a week, he took his share of comments from local ministers. One would drive past on Sunday and ask why he was working. Sam would yell back, "I'm working to beat hell!" One priest said he reckoned Sam spent more time on his knees than most preachers.

On Sunday mornings, Sam would look at the cars parked in front of churches and say, "I see the people who need to be in church this morning are there."

A true champion of women's rights before it was popular, Sam once told a group, "I have no choice but to stand up for women. I have a mother, four sisters, a wife, two daughters, a female dog, female birds, a female cat and lady bugs in my garden."

As Alzheimer's slowly took over his life and Sam had to have round-the-clock care, his family told of Sam eating everything on his plate, but some black-eyed peas. He took his spoon and plate to the yard and carefully buried the peas.

The loving, gentle man that was so admired and loved did that one thing he truly knew how to do better than others. One of his children summed it up by calling her Dad's life a "Bloomin' Success Story."

(Photograph included).