On October 19, 1937, in Columbus, Ohio, Arthur W. Scurlock and wife, Marie, became parents for the fifth time and they named the boy child after his father, Arthur William. This was how Arthur William Scurlock, Jr. was introduced to the world.

Times were really tough back then. The Great Depression was barely over and jobs were scarce. Mom Scurlock, worked in a hot laundry washing, starching and ironing dress shirts for clients wealthy enough to afford such a luxury.   His dad, worked off and on as a barber and at Curtis-Wright Corporation a large airplane parts manufacturer in Columbus.   One of  "Artie’s", (as the family and friends affectionately called him) fondest memories, he says: “ Going to pick up “dad” at Curtis-Wright,  on the East side of Columbus, we would go by the Buckeye Potato Chip  plant, and for a fifty cents, we would occasionally buy a five gallon tin of freshly baked potato chips”.  Obviously they didn’t do this very often, but it was their way of “splurging” every now and then.

Art was raised not only by his parents, who worked most of the time, but also by his oldest sister, Dorothy Louise, who was 15 years older than him.  They lived in a 1½ story house at the back of the lot at 1112 Geneva Avenue in a suburb of Columbus, until the "new" house was constructed at the front of the lot.  It also was a 1½ story, three tiny bedrooms and no indoor plumbing. Artie said his dad bragged about not having any blueprints to go by to build the house, which as Art got older, the lack of planning became evident.

 Art has reflected many times on life back then,  growing up in that neighborhood.  Once when sister Dorothy let him escape from her sight for a minute or two, he fell into an underground cistern that graced the side yard of the old house.  There was hardly any water in the cistern, but when she finally discovered his whereabouts, she pulled him up by the arms and when he got back to the safety of the yard, he exclaimed: "Sure was dark down there".  Sister Dorothy, threatened him within an inch of his life, if he ever told "mom" what happened.  He obviously lived, even though that evening when "mom" arrived home from work the first words out of his mouth was: "Sure was dark down there", to which sis had to provide an explanation.

Art recalls that imagination was the best ally growing up.  Even though they were very, very poor, he didn't think of himself as poor.  Welfare did not exist back then and even if it did, his parents were too proud to accept handouts from anyone.  It was virtually shameful back then to be on the "dole" as some would say.  His dad and mom always had a large garden where they grew all kind of vegetables. Mom would spend her precious spare time canning and storing the canned goods in a cellar in the basement.  His parents also raised cows and pigs and even one tme had a "billy goat".  There were plenty of chickens.  When chicken was the meal, "mom" would gather one up and step on its' head and pull its' head off, throw it out away from her in the yard, until the chicken quit flopping.  She would put the chicken in a pot of scalding hot water to free the feathers and then pluck the feathers, cut up the chicken into parts and "we would enjoy the best fried chicken anyone ever ate" Art recalls.

Once every year "dad" would get Art's brothers and some other close friends together and they would take one or two of the hogs and butcher them, right there on site.  They would rig up a frame to which they would attach a pulley and rope.  On the ground below, they would put water in a 55 gallon drum, build a fire under it and when the water started to boil, they would attach the rope to the hogs rear feet and hoist it to the top of the frame and one of the older brothers would proceed to fire a rifle shot in the hogs head.  They would rapidly lower the hog in the boiling hot water for a short time, long enough for them to be able to remove the hair from the carcass.  They would then "skin" the hog and butcher it right there in that same area.  This was always exciting to watch (Art was much too young to participate).  Once the loin was removed, mom would fix it for the workers and and family.  "The best pork tenderloin I ever ate in my life", Art recalls.

Even though they had few toys, Art and his “buddies” could spend hours in a sandbox or climbing trees and playing games like Cowboys and Indians.  “We could invent, in our minds, all sorts of things back then”, he recalls.  There was no TV or cell  phones, but: “we did have a radio that aired shows like Tennessee Jed, Yukon King, The Shadow”, he recalls, “I could just picture myself on a dog sled, behind a team of huskies”.

Art recalls the old one room (actually several rooms, but each grade had only one room and one teacher for all subjects), one teacher schoolhouse where he grew up, Wilson Elementary.  Although a couple of miles away, the kids back then walked to school.  It was when he was in the fifth grade, he met his childhood sweetheart, Shirley Cartwright.  They both were shy, but Art, believe it or not was painfully so.  Since Shirley lived in a different neighborhood, she went to a different school.  So how did they meet?  Actually, it was on a day trip to the symphony.  His across the street neighbor, Zona Gale Bare, somehow went to that same school and when his class came into the auditorium, she invited him to sit with them.  It was “love” at first sight. For several years they routinely exchanged handwritten notes via Zona Gale, until he went off to the “city” school for his ninth grade classes (the old school only went to the eighth grade).  Of course, they eventually went separate ways, never again to be sweethearts again.  One interesting story, Art tells, is that his brother Howard (seven years older), would see the bus come, and would wait till Zona Gale handed off the note to Artie and then demand that he read it.  Of course, Art would refuse, and that is when Howard, who obviously was much bigger and stronger, would literally beat the tar out of him until he gave up the note.  Many of times in later years, his brother Howard and he would recall those days and laugh about it.  “It wasn’t so funny back then”, said Art, “but as we grew up and matured to a different set of standards we realized how humorous it all was at that time". Howard died of cancer at the age of 61.