Thomas Bader Scroggs, 87

Thomas Bader Scroggs, 87, died Wednesday morning, June 15, 2011, at his home, with his family, after a long battle with Parkinson's disease.

He was born June 1, 1924, in Los Angeles, to Laura Bader Scroggs and Thomas Scroggs.

Raised in Los Angeles, he joined the U.S. Navy in 1942 during World War II, was a signalman in the South Pacific, and then became a hard hat diver, clearing landing areas underwater on Japanese-held islands so the landing barges could bring in the troops, and also salvaging from sunken U.S. ships.

He joined the Los Angeles Police Department in 1947, working as a motor cop for 24 of his 25 years on the force.

He married his childhood sweetheart, Phyllis Galia, and they had two children, Thomas Paul Scroggs and Susan Scroggs. Phyllis died of cancer, and Tom carried on raising his children, working jobs doing plumbing to help financially.

He loved playing golf, and that was his "out" from job stress, playing some of the finest courses in Southern California. Being a crack golfer, he played in many tournaments and had a room full of trophies he had won.

In 1969 he met, courted and married another Los Angeles police officer, named Patricia. They shared the love of the job, worked the same shifts, even the same division in the police department, and each understood why sometimes one could get a holiday off and the other had to work. Tom was, of course, on his motorcycle, and his wife assigned to patrol and other jobs that called for a female officer.

On their days off they would work on their search for the perfect place to retire, looking in Wyoming, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Colorado and Montana. Tom's only request was that, wherever, he would be within 30 miles of a golf course — and they found the Flathead Valley and bought 40 acres. The search for the “right” place to build their home for the rest of their lives ended.

In 1972, Tom retired from the L.A.P.D. They packed up and moved to the Creston Pothole area. They and son Tom built their first home themselves. Young Tom went to Bigfork High, and then he joined the Navy.

Tom belonged to the Buffalo Hill Golf Course and any sunny day (and sometimes days not so sunny) you would find him up at the golf course, happy, doing what he liked best. He loved the Buffalo Hill Golf Course. (That became his second home.) Sometimes he would leave home with his clubs and it would be snowing hard, and his comment was, “God loves us golfers; it won't be snowing up at Buffalo Hill,” and frequently he was right.

Son Tom and the grandkids tried to make it over from their home in Washington state three to four times a year, and tried their best to help in any way they could, cuffing firewood, fixing things that needed fixing, and spending holidays at the home.

Tom and Pat's first home burned down in 2001, and they moved to the Echo Lake Marina while the new house was being built at the same location as their first. Tom was so happy to be back at his home, and off to the golf course he went again.

He is survived by his wife, Pat, of 42 years, who adored him and is devastated by the loss of her love, buddy, best friend, back-up partner and companion. His wife Pat, of course, son Tom, and grandchildren, Maria, Cassandra and Thomas were with him at his time of death. He rallied enough to recognize all of them when son Tom and the grandkids (all adults now) arrived from Washington to be with him, and then was unresponsive the last few days of his life.

“Out of pain, but in another place. Just tired of the old body and ready to move on, hopefully to be with his old buddies Gene, Brownie and Eddie who have gone on before him and are waiting for him, tee time, all set to play again.” He died in his own home, surrounded by those who loved him.

There never was a person who met Tom who did not like him. He was just that kind of man. He will be forever missed for his quick wit, heart of warmth and love, his quiet, easygoing way of doing and handling things, and the love of a challenge.

By his own wishes he will be cremated and his ashes scattered in a certain place on his land. A celebration of his life will be held privately by his family at the home.