The third child of Horace and Thomasina Scott, Jean was born on a bone chilling day in January 1923 in the backwoods of Cedarville, Arkansas. Her brother and sister were born well over a decade earlier, having already established families and careers. So Jean's girlhood in the early '20s resembled that of a single child, one that was modest and demanded the maturity of an adult. Her only complaint--and one she never let anyone forget--was the daily six-mile round trip she trod to school. The Depression Era swept through her formative years, creating a fortitude of body and mind, as well as realistic courage and resilient hope. These qualities bore into her marrow and weaved themselves into her soul for the rest of her days, illustrating an example of how to live a forthright, independent life with integrity and service to others.

During her high school days, she met Jack Haggard, who tried to woo her with his flirty shyness. But it was his full head of curly hair and gap-toothed smile, plus his large family of six brothers and five sisters, that influenced her decision to marry him in 1942 in Fort Smith, Arkansas, right before the World War II draft. During the war, while Jack was overseas, Jean made long bus rides with other Rosie the Riveter women to work in factories assembling parts for aircraft and military weapons.
Having endured war hardships and food scarcity, Jack and Jean then faced the unimaginable painful loss of their first born child, Dottie Jean, to crib death in 1943. They made the drive with their daughter's casket cradled in the back seat to the cemetery with the kind of strength that only comes from those born of the dust and grit stirred up in the heartland during that time. It was just what you did. And so it was.

Tulsa promised a good job and a plot of land where they could start building a comfortable home and raise children. And so, in 1948, a few years after the birth of their daughter, Cindy, they started construction on the humble, yet warm and inviting, bungalow that would never really get finished because of additions and improvements. Their son, Tommy, six years younger than his sister--on whom Jean doted until her death--was born in 1953.

Jean Haggard was not a homemaker; she was a maker of Home--with a capital H. She created a space that lived and breathed in synchronicity with the rise and fall of her own chest. Whether it was the garden where twenty some odd rows of lettuces, squash, carrots, tomatoes, beets, snap peas and other vegetables flourished for decades; or the underground cellar Jack dug where she stored the pickled varieties of this homegrown produce; or the living room where she constantly dusted kitchy thrift store treasures and made sure a decorative glass bowl was always full of cellophane-wrapped hard candies.

The house had no center. It flowed in rhythm with her wherever she went, following her lead like a forlorn pup. For making a home requires patience and consistency, sometimes mundane repetition. Yet she took stoic pride in placing a vase just so or filling the house with the smell of freshly baked bread. Complaining was a waste of time, best left to amateurs. Just getting it done was how it should be. And so it was.

She rose early, before daybreak, and cooked in a tiny 6 by 8 square foot space where she bustled to and fro in an effortless waltz from stovetop and oven to sink, mixing bowl and mixer. She believed in making everything from scratch, but not so much in recipes. She believed in providing but never tolerated wastefulness. She believed in breakfast--the smell of strong, percolating coffee, buttermilk biscuits, and sausage gravy that could levitate you out of bed to the table.

She loved flowers and was an avid landscaper. After all, one should have a beautiful greeting from nature walking up to the doorway. And so it was. She was a great collector of strays--dogs and cats, of course--but most notably humans. She loved company and the company that visitors provided, especially when they felt welcomed. Invitations were superfluous, since there was always a seat at the table, no matter the number of guests, and there was always enough to eat. She knew what true pangs of hunger felt like, and so it was important that she provide nourishment to all who took a plate. A veritable feast, usually: chicken, roast, half a dozen sides, sweet tea, and two to three fruit pies, maybe chocolate for those with a real sweet tooth.

She also believed in being a wife. It was hard to tell where she began and Jack ended. The two seemed to inhabit the same body, speaking an intimate language with no sound. She was also a mother and grandmother: the living embodiment of comfort and safety. After all, that was how it should be.

And so she was.

Jean is preceded in death by her parents; her husband, Jack Haggard; her daughter, Dottie Jean, as well as her sister, Grace Neal; and her bother, Raymond Scott.

She is survived by her daughter, Cynthia Gaddy and her husband, Joe Gaddy; her son, Thomas Haggard; two grandchildren, Stefani Eads and Tyler Eads, plus his wife Melissa Eads. Jean will also continue to look over her two great-grandchildren, Mia Eads and Luke Eads.

Viewing will be 2:00pm to 8:00pm Tuesday, March 18, 2025 at the Moore Southlawn Chapel. Funeral Services will be 2:00pm Wednesday, March 19, 2025 at the Memorial Park Cemetery Chapel, followed by burial at Memorial Park Cemetery.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to a local pet shelter of your choice in Loving Memory of Jean.