(1st son of Harvey & Viola Rossier)

Born:       May 29, 1922

Died:       April, 30 2011        Greer, South Carolina

Married:       Geneva Osgood on December 22,1947

Children:       Sandra       Martha       Mark

Arthur married Geneva Osgood on December 22, 1947 and lived in Sutton for many years. Arthur worked as an electrician and as a farmer. After Harvey retired, they bought the "home farm." In later years, Arthur gave up dairy farming and worked in the woods on the farm's wood lots. After selling the farm and the land, he and Geneva moved to Lyndonville, Vermont.

Arthur and Geneva had two daughters: Sandra, born September 11, 1948, and Martha, born August 4, 1951. They also had a son, Mark, born December 5, 1956.

My Childhood Memories Of Arthur
by his brother, Gifford

Arthur was the "Fix It" man around the farm. He usually found a way to repair most of the things that broke down. In his teen years, as my big brother, he made things for me to play with, including a barn with several realistic features which I kept for a very long time..

One day, when I was about six years old, he decided to try to build me a little car which I thought was a splendid idea. I could just visualize it parked by the garage for many years to come.

Money was scarce in those days so he had to build it with whatever he could find around the farm. He found four old tricycle wheels, (not alike), and he made the body from wood. It was similar to a soap box derby type car. He found an iron rod for a rear axle but, unable to find another for the front, decided on a hardwood broom handle. He said it should hold if I was careful not to hit anything. I quickly agreed..

The time soon came to test it out. Art seemed willing that I should take the first solo run and I eagerly climbed in with little or no instruction from the manufacturer. Art gave me a little push and I was on my way.

Our driveway was not steep and I was surprised at how fast it went. I don't recall if there was a method to steer it or to stop it but I didn't have to worry very long about the latter. I hit, head on, dead center, into a large butternut tree which was about three quarters of the way down the driveway. The front axle snapped like a match stick and the front wheels were laying on either side of the tree.

Arthur came trotting down to view the pile as I stood up with a sheepish look on my face. I expected him to be somewhat angry but he said very little. He did, however, have a look of despair on his face as he dragged the remains back up by the garage. This was one item Art never did fix!