My Oil History

Raw, tired and torn

I see and understand

The tools of his trade

A pair of greasy hands

Image to the left is of my parents taken in approximately 1937

As the story was told to me…….

My Dad was 19 years old, had just graduated from high school and was working at his Dad’s farm in the field, putting up hay with his team of horses, when he heard some noise…. This was in central Kansas, the year was1929. He looked up in time to see several teams of horses coming down the road and pulling in to their neighbor’s field. There was wagon after wagon hauling huge loads of wood and metal….. Finishing his work that evening, he wandered over to the activity site which was abuzz with men unloading equipment, more wagons coming in and leaving, and a lot of stuff going on that a young farm hand simply didn’t understand. He struck up a conversation with a guy on location consequently to learn that they were building a drilling rig…. The oil field had arrived.

The man said to him, “Wanta job? You’re a young, strapping guy, ever considered working on a rig?” They offered him more money per day than he’d ever heard of, talked it over with his Dad that night at the supper table and grandpa said “if you’ll help out here at home by paying your Mom to do your laundry, pack your lunch, and can get your chores done in the mornings or evenings before you go to the rig site, it would sure help out and add to the income around this place”. With that, my Dad took the job…..Later, he met my Mother and married her in 1935. My sis was born in 1937 and I came along in 1943. Through the ensuing years Dad worked his way up…..from a roughneck to a driller, from a driller to a toolpusher, then was offered a job as a roustabout where he learned the other side of the industry…..then on to production boss, and eventually supervisor, From a rig to a pump jack, he kept men and leases and equipment running smoothly for over 45 years in the industry until his retirement.

When I was eleven months old, in 1943, they were transferred to an oilfield camp in another area, then a few months later to the little lease house on the hill by the creek where I grew up.

Yes, I am oilfield trash through and through. I was born and raised in it, married into it, our son got his petroleum engineering degree in 1981 and it’s still a big part of my life. I have already written some about my experiences with this industry, and there are many more I will write in the future…..

Due to its very nature,, it is a hated industry but in looking beyond it’s first appearance I have always had pride in all it entails. It’s been a battle my entire life and now my beloved industry has yet another black mark. In the post to follow I’ll be discussing its latest relationship with disaster as the story continues.

Please continue on to read “love & loss” and “hope”.