Gold Dog Photos...

For many years now I have felt badly about not having a photo display of the namesake of my website, The Big Gold Dog. Gold Dog's have always been my boon companions and frankly many years ago my last golden, Ranger, kept me going through some tough times. And now Tres is filling the bill [along with Daphne]. With Tres' advancing age and medical difficulties I didn't want to wait and make his photo section a memorial, so here's the photo spread on the current Big Gold Dog. It's in Flash format so you can either sit back and let it run through the photos automatically or you can select your viewing using the tools at the bottom of the screen.

Roof Redux....

Not surprisingly with roof repairs, during last weeks heavy rains I discovered one recalcitrant drip in the den, in a spot that had a leak previously. Since the interior plaster already had been ruined, it is no big matter and on the positive side the other major leakages have been stopped cold.

Yesterday I called Frank Shepard whose company did the repairs and he said he'd have the crew out early this morning. And he did, come 7:15 they were on the roof having at it. I left them to their work and when I returned for lunch they were gone, but they must have worked like men possessed as there was dirt, old tar and roofing stones all over the patio. After some lunchtime work it is now clean and spiffy and I welcome the chance of storms today to see if the roof is finally sealed.

In other hometime news of no importance whatsoever, for years I have been trying to find flowering plants that do well in the mottled sunshine in the flower beds of the estate. I have recently had great luck with Lantana in areas that get more sunshine and now at the suggestion of master gardener Burr Williams I am trying Turk's Cap Malvaviscus grandiflorus. It appears to be doing wonderfully and if succesful will soon be my plant of choice [to hell with caladiums]. Turk's Cap provides colorful red blooms, is a luxuriant dark green plant, grows like a weed [actually I think it may be classed officially as such], gains good height and is a perennial. Who could ask for more?

After several bad days late last week the Big Gold Dog is doing better than he has in some time which is great news. In the bad news dog category, D. Daphne Dog has had a lingering, pernicious and malordorous case of gas since I let her in early this morning. As I file this report the assault is unabated so I must abandon the premises.

New Mexico Photography.....

View some of the photos using Flash navigation that I've been working on to print. Hope you enjoy them. New Mexico Photography

Sweet music...

Never in my wildest imagination did I think that the sounds of gravel being scrapped from my roof would be such sweet music to my ears.

Early this morning Mr. Shepard, owner of Shepard Roofing, called to say he was going to "try" and stop by this morning. Mr. Shepard is a fine man and an old fixture in the Midland roofing game, but through the last year I have learned that "try" in the roofing business means less than a 50% shot of something actually happening. But today the odds were in my favor as Mr. Shepard and one of his crew chiefs did make an appearance, though I also learned that in the roofing business making an appearance doesn't necessarily mean action either. But as you can see from the photo above today was a day of action!

The gravel is being scrapped back in preparation for retarring the flat portion of the roof that is leaking. When this is complete and after two seperate one inch plus rains in the last 4 days, I'll get to call my other good friends the DeAnda family plasterers to, once again, come and repair the inside damage. I find that plasterers are people of action, so all should be renewed shortly.

Update: No wonder the roof leaked. The roofers discovered a very long crack in the tar running almost the length of the flat roof directly over where most of the damage has occured inside the house. This was not visible until all the lava rock gravel had been removed.

Dog update.......

How's the Big Gold Dog you ask. Well, considering all, he's doing pretty well. He's still up for trying his morning walk, though some days we don't make it as far as we used to, but he gets an "A" for effort. His eating has slowed down since he's not on steroids anymore, but he does OK in that department too. Mostly he likes the cool comfort of the tile floors in his home with short trips out to the front yard to laze about. Being mostly deaf and very short of sight these days, I think he enjoys the trips out to savor the smells. And because he can't keep track of the world like he used to, he stays close to me. After an excursion to sniff the yard for strange smells he usually comes back to the porch and the glass front door where he can see me. But thankfully, he is doing better than I had expected a month ago and God has blessed him.....and me with more time together.

Blogathon....

My Dos Amigos in Blogville, Jimmy Patterson on the right and Eric Siegmund at left are hanging out this afternoon as part of Blogathon 2006. Both are braving the HEB supermarket lobby in the name of Midland Fair Havens, a very worthy cause. They'll be online today and thru the night. Stop by and make a donation. I've already won a contest....the list of prizes is staggering.

Dinner in jail...

I've started doing something, again, that I had done some years ago. Sponsoring some of the young guys incarcerated in the County Residential Treatment Center, CRTC. The CRTC is a lock up facility that provides substance abuse treatment for, generally, younger men who have done some fairly serious, though not life threatening crime, due to drugs and alcohol. Sponsoring is mentoring, mostly, the guys in the ways of AA and teaching them sober living without crime. A Big Brother for bad kids I suppose. Tonight was graduation night complete with speakers and a nice [for jail] dinner.

I had two of my guys graduating from the phase one program which means that after 3 months of being locked up they are deemed trustworthy enough to be released during the day to work. Both were proud as could be to get their certificate and the younger of the two achieved his GED while locked up. Pretty good for a 23 y.o. who has been a drug dealer since he was 17 y.o. The other is a somewhat older guy, a navy veteran, who let drugs lead him into a life as a methamphetamine producer. He found a good job his very first day out looking.

I hope both these guys get something out of our relationship, but if they don't, I sure do. At a sad point in my life there is nothing like helping a fellow human being out of a life of misery to make me grateful for what I have. The tragic stories of these kids family backgrounds makes me grateful for my more normal upbringing.....as does the sound of the steel door unlocking to let me out!

Special Order..

The first part of my special photo order went out today and after 6+ hours of work on these shots I have to say I'm starting to know how true artists feel when the sell and ship one of their works. After spending so much time with the piece and having it come out well, you rather hate to give it up. But the beauty of photography is that most always you can print more to match the original.

As you may know most all of the work is setting the image up to get ready to print....so many decisions! Each of the larger prints took at least an hour to decide on brightness/contrast, level of clarity, how much "noise" removed looked good or better or removing a powerline here and there. Also on this job I did discover a real printing key for my relatively low pixel camera......the "bicubic resize" function, turning mere 750 Kb digital files into behomth 22 Mb beauties allowing for much larger prints with good results.

And as always I messed around with cropping some photos which, overall, were not too bueno and turned them into unsuspecting surprises. The Ruidoso Downs image is one. Seen here in it's puny web size. The print in a 4"x11" mat looks great.

A lot of work late last night, but it was worth it, the client is a special one.

A cold snap.....

You know that you have been living in West Texas awhile when the temperature on your 5 p.m. afternoon walk is 94° and it feels almost cool. An easterly breeze helped and with the wind whispering through the pines that line the Windlands Park track it could have been the cool mountains of New Mexico. Well, not quite, but 94° felt a whole lot better than 101º.

On another note, I bought a new printer and have had the time lately to put it to good use converting many of my digital images into prints. I had a special request to do some landscapes, but the person who wanted these didn't stop to pickup them up so they were lying on the kitchen counter. I was surprised when someone else saw a couple and wanted them, even paying for the frames and mats I had put them into. Always nice for people to like your shots. I have 3 seperate photo editors and never cease to be amazed at the way small changes in the formating of the image turn out so differently in the prints. Unfortunately I'm generally limited to 5"x7" prints due to the lack of pixel power in my camera, but I've always loved black and white images and these turn out remarkably well. Here's one printed yesterday and gone today of the mountain pass bewtween Mora and Taos New Mexico. The prints look significantly better than this compressed web friendly image. And here's an added shot from the series in color as a comparison, Mora, New Mexico

Airborne School...!

There are those who think that reviving the past in our memories is rather wasted. One should be thinking of the future. But, as we learn, those who forget the past are doomed to make the same mistakes over again. I find also, that when taken in perspective, the hard times of today are nothing as when compared to some in the past. Gratitude in a perverse way.

In the last post I recounted my hot 3 mile walks everyday and while on those walks, miserable as they may be, I often think back to 35 years ago and recall that todays hot three mile walks "ain't shi" squat compared with "hell on earth"....US Army Airborne School. I actually went on to another school after Airborne that was more demanding physically and mentally, but Airborne School was my awakening.

The U.S. Army Airborne School is located at Ft. Benning, Georgia which in the summer is truly hell on earth, even without physical exertion. The daily temperature was in the mid to upper 90's but the humidity was 40% or better. This is one of those army experiences where you had better be in shape when you arrived or it was too late. A drill sergeant later told me their goal was to wash out at least 30% of the class in the first two days. I think they did that and more in my class. Anyway, I had two fraternity brothers who had been to Vietnam already and the only advice they gave was that if you go, brother be in shape. The fat, slow and dumb get killed. I took this to heart, "Fat=Dead" "In shape=Alive". I don't think I've ever completely given that thought up. So, while I was in the relatively sedentary Infantry Officer Basic Course, I had run more than required on my own and was in pretty good shape.

The airborne course is 3 weeks long, the first week being designed to weed the weak sisters out with long, long runs and some basic airborne techniques. The uniform every day was the old army fatiques that were thick as denim, heavy boots and the issue steel helmet that weighs 5 lbs. and is dark colored to absorb heat, with the chin strap to be buckled at all times. This makes it difficult to open ones mouth wide enough to suck in much air at all while running. Shirt sleeves not to be rolled up. The only concession to the heat was that we got to untuck our pants legs from the boots and roll them up to the top of the boot.

The airborne day got started at 5 a.m. with the order, "fall in on the cables". The cables being just that, long orderly rows of wire cables on which one put the toe of his boot to form ranks. Being an officer I lived in seperate quarters from the enlisted swine, so I always got to the area at about 4:50 a.m. having eaten just enough breakfast so I knew that it would be digested by the time the barfing started an hour later. After roll call the daily orders were dispensed through WWII era loud speakers placed all over the company areas. We later agreed that all we ever heard was, "Attention in the 49th company area....". All after that was garbled gibberish, the announcer being so enthusiastic that he yelled so loudly into the microphone that it caused static throughout the entire system. An occasional word of English slipped thru, but the announcer might as well have been speaking Mandarin Chinese, we didn't understand a word. Nor, did we have to, we had no latitude in what was going to happen to us that day anyway.

From the first formation we moved to "physical training" or PT, aka sanctioned torture. About an hour of calisthentics followed by our first run of the day, a three miler around a circuitous asphalt path, running in boots, the heavy fatiques and those damned helmets. Since the sun was now up, it was already hot. The army's solution to overheating was to have overhanging showers along the track about every mile which sprayed down upon the formation whether you wanted to get soaked or not. It felt pretty good, until your soaking pants started cutting rashes into your crotch. This is when I first learned not to wear underwear in some situations. There was another 2 mile run after lunch, so those who had not barfed enough in the morning could have another shot. I can't describe the feeling of all that sweat pouring thru heavy cloths, crotch rash burning and with the helmet on, no way to wipe the drips from your forehead as they ran into the eyes.

In the first week there were a few hours of instruction in the afternoon covering things like how to put the parachute on and how to properly land after jumping. The army uses a "5 points of contact" method when your body comes crashing to earth so we worked on this for days. It involves landing on the balls of the feet, rolling to the calf, the thigh, the side of the butt and then the curve of the back. We practiced this off of 4 and 6 foot walls into pits of sand, dirt and sawdust. All of these materials stick like clue to sweating bodies and increase the misery of the heat dramatically. With 400 or so people practicing in a group, the wait in the sun for your turn to be critqued was long. Good fun waiting for a 2 second experience only to be told by the instructor, "no good, do it again". The instructors, by the way, were the cream of the crop in the army, were good, demanding and could and would curse like.....well drill instructors. Mostly spitting right into your face from a foot away while doing so. The only concession to me as an officer was that after their cursing tirade they'd have to add a "sir" usually with a big, fake grin.

The second week was filled with many fun filled apparatii designed to simulate aiborne operations. Here are a few in pictures...

The "suspended harness" apparatus shown above is used to give trainees the feel of hanging in the parachute harness and work on manuevering the chute thru the "risers" coming off the harness. New jumpers need pay special attention to rigging up their harness as the main support straps go thru the legs on either side of some delicate male property. If the trainee gets it wrong he'll know it when the instructors raise him 4 ft. off the floor.

The "swing landing trainer" above is the most dreaded device of airborne school. It is used to show trainees what it is like to be coming down near the ground in a chute while drifting in one direction and at the same time swinging like a pendulum. The trainee steps off of a 12 ft. platform and is swung, and towed ahead while an instructor lowers the man nearer the ground with a pulley. Whenever the instructor is ready, he releases the pulley rope and down goes the jumper. The job description for instructors here requires some knowledge of sadism, as most of the time they will release the poor trainee when he is highest in his upswing sometimes many feet off the ground. I usually landed very hard on my helmeted head, more than once knocking me dizzy.

Moving on from the more static training aids, the new jumper confronts his first real test with heights...the 34 ft. tower. As you can see above it simulates an aircraft which the jumper practices exiting. He then drops about 8 ft. before the harness catches him and he slides down a long cable to make a practice 5 point landing. Actually rather fun after you've done it several times, but the wait on the stairs for the 50 guys ahead of you wasn't. One of my favorite personages, ever, in the army ran this device. SFC Dudley, was a black veteran who looked and sounded exactly like Jeffrey Holder, who did the 7-Up "uncola" ads years ago. SFC. Dudley would laugh just like the uncola man as he whacked you on the ass and shoved you out the door. Honestly I came home many a night with his hand print on my butt.

At the end of the 2nd week of training the day of reckoning occured, being dropped from the 250 ft. tower. Shown above is the tower itself and some poor soul being towed up. The towers dominate the training base and remind you that you too will have to face this demon. The jumper is strapped to an open parachute which is attached to a round frame with a stout nylon web strap going around the whole frame. A cable is attached to the center of the chute and up you go, and up and up. For those not used to open heights, it is frankly scary, yet exciting. Up and up with nothing to look down upon but your boots and the specks below which are people. Getting to the top you hang there for what seems an eternity. You must, yourself, pull the nylon safety strap out and when that falls away, the center cable is released and down you go. The wind was always an important factor, for if it switched directions during your descent you had the good possiblity of being blown into the tower superstructure, there to hang until a brave soul climbed up and got you free. I saw this happen, luckily after my turn, it would have scared me to death. The other possibility is that the wind would gain strength suddenly and carry you where you weren't intending to go. Like through the window of a mess hall. This too happened while I was there.

The final 3 days of Airborne School are devoted to actually jumping from a C-130 aircraft. Many people will tell you that after the 2 weeks of the hell period, the jumping is anti-climatic. Not really but you are just glad to get it over with. It is a lot of waiting and soul searching. Will I do OK, will I be a "no go" and chicken out. Some did, most jumped, the kid behind me was crying, I couldn't I was an officer. The experience is exhilirating, particularly when the open the door at 120 knots. The training pays off, the green light comes on and you go. I ended up making close to 100 jumps in my army career, many at night. I was never injured seriously and frankly after all that training I don't think that I ever made one of those "5 point landings". Mine all seemed to be 2 point landings. Feet and butt.

Hot stuff.....

Since the old Memorial Stadium track is closed for upgrades I've had to move my daily walking location to Windlands Park. Around 5 p.m. it's been perfect walking weather, about 102° with no shade. Most assuredly hotter on the dark asphalt trail. The park does have several advantages as it is a bit more interesting than walking around a track 12 times to get 3 miles in and is less crowded with activities; there just don't seem to be many Midlanders interested in 102° walking. With virtually no one else on the trail and with my weight down to a "svelte" 190 lbs. I've also been able to take my shirt off and get a tan like I haven't had in ages, even with 6 o'clock sun. If you are not from these parts, at 6 o'clock we still have almost 3 hours of daylight left this time of year and with not a cloud in the sky, an evening tanning opportunity is available.

I have to say that at about the 2.5 mile mark I do often wonder if I'm going to make it. My thought is that either it will really toughen me up or kill me. If I don't report in here for several days, come out to Windlands Park and look for a mumified, really tan old guy by the side of the trail.

Viewers choice.....

Olé it's the dancer!

Bravo the red chair!

Medical wrap up...

As I've gotten several emails from folks, here's one last post on the medical condition of the Big Gold Dog. Unless something drastic happens. I do get tired of talking about people's or dog's medical conditions. Sometimes it seems like the only topic of conversation. There is my Dad, who although doing well on a daily basis, could have something dire happen at anytime. My Mom has recently been through back problems and "other" complaints that she won't talk about because if we "only knew" how bad they were, we would worry about her. She prefers to do all the worrying. Then there is my cardiac condition. Feeling great, walking 3+ miles a day, down to 190 lbs. but if you've ever had major surgery there is always that remote fear lurking that although the Docs say you are doing marvelously, they really aren't telling you the whole story. All these medical concerns and the other major stress ongoing in my life does make for an extra level of worry about my ticker and makes me want to talk of other things.

But, as to the Big Gold Dog. He started on his oncological medication today, which is a human anti-inflammatory agent that he will take every other day for a month, at which time he will be re-evaluated. The hope is that the medication will keep the tumor at bay or perhaps even shrink it a little. One improvement in the last day is that I no longer notice blood in his urine which has been a worry. He actually is feeling quite well thanks mostly to the steroid compound that he is on which has increased his ability to move his old bones around and eat more than he has in quite a while. We still go on our several block walk each morning and he still loves to sit in the front yard and watch the world go by.

Thanks for your prayers and good wishes.....

Ultrasound diagnosis....

The Big Gold Dog enjoyed the 40 mile round trip to the vet's in Gardendale for his ultrasound scan and he liked meeting new friends and his visit with Dr. Evans. The ultrasound proceedure is simple, short and painless but I wish I had better news, although it was not unexpected. The ultrasound confirmed Dr. Adkins suspicion that a tumor is present in the bladder. The extensive bleeding of last Thursday was caused by a tear in the tumor which was evident in the scan. Tres is urinating without problems now but there is evidence of blood as he finishes up his squating. This, explained Dr. Evans, is caused by the bladder pressing in on the tumor as it is evacuated.

But there is hope. Dr. Evans has consulted with Dr. Adkins about a fairly new medication developed by a veterinary oncologist in Houston that has shown good results in slowing bladder tumor growth. An anti-immflamatory drug, it may even help Tres feel better in his old age. More aggresive treatments are, of course, available but come with "quality of life" issues that would be unacceptable at this stage in The Big Gold Dogs life.

Thanks for all the concern in comments and emails.

Home at last....

The Big Gold Dog is home at last after a very stressful two days for us both. Quite frankly, yesterday morning I had thought that he just might not make it. As he lay in a large pool of blood on the front porch, a permanently imprinted vision of a young man dying in a pool of blood 35 years ago came back to me. Just as 35 years ago, help might come to late, I was going

to have to accept the fact that this is how it would end between my best buddy and me. But as you may have read in the last several posts, God would bless us this time and we were able to get to help in time. Tres is on several different medications, will have an ultrasound scan on Monday and will have to be watched closely, but seems to be feeling well. A trooper of an old dog, he came right in after we got home, got a treat, a big drink of water and went outside directly to the spot of so much tension yesterday and went to sleep under the watchful eye of Daphne.

Some people might not understand, but after some heartbreaking events in my life, to me it just doesn't get any better than to have your best buddy alive and back home.

So the reader does not wonder about Daphne, well she's never had it so good. She's gotten more attention of late than she's ever had, has a new bed, a new collar and will go in for her check up soon. She's also being walked every day and has finally started displaying less neurotic behavior on the leash. She's a good dog.

[and I have to add a special thanks to all the people at Shannon Animal Clinic who also love The Big Gold Dog and took such wonderful care of him. They're the best]

From the Sick Bay...
Just returned from the morning visit with the Big Gold Dog. With the help of antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication he's feeling great. I took him for a short walk down the kennel corridor, where he urinated normally and with only a slight amount of blood still visible. He felt like eating almost a quarter of a box of small dog treats and didn't want to get back into his hospital bed. Nosiree, he's ready to go home. After a bath, he'll be good to go at about 3 o'clock this afternoon. Daphne and I will be ready for the Big Gold Dog to be back where he belongs. This is good news. On the side of reality, Dr. Adkins has x-rayed him again and feels that the cause of the problem is most likely a tumor. He recommends that we do an ultrasound scan next week to see if we can see more definitively what's going on and make a decision as to the course of action from there. Frankly, there may be nothing that can be done, except to pray, make him comfortable and accept God's plan for us. Acceptance is the key to my serenity today.

Big Gold Dog..
Say a little prayer if you kindly would for Tres, The Big Gold Dog. He's resting now at Shannon Animal Hospital under the magnificent care of our friend and saint, Dr. Greg Adkins. This morning I had trouble rousing Tres to go outside. When I heard him get up and start for the door I walked from the kitchen into the living room and was horrified to see a large pool of blood where he stood. He went outside and immediately collapsed onto the front porch, where I could see yet more blood appearing. At this hour of the morning I had to wait for Greg to get to the clinic and then worry that Tres would even have the energy to get into the car, being far too large to lift by myself. Trooper that he is, however, he finally struggled into the car and we raced to the hospital.

Greg saw us immediatley and determined that the blood was coming not from his rear end as I had supposed but through his urinary tract. The large amount of blood I had seen was actually largely urine with blood in it. Not good none the less. Greg gave Tres intervenous fluids and analyzed the urine/blood sample, finding the white blood cell count to be good, which does not negate a tumor but makes it less likely. As things are now, Greg knows that there is a blockage but the cause could be an infection, a calcium deposit, a broken blood vessel or perhaps a tumor. Greg will be taking X-Rays and doing some other tests while I'm gone.

I'm going to check on the Big Guy at noon. I'll update when we know something more....thanks.

4:15 PM: The signs for Tres are encouraging later this afternoon. He is eating treats and drinking water and wanted to walk around. Good signs. Greg has X-Rayed him and saw nothing major, but noted a spot he could not identify. He's going to re x-ray and possibly keep Tres overnight.

7:15 PM: I spent an hour with the patient tonight. He's feeling better...if eating a can of dog food in 4 bites means anything. He'll stay overnight to see if he still has blood in his urine, and Dr. Greg still thinks he sees some sort of "lump" in his bladder. He'll do another x-ray tomorrow and possibly ultrasound. But Tres is definetly ready to come home. It broke my heart to leave him behind when I left.

Independence Day.....

Friend Gayle Dodson leads the big parade!.

Nothing says the Fourth of July like scary clowns.

..or guys in funky hats who are old enough to know better.

..or barbeque at the Bad Boyz AA group. Bad Boyz is composed of bikers and those with a more "colorful" past than most.

Memorable 4th's......

As holidays go, the 4th of July is one of my favorites. I was thinking today of some of the more memorable ones.

1969: Ft. Sill, Oklahoma. I was at ROTC summer camp, living on a dusty plain in a tent for 6 weeks in 100° heat. We actually got the 4th off and were treated to a stupendous live fire power demonstration by virtually every weapons system in the army. Wow!

1974: Kauai, Hawaii. I had started an Army outrigger canoe team and paddled with them two years. When it was ordered folded I was asked to join a "local" team. I was the only haole [not local] guy on the team. We were racing at Hanalei, Kauai for the 4th. After the race our team had a luau on the beach. Not one of the touristy kind either. Several people were speaking in Hawaiian, something not everyone gets to hear. Magical.


1976: Midland. After being away in the Army for virtually every holiday, birthday, wedding, funeral and from family and friends for six years I was finally home in time for the National Bi-Centennial. I can't describe the feeling.

1986: Midland. The Centennial celebration of the City of Midland. We came out and had a rousing good time with all the old timers I've ever known. They had calf roping in front of the Petroleum Bldg. and Tommy Lee Jones was the grand marshall of the parade. The highlight for me was the 40 mile bike race half way to Rankin and back. Here I am in a rarely seen archival photo. 20 years later and I still look exactly like this.....except 20 older and somehow my biceps now seemed to have shriveled up.

The Butane Yard...

Occasionally at this hot time of the year I recall the summer of 1965 when I worked in the Eddins-Walcher butane yard in Odessa.

My Dad, who had started working outside the home at age 12, was a firm believer that if one of his sons was old enough to drive an automobile [he actually still called them "automobiles" back in '65] then said son was old enough to drive himself to work. Way back then we could legally drive at age 14, which is a tremedously scary thought now, so in 1964 I started driving the 1957 VW beetle to work as a bag boy at the Furrs' Supermarket on Illinois street near the Village. The building is still there but is now the Eagle Academy or somesuch thing. I'm proud to say that by the end of the summer I'd worked my way up to bag boy/stocker. Being a "stocker", if even part time, was a grand accomplishment for a man on his way up and meant that I could get away from the sniggling old ladies who always complained about the bag job. But it was the promise of higher pay and a more "manly" job that caught my attention the next summer.

My Dad was the V.P. and general manager of Eddins-Walcher Butane Co. which had become a rather large regional concern by 1965. E-W had fuel and transportation "yards", supply centers and service stations all over West Texas and Eastern New Mexico. Several summers later I ended up painting their service stations in such locales as Andrews, Kermit, Midland and Hobbs NM. But the first summer I was in my Dad's employ, my assignment was to paint butane tanks of all sizes at the Odessa storage facility. Somewhat naively I assumed that this must be a plum job if the bosses son was sent to do it. As you may discern this was not to be the case and, in fact, I was somewhat deflated when I learned that I was not to be the only privelaged employee that summer. The company owner, Jack Walcher, had also procured a job for his son Dan. Even though I was outranked in the progeny hierarchy, I was a year or so older than Dan, so things rather evened out and we got along famously.

My brother and I shared a car at the time, so since Dan had his own vehicle he agreed to drive all summer with me helping with gas money. And what a vehicle he had. A real classic of the gas guzzler era, a 1963 Pontiac Grand Prix. This was when the Grand Prix was a real car a "wide track", approximately 120 ft. long and the rear bench seat could fit 12 people comfortably. It is now a collectors item. I imagine the rougher working crowd in the part of Odessa where the yard was located thought it quite amusing to see two smallish white color kids arriving at our blue collar jobs in this immense car. As I remember Dan could barely see over the wheel.

The "butane yard" in Odessa was the main storage area for a massive amount of butane tanks of all sizes and was the central truck hub for the company; it was probably 10 acres all told. The smaller tanks were used for residential applications and the huge tanks, 30 ft. long and about 10 ft. tall, were used in the oil fields. Our job was to scrape and repaint each tank in the yard as well as the ones that were coming back in after hard use. We painted them white, in 100 degree heat, with no shade and the tanks were located on crushed caliche, which is a whitish limestone rock known for it's propensity to reflect the sun. We painted with ordinary paint rollers which, when working quickly, threw off a fine white spray. The reflection from all this white was immense and as I recall I went thru a pair of cheap sunglasses every other day. The glasses becoming useless as the paint spray slowly covered the lenses. I had a great tan, though rather dappled as ones body would tend to become sprayed over also. We carried our own water and weren't allowed to come back inside to the "shop" until lunchtime or we were about to pass out....whichever came first.

Our chief source of amusement was "flash freezing" anything we could find. Butane is stored at extremely high pressure to keep it a gas. The result of this is that if the small valve on the tank is opened, the outflowing gas is released at a temperature of about -100 degrees. This would quickly turn lizards, ants and other life forms [including fingers if not careful] into solidly frozen chunks of matter. You could hit a frozen lizard with a rock and it would break apart like an ice cube. We learned also that you could do a fast cleanup of paint rollers using this technique, knocking the frozen paint off like broken glass.

The yard and shops had two full time employees. Jeff McSpadden was the yard foreman and Alan was the mechanic who worked on the large fleet of trucks required of the business. Courtesy of these two I learned that, indeed, there was another side of life other than the comfortable upbringing I had been used to at that point. Jeff, was a decent hard working man who alternately treated us as if we were either full fledged adults or children getting in his way. He had no compunction against using language fit for a sailor in our midst and this was often directed at Dan and Me.

If we did not go to lunch at the What-a-Burger [one of the first by the way] on the Andrews Hwy. we were allowed to eat our sack lunches on the work bench inside the shop. Until the day which I will remember forever. After lunch this particular day, Jeff called us back in from the yard to lay a tirade of epic proportions upon us. The topic was "piss ants". Jeff made us come close to the bench to inspect the "piss ant" infestation which he blamed on our eating habits. "You little Sons ** *****s are such sloppy little Ass*****s that you've got my work bench full of piss ants. You know I'm going to get bit by piss ants everytime I'm at the workbench. You know how hard it is to get rid of piss ants?" I had no idea but from his tone I suspected it must be very hard. We were forever banned from eating at the work bench again, and to this day piss ants still make me nervous, though I'm not fully sure that I even know what a piss ant is.

Alan, the mechanic, however was the real piece of work. Whereas Jeff had his good points, Alan had no discernable skills at being a human being at all. Looking back on it he must have been a good candidate for AA, at least his actions make me suspect. I suppose he was a good mechanic and he did seem overworked, but if ever there was a candidate for the looney bin he was it. Dan and I dreaded the times that he needed our assistance on some mechanical project, like holding a nut while he tightened something. We could never do even the smallest jobs to suit him and I don't recall a single time that he didn't end up cursing us and telling us to get out of his F****** shop. Alan also had a bent for throwing tools....hard, at anything he didn't like so it was better to stick close by his side during these psychotic episodes. He couldn't hit you if you were next to him.

On more than one occasion even from far out in the yard, you could hear his cursing and screaming then the sound of tools hitting the metal shop wall. Within a flash he'd be in his old pickup roaring out of the yard spinning caliche stones behind him. Several hours later he would return as if nothing had ever happened, having probaby imbided a couple of cold beverages to calm himself down. Even Jeff left Alan alone mostly.

Dan and I survived that summer and as I know now, it was a good learning experience as most difficult things in life are. It made my desire to go to college grow intensely so I wouldn't have to end up working forever in a butane yard. For some reason I remembered that Jeff grew up in Rankin and in one of life's coincidences, just several years ago in AA, I met a McSpadden from Rankin. It was Jeff's cousin who told me that Jeff had retired to Rankin and had lived a good comfortable life there....hopefully "piss ant" free until his death. Eddins-Walcher Fuels was eventually sold to Franks Fuels and is now a huge business. Jack Walcher is still alive and well into his mid 80's and I see he and his wife often at church.

The next summer, of 1966, and on Saturdays during the school year I graduated to working in one of the company service stations on Wall St. There I had to adjust myself to working with other mechanics and to waiting on the ungrateful public while wearing a blue workshirt emblazened with the Amoco logo, my name and a bowtie just like in those quaint old commercials you see. I even mastered the standard, "Welcome to Amoco, may I fill 'er up?" I did this with a smile even though I suspect it may have started me on the road to strong drink.