Introduction and #5 & #6

My excuse for writing this collection of episodes, and the premise that supports the effort, are contained and explained in this introduction, which would  be expected to be  a lead-off for everything that follows. Perhaps it is because I do not like to start reading a book, only to find I must wade through several pages to find the story. Anyone following this series, by now has a lot of the story well in hand, or mind. This whole project is somewhat of an experiment, so who knows?  We may be starting a new trend.

Introduction

So much of what life brings to us in this problematic and unpredictable world seems to result in a trade-off when we attempt to keep everything in line with our best laid plans, demonstrating an axiom which in the sifting process of the development of things, proves to be more like a hard and fast rule: “You can’t have your cupcake and eat it, too‘! Just for fun, picture this hypothetical set of circumstances as an illustration. Consider the upwardly mobile, successful young man who can finally afford the sporty roadster that would make him the envy of his peers, but then, he realizes that because of his success, he has reached the position that he can now marry the love of his life, who has plainly expressed her desire for a large family, sending the flashy two-seater into obsolescence. He’ll have to wait until they can be a his-and-her-car family. The most obvious trade-off in this situation, among quite a few, is in the later date set for the wedding day, not now, but how much later, if at all, if he’s lucky and she’s willing to wait. Hold that thought for the next many pages; trade-offs are the dandelions in this field: they just keep popping up.

The high school graduating class of which I was a proud participant celebrated approximately three-quarters-of-a-thousand seniors invited to cross the stage and receive diplomas. This long gray line was the culmination of many shorter lines, a twelve year progression of short people lining up through preschool, kindergarten, first, second, and third grades, and on through elementary school, middle school or junior high, then high school. Just as the rainfall on a mountainside collects in trickles, rivulets, streams and tributaries until it eventually forms a river to carry the body of water along its way, each neighborhood in the community contributes its trickle of little scholars that as they progress, will, in time, make up a student body of a local high school. They will graduate and begin their adventure into the real world, possibly continuing to advance their education, or seeking and finding employment in jobs and careers, becoming homeowners and homemakers with families who will create and contribute their own little trickle and flow of pint-sized inductees, and eventually, another high school student body.

Somewhere along the way, among the ones having early-on, a common school, and who, being fellow-classmates, stayed in touch, nourishing their common interests, committees will be formed and reunions planned, organized, and held, and hopefully attended. Kind begets kind: high school reunions spin off middle school reunions and elementary school reunions. Many of these students value their common history; they were neighborhood playmates; they started school together and remained friends throughout their academic careers. Some even became sweethearts and soul mates, and started families. The positive effects of this scenario become the source of such a wellspring of nostalgia, re-living and remembering successes and happiness from the good-old-days, it is bound to promote these gatherings, the afore-mentioned reunions, to be repeated at appropriate intervals, so long as willing participants can be found and committees can be formed.

And in my case, here comes the trade-off. This will never happen to me! I will never have a grade school reunion. Am I adverse to the concept? Absolutely not! I would love it and would participate in a heart-beat, even serve on a committee. You may ask, “Then wherein lies the problem, and what is its cause?” The truth is, I did not grow up in the same manner as most ordinary kids. And where is this trade-off? The answer, wait for it, is the basis for the story I am about to relate, a chronicle of special times, a specialized lifestyle, specialized efforts and special rewards, pay-offs, and, inevitably, in many cases, the tradeoffs.

( 5 )
The Movies
Gun Powder, Bombers, and Oil, Oh My!

Before there was a war, no one had heard of the “Golden Triangle” in Mayes County. In the very near future, a labor pool of 10,000 workers would be required for operations at “DuPont”, the “Powder Plant”, as it was called. The three-cornered area, defined by the towns of Locust Grove, Chouteau, and Pryor, would provide these workers. Coming out of the Depression, these employment opportunities put a new light on everything, economy-wise.

Locust grove had no movie theatre. If someone wanted to “go to the show”, they had to have gas money, ration stamps, as well as the price of a ticket. My dad’s eldest brother was always ahead of the curve. He built his first violin at the age of sixteen, after extensive “reading up” on his subject, then borrowing one from a neighbor to measure meticulously for his plans, he selected a maple tree in the creek bottom, got permission from his dad to harvest it, and seasoned a section of it in the barn loft for over a year. Even after he was winning awards with his violins and guitars, it was his favorite and the one he reached for and preferred playing. He was an entrepreneur when it came to bringing the latest modern conveniences to his community, everything from laundromats and propane, to the local bank. He was also the Postmaster. He decided the town was ready for a movie-house, so he converted and remodeled an empty feed-store into a nice modern theater. Then he needed my dad for his projectionist.

Eventually, my dad got back on his feet. He was, and forever would be short of breath during and shortly after physical exertion, but by pacing himself, most people never noticed. In instances when we transferred and he had to see a new doctor, they were amazed at his medical history. The residual effects were an enlarged heart, thickened and restricted blood vessels in his chest, and the rectangular blood-red scars on his upper torso. The tumor continued to remain in remission and his x-rays looked better each year. By 1950, he was able to purchase a life insurance policy with no riders or restrictions. When the agent delivered the policy, he found my dad on the roof, patching it.

In July 1941, the War Department decided to build a munitions manufacturing facility between Chouteau and Pryor in Mayes County, Oklahoma. It was a government-owned, contractor-operated facility operated by DuPont. The plant started up in June 1942 and began actual production of smokeless powder in September. At some point during this period Dad was hired on DuPont’s payroll as a surveyor. In January 1942, the government formed a War Production Board and began to expand powder and munitions production plants. In March 1942, a TNT plant was constructed. Other production plants included those for nitric acid, sulfuric acid and tetryl. This construction of the expansion plants  provided for an extension to my dad’s employment, which also served to some degree as rehabilitation. The fresh air and sunshine and moderate exertion for this activity was just what the doctor ordered, and he was drawing a paycheck!

By the time surveyors were no longer needed, it had been decided that we would move to Tulsa. Dad’s sister, whose husband was serving in the U S Navy as a Seabee, was living alone with a small baby in a big house that craved some company that would share expenses. She would feel safer and Dad could find work. Douglas was hiring for their mile-long assembly line, contracted to Consolidated, to produce the B-24 Liberator bomber, and he was hired as a precision machinist. He loved it and was good at it . He was promoted to the final inspection station and was on the team responsible for finding and fixing anything that wasn’t right or had the potential for going wrong.

When time came for his physical exam, he passed it and was cleared for keeping his job, but the doctor highly recommended an outside, fresh air environment and a drier climate. He decided to start watching the employment adds and found a Tulsa petroleum exploration company making up a crew to send to Wyoming, They needed a topographic surveyor, among other things. Thanks to E.I. DuPont, he had plenty of recent experience for his resume. Because of the war effort, the demand for petroleum products was greatly increased. The high priority of the kind of work the crew would be doing would provide draft deferments for the men who were not already veterans, though Daddy would not need one because of his past medical history. The company vehicles would not be subject to the strict rationing on tires and gasoline and he would have limited use of one of the sedans.

We would leave Tulsa the last week of August, 1944 for Shoshoni, Wyoming. He would be in their employ until the spring of 1956, when he brought the family to Pryor, OK, to establish residency for my brother to enroll in the fall at Oklahoma A & M. Almost immediately he went to work as an inspector on a 5-mile section of the Will Rogers Turnpike, then under construction. As that was nearing completion, he was contacted by the principals of a new company that had modernized the methods and some of the equipment used in the gravity geophysical subterranean system of prospecting for oil. Through the “grapevine”, his name had come to them as one who could call together a crack team of the best in the field, to take the crew to Riverton, WY, and impress their client. Upon completion of this survey, they wanted him to return to Tulsa to direct the activities of their field operations. One of the perks was the ability to ”transfer” himself to the Grand Junction, CO, district office for the summer and take my mom trout fishing on Grand Mesa. Also, I would have pretty good leverage for landing a summer job between school terms! The trip to Riverton was the last one we made as a family in the search for black gold! Upon  our return to Tulsa in October of ‘56, I enrolled at Rogers High, and my days as a “Nearly Nomad” were over! No more “new kid on the block” or learning curve of unfamiliar faces of students and teachers, unfamiliar layout of buildings and classrooms, routines and schedules! I had found a home! But I’m getting ‘way ahead of myself!       

( 6 )
Caution Men Working
Trade-offs Ahead, Be Prepared to:..???

The Wizard of Oz was a blockbuster of a movie.  With tornados, witches, spear-toting guards and flying monkeys, it scared the stuffin’ out of me, but as a little kid, that wasn’t hard to do. The news reels scared me: the smoke filled scenes of the battlefield, airplanes falling out of the sky, stiff, starchy guys goose-stepping across the screen looking mean and menacing; these things were quite unnerving to a little bitty kid. Thank goodness there were cartoons, right? Not necessarily! Is there a bear in the cartoon? I don’t know what was supposed to be funny about those cartoon bears! Slobbering, growling and showing their teeth, they were galloping like Clydesdales after some hapless, helpless critter that spent so much time looking over its shoulder, it should have run into a tree or been hit by a car. I never saw an episode where the bear caught anything, but I could imagine the result, with teeh like railroad spikes: I couldn’t watch. I would bury my face in the bosom of my mom and wait for her to tell me everything was alright! 

We saw lots of movies: cowboys, comedies, tear-jerkers, we saw them all. I doubt that we ever bought a ticket; my uncle owned the theatre and my dad ran the projectors. Usually, I saw only the front end of the film because I would be asleep by the end of the first reel. Mom would hold me on her lap, then cary me out to the lobby where my dad would take over as soon as he was off-duty. So what has this to do with Oz? Dorothy and I, in one respect, had something in common. We shared joint custody through circumstances beyond our control, and no choice of our own, over a coin in common, though opposite sides of it. One scene more or less tells it all. One moment she is in the comfortable home she has known since who-knows-when, then it spins her into another existence. When her room stops spinning like a top, and as soon as her curiosity bolsters her courage, she opens the front door, and realizes…you know the line by heart by now…she informs Toto they’re not in Kansas anymore! The film changes to Technicolor, supposedly indicating an improvement in her situation. After all, Kansas is represented in the film in a drab Sepia tone. I, on the other hand, would open the door of my Technicolor world and find the Sepia scenes waiting for me.
 
In the next dozen or so years that would rise up to meet me, the trade-offs would be many and varied, but most of them would fall into categories; we will start with the two broadest of these: “seen“, and “unforeseen“. Living in, or near, Locust Grove, I could see my grandparents almost any time I wished. The where and when was not my call, but I thought it was. Mom or Dad would say, “Ronnie, do you want to go see Grandma?” I would answer in the affirmative, usually with a gleeful little dance, and it was a done deal. It is easy to see why I thought I was calling the shots!  Moving away from the area would take away that constant positive aspect of my childhood. This would be a trade-off, but what would I get in return? It would have to be pretty darn good: that’s how special Grandmas are!   

For now, downtown Locust Grove, tiny wide-spot-in-the-road L.G., would tend to represent the Technicolor in my world. After we moved to Tulsa, the Technicolor was brighter and wider screen! Life was good. Daddy had bought a nice little house out East on Archer, 3916, and  the happy couple were making it into a home! Soon, he traded-in the ice box for an electric refrigerator. He had a phone put in, one that didn’t have to be cranked. It was a two-party line, but didn’t create the problems or the funny stories that are usually associated with them. There was a large, enclosed, screened in porch where Mom would fire up the washing machine on laundry days. There was a large shade tree  in the back yard that I was too small to climb without help, and a garage with a dirt floor suitable for making roads for my toy army trucks. My Technicolor was getting brighter all the time! Mom was enjoying the Technicolor of my world too. We would go west to the corner, then south on New Haven, two blocks to Admiral Place and take the bus downtown. Tulsa was growing into Time Magazine’s “America’s Most Beautiful City” and the 20th century’s “Oil Capitol of the World“. It had much to offer and was improving day-to-day! Technicolor, indeed!

I was learning to spell my name in block letters. A girl, who was in school already, was helping by showing me a game. There were ornamental shrubs next to the sides of the front porch that had little red berries which she would gather by the small handful, then place them, and space them, on the cement porch floor in the shape of  the block letters. It seemed like hours that we would spend with this intellectual entertainment. When she was satisfied with the arrangement, she would mash the berries with her finger, causing the letter to look like it was painted on with weak water colors. She may have been a cousin or a neighbor, I don’t recall, and if I ever knew her name, it has escaped me. There’s no one I can ask, because “they” have no memory of it. It was a big deal to me at the time, and she was very patient with me as a teacher. This may have been my very first rudimentary drafting instruction! After the last week of August, 1944, I never saw her again and have no idea who she was. There’s bound to be a trade-off in there somewhere; I’m just not sure if and when I got the payback.

The Great Depression was now in the rear view mirror, and would fade, but not be forgotten. Men were working and many were joining our Armed Forces. Ladies were trading in their aprons for coveralls and joining the workforce. Rationing and collection centers for metals, tires, and textiles would accentuate the increasing need of supporting the war effort. High on the priority list was petroleum. Not only was it critical on the home front, but our nation was supplying our allies overseas! Exploration companies’ efforts were gearing up and racing to the “prospects”. My father would soon become a part of this race, and like the servicemen and women who left the familiar life behind for whatever tomorrow might bring, it was a giant step our family would be taking. Many times in the near future, I would view through the opening door, as did Dorothy, a lot of changing scenes, many of them in Sepia tone!

Nice job, Ron! The story holds one's attention and the imagery is wonderful. Thanks for a Technicolor glimpse of your young world!