“In youth I gnawed life’s bitter rind
And shared the rugged lot
Of fellows rude and unrefined,
Frustrated and forgot;
And now alas! It is too late
My sorry ways to mend,
So sadly I accept my fate,
A Roughneck to the end.
Profanity is in my verse
And slang is in my rhyme,
For I have mucked with men who curse
And grovel in the grime;
My fingers were not formed, I Fear,
To frame a pretty pen,
So please forgive me if I veer
From Virtue now and then.
For I would be the living voice,
Though raucous is its tone,
Of men who rarely may rejoice,
Yet barely ever moan:
The rovers of the raw-ribbed lands,
The lads of lowly worth,
The scallywags with scaley hands
Who weld the ends of earth.
-Robert Service, Prelude (pg 13)
I turned 20 years old today. I almost forgot, 'cept Lum called the driller i've been working for and asked to talk to me. After a few minutes of talking with him I really started to miss home. Then again, where is home for me? I guess i'd call it Seminole, even though Mamma and Lum moved out of there too when the boom ended. Even if I wasn't roughneckin' now i'm not too sure where i'd be calling home. It makes me remember the time Lum tried to keep me at home, but no I was gonna go if it was the last thing I did. Now that i'm in this place there's no going out. My schooling's only up to 10th grade, i'm never in one place long enough to start a family, and the only thing I know how to do in life is drill a well.
"Even if a roughneck could get in every day as long as he could work, he wouldn't last but twenty or twenty-five years, if he could make it that long. You ever notice it, you don't see many of 'em over forty? Well, if they don't get killed by something falling on 'em, or get caught in between something, or if they're not drillers, ... they're wore out by the times they get to be forty. The veins in their legs get busted an' their muscles get cramped and stiff, and if a roughneck can't move around quick on the derrick floor, he's going to kill himself and everybody working with him (Franks, 81)."
Well shoot, i've only been doing this for about three years and i'm already having trouble staying on board. Work isn't as steady as it was before I came in. I started this job when there was work everywhere I looked, of course it seemed like a great idea. Now things are different. "When I started out, and a long time before that even, they used to drill as many wells as they could afford and wanted to, but now they're got so they don't want to drill on anything but twenty-acre leases (Franks, 82)." So work isn't steady anymore. I could be working two months straight then nothing for six months. What about all the men with families? I can't complain about the money we get here, but it doesn't go a long way when there's kids to feed.
Living off the land has brought me a long way so far. My best bet is to either "work long's [I] can and then try to get on WPA [Works Progress Administration] if it's still going, or get some contractor to take a chance on us and make us drillers (Franks, 81)." Becoming a driller was the plan all along, I guess I just thought it'd come already.
It's hard to see us workers get so much out of the land, and give so little back. I can't remember a job I've worked on that didn't have a spill, gas flare, or a ruined town left behind. It's all part of the job, I thought, but boy it doesn't seem right. I'm glad now I never got a family with me. Raising those kids around this mess, I wouldn't want that for a second. Clean showers are hard to get, clean water you have to buy. If there's anything you want that isn't covered in oil, you might wanna try the next town over.
Well what more can I say. Not only did I want this lifestyle, I didn't quit 'til I got it. "I had plenty of opportunities to get out, but did not take them, and as a consequence, I have lived a very tough life. Being oil-field trash ain't a bed of roses (Lynch, 5)."
Aga-Jari Oil Field, Time & Life pictures, 1945