Brief Bio

I was given this today to read by Mr. B...

To my Beloved Daughters; [names redacted], my Name is [R. B.]. I was born in a small trailer House made from Recycled Paper money, in Alice, Texas in 1940. My father and mother [names redacted] you called them Grand Dad or Pa [B.] and B.B. My father was working for Bridwell Oil Company when I was born. My father, known as Tubby [B.] got a bug in his ear, when he went to the doctor for help, the doctor poured cholafoam in his ear and made him deaf for life. Bridwell Oil Company was located in Whitchita Falls, Texas.

My dad had to do a pumpers work for a couple of days, so he left my mother and me at the same trailer. Some men came to the trailer and beat my mother up, my dad returned to the trailer in a couple of hours and found me under the bed crying. When you born they take your foot prints and palm prints and sometimes finger [?] prints. Somehow, mainly by a person at the hospital in Alice committing treason, my palm print ended up on the side of the German Kettenkrad 1/2 track motorcycle in Germany. Seven months after I was born we were bombed at Pearl Harbor. Its very difficult for a baby only a few months old to committ treason against his own Country. My Father knew [indecipherable] of finger prints and palm prints. Neither did my mother.

On the back was this:

 It says:

Why didn't the Germans use a souped up motorcycle and just pull a wagon as long as this, [indecipherable] the attached wagon with it. A long wagon with 4 wheels on each side.

I have learned that when Mr. B starts talking about his palm prints he's beginning to flounder a bit with reality...

Dem Bones

It stands to reason that while digging through this great, vast country of ours pipeliners were bound to run into some Indian burial grounds. (Considering that this great, vast country was once theirs after all.)

Mr. B told me that this happened in Kansas. He was 12. The workers came across the bones and they were naturally quite distressed. Mr. B still seemed visibly shaken by the memory. I don't suppose it's something you forget...being confronted by dozens of skeletons and all. He told me it was a Navajo burial ground. I asked him how he knew that it was Navajo. He said he didn't know. He seems to recall that the engineers contacted a local university to come take a look at the site. They excavated and the pipeliners just went on around 'em. 

Mr. B's says his mom was full Cherokee. I asked him how his parents met, his dad a no-holds-barred Scotsman and she a no-holds-barred Cherokee. He said his dad was pipelining in Corsicana, Texas and they met there. He's not sure of the specifics. I wish he knew more about that. I wonder what she saw in Mr. B senior. From what he's told me, the senior B was a small, wiry man who could take a licking and give it back ten times worse. 

I asked him the other day if he would consider the prospect of me interviewing him about his life. He didn't seem enthused by the idea saying once again that his life "wasn't all that interesting." I again countered with, "That's for me to decide." (My grandfather used to call me "very persistent." He was very correct.) He asked where we would do the interview. I told him at the library after my shift was over one of these days. He was still apprehensive. It was written all over his face. 

This made me worry of course. Did I have a right to tell his stories without permission? Was it made okay by anonymity? Did he not want his stories told because he didn't think much of them or was there something more dangerous happening in his head? Were there shards of memories that he didn't want to cut his fingers on? Were there gaps that he didn't want to admit were there? Bones buried under the earth? Was something too painful? Too awful? Or. Is he just completely convinced that he isn't interesting? Mr. B doesn't think something is interesting unless it's grand and amazing. I have another take entirely. I like the small things. The soaring beauty of the untapped potential of the people you see every damn day.

I told Mr. B to think about it. He didn't have to commit one way or the other. The funny thing was as he kept denying that he had interesting stories to tell, he would tell me more stories. And each one ending with, "That's all I can tell ya. Hardly even worth mentionin'." He failed the 5th grade twice. His dad called pipes less than 50 inches around "spaghetti." And all about the time when he and his friends thought it would be a good idea to swim in some kind of ditch filled with oil sludge. "Why would you do that?" I asked, stifling a laugh.

"All the other kids were doing it."

"That's really gross."

"Yeah. My mom....whoo boy, she wouldn't let me back in the house after that."

"I can imagine."

"She sprayed me with the hose outside!"

"You asked for it, my friend."

"Yeah well. Uh. You see? I don't got any stories worth mentionin'."

So I don't think he's fully against telling his story after all. He just needs some convincing and some well-meaning encouragement. Good thing I'm very persistent.

Later that afternoon, he asked me to Google images of a Star of David, a Christian cross and a Confederate flag. Not sure what he wanted them for. Still haven't seen that finished work of art yet.

Thursday Pipeline Lessons

Had a nice long confab with Mr. B today. Interestingly, he brought a framed and blown-up copy of his dad's business card from back in the day to show me. It pretty much looked like if Currier and Ives had done a Pipelinin' scene. He pointed out the welders. And the "powder monkeys." (They're the guys that blow up the ditch with dynamite if there's big rocks in the way.) He told me about how he saw this one guy almost get buried alive, getting knocked into a ditch and covered with dirt. "Did he die?!" I asked, staring at the black and white drawing. "Nope," Mr. B smiled, "But I think he wisht he would've."

They could lay 1-3 miles of pipeline in one day. Starting at 8 am...sometimes working 18 hours a day. It suddenly struck me that I've never once given any thought about how our oil gets around saying, "Mr. B, honestly, you guys had a huge hand in building this country, you know? I mean, yeah, there's the railroad guys. The pioneers. But this is a big deal." He scoffed. "I guess the only thing we really did was keep people from freezin' up in New York City." This is his usual modesty.

"We should write a book, Mr. B."

"Nah. There's lotsa people who's story's same as mine. Lotsa people were pipelinin'."

"Yeah but you're the only one standing in front of me now."

That made him laugh.

We conversationally meandered and talked about the explosion in Texas City, Texas in 1947. He was only 5 then and living in Corsicana. Google pictures of THAT thing and it'll stop you in your tracks. They say some of the debris landed 5 miles away. I always tell him that he teaches me something everyday.

We also found out about a guy named Jack Ellis, a painter in Canada who specializes in depicting scenes from the oil and gas industry. Lookee here...

There's something quite beautiful about his work, don't you think? Even though the guy's Canadian, it represents a kind of American idea. Conquering the environment. Bending it to our will. Nature and Technology. They blasted through mountains in this country to put a train through it. And they dug through dirt and blasted rocks to make sure people in New York City didn't freeze. That was back breaking, soul scorching work. And they did it. And I feel kind of guilty to have never thought about it. Pipeliners don't get a lot of press.

Found some welding-related index cards of Mr. B's in my collection tonight. Red ink:

New Product

A correspondence course w/ How to Be a "welder helper in all types of welding Situations." from Ship Building to Pipe Fitting to Pipelining. If the welders union hall in Okla, Tex, Arkansas and there states education agency would sponsor a course of such It would be a very helpful educational aid in the welding field. It could be studied while Helping a welder and working at the same time. It would make for a more professional craft."

And this one...dark green marker:

Twenty Seven hundred Pipeliners rotated out of Alaska Once every 3 mos. and in 7 1/2 yrs you could lay 4 pipelines in Alaska. You know how? You leave the engineers, the welders, and the surveyors at Home. Thats how you do it.

Did I mention there was a plane depicted in the pipelining scene from Mr. B Sr's business card? Given the perspective it should not have included a such a large plane flying so low...obviously this was an important part of the story. I asked who was in the plane. He said, "Oh that's the engineers. Making sure we're followin' the plans." Clearly, the engineers weren't getting their hands dirty.

Stumbled on a variation of the same "suggestion" but disguised as an Aggie joke:

Aggie Joke:

1st Aggie: 2700 Pipe Liners rotated out of Alaska once ever 3 month in 7 and 1/2 years you can lay 4 pipelines in Alaska.

2nd Aggie: How do you do that?

1st Aggie: you leave the surveyin crew, the engineers, and the welders at home.

I thought the welders were the good guys. This is confusing. Mr. B started out as a welder's helper so I don't know...

Green ink. White index card:

A Merchandise Contest

A con-test to see who could put together a welding machine the fastest who ever won would be able to keep the welding machine. It would help sell welding machine kits. /Or they could start selling welding machine kits. start a new industry. could tie it to the F.F.A. and Ag classes. Could be a contest held for Ag classes or during county and state fairs.

Mr. B once asked me to find him information about making his own welding machine. I kinda didn't want to find anything on it for fear that he would blow himself up. (He caught himself on fire a little bit last year so this is a very real possibility. I believe he said he sprayed canned air into his hot water heater. Singed his arms. I saw them. And I yelled at him.)

Sparkly light green ink. Index card:

New Product   ----  New Invention

1) A Board game on "How to Help a Welder", could be sold as a (covering ALL TYPES of Welding) Educational Game.

2) A Correspondence Course on How to Help a Welder. Sold as a educational product.

There are two new products from idea about inventions that could be. If one of those Cherokee doctor's would try for 798 Help. Might help the economy.

Not sure what the last part means.

Purple ink. Index card:

NEW INVENTION

Welding glovers TAKE the material that the FIREMEN wear and place it inbetween the leather and have a 3 layerd welding glove. Cherokee.

I've noticed that when Mr. B puts "Cherokee" at the end of a suggestion, I think it means that this idea was stolen from the Cherokee and he's giving them credit. He told me once his mother was part Cherokee. This may be why he's such a big fan.

Also gave Mr. B a copy of National Geographic (September 2011) today. I had noticed that he maybe, kinda, sorta defaced the library's copy of it a while back.

He couldn't help himself...

I had quietly replaced the library's copy and then found an extra. He seemed pleased to get it. He had really gone to town on pages 70-73 which features a timeline of human flight. I should scan the images and his comments. Naturally, I saved it from the garbage.