Chapter 11 Beautiful Carolyn .

If ever a woman existed with a man's outlook on sex, then it was Carolyn. She and I got along and I think it was because we saw a little of each other in ourselves. I first saw her on my job interview. She was working in one of the labs down the hall from my office. Carolyn was one of those willowy well proportioned women. She was slender, with long legs, wearing heels she probably topped 5' 8" or a little more. She had a classic oval face and nearly waist length black hair. She was very striking. She is probably still shopping in the girl's juniors department even though she is probably 50 now. Vain? Well yes. I remember she didn't handle turning 30 very well. She had augmentation up top so her breasts were a high and tight large C or small D cup which looked a lot bigger on her slender frame. She had a narrow waist, that flared to relatively narrow hips, that from the back made her ass into a perfect heart shape if her legs were together. All in all she was a stunning sight. Carolyn like bad boys and lived with a biker named R** who was about 20 years her senior. He arrived at work in a caddy, and dealt drugs on the side. I have to admit I was gaga over her at first sight. She gave me hot flashes. Well our paths seldom crossed until lab assignments changed and her boss retired. She was the only technician assigned to a manager who had been put out to pasture. This guy use to wield quite a bit of influence but he was pretty much a non entity when I came to the company. The only thing I remember was he looked like an old version of Soupy Sales. Really. I can't even remember his name, but when he left Carolyn was assigned to our section because we needed field crew. I think the chemistry or at least the attraction we had for one another, or maybe it was just the lust from my side was a bit obvious. I remember going to a company picnic at Birch Lake and getting the evil eye from R**. Carolyn was wearing a bikini top and a pair of cut offs. I don't think I was too obvious ogling her nice deep cleavage. Besides I was not the only guy there who would have traded a months pay to get into he pants. I know for sure another was our bosses boss. The man who I still remember fondly will remain nameless, but as branch manager he took more than a passing interest in Carolyn. He never acted on it but got a vicarious thrill I think. He even queried me on it the last time I spoke with him only two years ago. Yes, Carolyn definitely made an impression. My first encounter with her on an intimate basis was during a trip to Giddings, Texas. She had been there working our mobile lab for a couple weeks when I arrived. Her and her crew were due to leave the next day. When my crew and I arrived we turned in and they were still out partying. I had just fallen asleep when there comes a knock on the door and there is a tipsy Carolyn with a big grin and me standing in my briefs. Without so much as a word she pushes me into the room and onto the bed. Off we go to the races. The just as the train is about to enter the tunnel, the phone rings. I answer the phone, and surprise, surprise! Its' R**. He was looking for Carolyn and thought I might know where she was. Here I am lying on top of her with my pulsing hard-on poised to re-arrange her insides and he wants to play twenty questions. I tell him I was asleep and that the other crew was out when we arrived. Does he buy it? Hell I don't know. All I know is that my panting partner got the gist of the conversation and is dressing as soon as I hand up the phone. She is off to do damage control. Well, nothing happened again for probably a year. I go into the field with other technicians such as Kathy R. and one we'll call T. Not being a supervisor and their age they saw no reason not to have recreational sex. Mind you I never ever pressured anyone. Hell I had no influence to wield, either as a threat or as a reward. It was just a combination of being away from home for weeks, drinking at night to blow off steam, and someone you considered nice, safe and devoid of scruples. Kathy and I first went on a canoe trip with a group and shared a tent and sleeping bag, so we weren't strangers. We just had to be a bit more discrete on a work trip to keep tongues from wagging. T was going through a rough patch in her marriage, divorce I think they call it. I don't think she'd ever been with anyone else and was curious. I took it nice and slow and held her for a long time afterwards. I think she appreciated it, and it never affected our working relationship, and we never spoke of it again. If anything I think she was more relaxed around me. We had other opportunities on trips but never engaged in anything else. I turned out while Carolyn was in the field on trips, Ron, her boyfriend was filling his time and the void in his bed with a teen something biker girl. I don't think the fact he was screwing another girl bothered Carolyn as much as she was younger and R** was letting her wear Carolyn's clothes. Yikes! She moved out and got an apartment. I was divorce and made a half hearted attempt to ask her out, but she had already set her cap for another guy and in short order they got married. I soon learned what Carolyn's game was. She kept her lives separate. No interaction between work and home. I knew her husband; I'll call him Mr. B., his first initial. We knew one another from the softball field. Nice guy, but I don't think he liked me long before I gave him reason not to. I think Carolyn created a smoke screen at home to preempt any rumors or such that might come into the home front from a secondary. In other words she convinced Mr. B I was an SOB long before I ever did anything. That way there was no way Mr. B would ever suspect we were chummy. In the fall of 1984 a juicy plum of a survey dropped into my lap for a location in Montana We would stay in a small town called Jordan. Two people would drive supplies up in two trucks and pick up the remaining two members of the crew in Great Falls, then drive up to Jordan, Montana. Jordan was recently famous as it was the site of the standoff between the Freeman Separatist group and the FBI. We set up a lab in an old abandon auto parts store on main street. Carolyn and I would drive the trucks up. My branch manager Mr. M called me up to his office and looked at me and just laughed and shook his head. He said he wanted a full report when I got back. First I had to go to Denver and set up the particulars of the survey with the exploration manager in our office there. I had an old acquaintance from a wild training trip through Montana, Wyoming and Colorado. She was in exploration and her name was Luanne. We made arrangements to go out with some of her friends and she let me stay at her house. We ended up in her hot tub with the other couple and drank a lot. Luanne was a pretty short haired blonde. Quiet and conservative. Not at all like the gals in my geology department in school. She was a great geologist and fun to be around. But she was introverted a bit. I cannot imagine how she got up the nerve or courage to come into my room that night. She must have known I was easy. To be honest it was like doing it for the first time. Not at all rushed, or frenzied, but slow, soft and tender. I can be a considerate guy. I sensed that was what she was looking for. It was a beautiful night. The next day my bed was empty, the alcohol had worn off, and it was a bit awkward. So I walked up to her and gave her a long kiss. That broke the ice and said for my part, that there were no regrets. I spoke with her a few years back and she is happily married with a lovely daughter, probably in high school or college now. To Be Cont'd

Chapter 10 Gays in Bartlesville

Let me say this, about that. There were plenty of gays in B'ville in the 80's. I am not talking about the guys meeting in the men's room down in Johnstone Park at the time. They probably still are, but that is their business. It did hit the paper when the police set up a sting. Maybe they thought they'd catch George Michaels. There were a bunch on the down low. I really don't care much one way or the other. I had an uncle I was close to and both he and his partner of 25 years died of HIV. No they were not monogamous. They cruised during the height of the AIDS outbreak and died as a result. I also had a good friend who I worked theater with during college in Germany. He did directing and was also in active duty military intelligence. A former Green Beret he turned out to be gay too. The killer was he and my uncle met in Georgetown while I was in college in Virginia and...well let's just say the image of the two of them together is etched in my brain. LOL. Actually in the event, the friend from Germany saw a picture of me and my sisters on his dresser. My uncle later told me the story. So in B'ville, there were a lot of closet gays. I'll illustrate it with a few stories. I used to run at lunch. On more than one occasion I was followed all around down town by some guy in a car. Must have been getting his jollies, or wanted to talk. I gave him the opportunity for the former, not the latter. Another gentleman, Jack, was a highly placed lawyer in the Patent Division out in R&D. He used to stop me in front of the Adams building and want to chat while I jogged in place dripping with sweat in my running shorts. If that wasn't enough to raise my suspicions, more was to come. I wrecked my truck one snowy evening going to Marie's club on ice slick roads. I undertook to rebuild it in my driveway. Numerous people stopped to comment on my progress including the lawyer. He lived down Cherokee, and drove by my house every morning. He offered to start picking me up in the morning so I would not have to walk down town to catch the R&D shuttle. He was a very nice man, but I gathered there was more interest there than being neighborly. What does a 50 something suit has in common with a 20 something professional 2 years out of school? I think he got the message that I was not really interested in any middle aged hairy butt cracks. But there was more. Around the corner off 14th Street and either Johnstone or Keeler, maybe Dewey, lived a couple. My Ex #1 performed in some production at the Civic Center and met this guy. He worked in the Plastics group out at R&D. He was married to this heavy set Jewish gal. Hell, he was probably Jewish too. They were a gregarious and out going couple. They invited us over for a party. Yes, my Ex and I still went out together; it is after all a small town. Anyway, he invites me over to tour the plastics offices and introduces me to the absolutely gorgeous Osage Indian gal. Legs to the moon, looks, just gorgeous. She lived in Pawhuska. He more than suggests that the gal would like to meet me, so we go out to Pawhuska one weekend and it turns out we are there to help her move. Okay, so my raging hormones were used against me. I liked the exercise. Well, next he wants to go out to Tulsa with me. So I say okay. I had not quite gotten the gay vibes yet, but they were coming. He drives, and we hit the S&J Oyster Bar down on Peoria. I sit at the corner of the bar and he sits to my left. I start to sense things are not what they seem so when he hits the head, I strike up a conversation with this moderately attractive gal to my right with a set of juggs that would turn a gay man straight. A life preserver. When we leave, I have her in tow. We go to the club next door, some little biker like place. We have a few drinks there. Then my gay friend decides he'll up the anti in order to try to scare off my new found female companion. He wants to go to Zippers on the east side. So be it. I'd been to gay clubs before and knew what to expect. In college my girlfriend worked as a bartender and I waited tables. The only clubs we could go to after hours were gay, not profit clubs that could serve liquor. they were member ship only, and a co-worker of her's had a card. It was funny waiting in line and seeing the business men with their boy toys waiting in line. Presumably their wives were home sound asleep. Well, we went to Zippers and me and this gal find a cozy booth and order a drink. I think by that time it was clear to my new found, soon to be ex gay friend that me and the girl had hit it off. Maybe it was all the spit swapping we were doing. Long story short, I cut him loose and stayed with her for the night. In the process, I met the two most perfect breasts that I have ever shared a bed with in my 51 years on the face of the Earth. I also got a case of the crabs. But that is another story. Another example is a co-worker in International Exploration. He lived in Tulsa, drove a fancy car and never, I mean never was seen in the company of a woman. I had suspicions. Well, at the time I fit the description too, but only the part about living in Tulsa and driving a, well sporty, not fancy, car. But I was always with a woman. Anyway, only recently I found out from a co-worker that the guy in question was having "health" problems. I read that as HIV related problems. I like the guy, so I hope that with the proper treatment and the right drugs he will live a long time.

Chapter 9 Penny, the Wayward Cowgirl

I can't recall where I met her. Either the DI or at the YMCA, but in any event she was an eye catcher. She did the aerobics thing at the YMCA and I could have watched her all night. I don't remember much about the chase only that in short order we were going out or meeting each other here and there. She was married to a Cowboy, who did the Team Roping thing with his brother. He was obviously on the road a lot, which I think is why she decided to run the range rather than stay home in the corral. She was not too happy. Her hubby and brother-in-law did the team roping thing hither-an-yon across Oklahoma and Texas. That gave her a lot of time to meet and greet. We would go to Tulsa and on occasion meet at the DI to dance or go out to dinner. We preferred Tulsa where the likelihood of running into someone who knew us was a lot less. On one fourth of July she got brazen enough to ask me along to an Osage Hills ranch for a Fourth of July party. The only hitch was on arrival, the wife of the host was my branch secretary a gal named Lee Ann Fronkier. I know that she isn't married to Mr. Fronkier any more, because I currently work with his nephew in Houston. Small world, wot? In the event, Lee Ann being a barrel rider herself just smiled and shook her head. Her knowing me, Penny and the husband, she could easily put two and two together. The thing about Penny was she dressed like a million dollars no matter what she was doing. . She wore those little French socks with strap heels that were so popular with some of the ladies in the Eighties. Very very sexy woman. She had a killer figure under that long blonde hair of hers the whole package was just too much to resist. We only spent one night together, it was a rainy rainy night and I remember I had to get up to put the top up on my car. We were at her place which with married women has always made me very nervous. But for some reason she wanted it there. Maybe a comfort factor or something more kinky, but nerve wracking for me. I recall that later we had this long talk later that pretty much ended the relationship. What it boiled down to was she didn't want to leave her husband unless she had someone in the wings. That turned out to be a common thing with women in Bartlesville (see Diane D.). I told her that if she wanted to leave him, that was fine, but not to do it on account of me or with the expectation that she would jump from marriage to him to something like that with me. I found out later that she had hooked up with a young guy who belonged to a moneyed family northeast of town. These were the same young men that had the big jet boat out at Birch Lake during the early Eighties. The trouble was the daughter of a former co-worker of mine was seeing the guy and the older Penny, probably swept him off his feet and got him to marry her. So she found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow after all. Personally I think that the younger gal would have been a better catch. She was AmerAsian and quite the dish. I use to see her at the pool and in the Phillips gym when she was in high school.

Chapter 8 Phillipstown Icons

I think he and John D. Rockefeller shared a lot in common besides being pioneering profiteers in the oil business. It must have been the staid Christian upbringing. That and all the money just didn't mix. History records stories of old John D. Rockefeller in his dotage riding in the back of his limo beneath a big comforter with one of his young female assistants, who were old enough to be his grand daughters. It makes you wonder what his wrinkled arthritic hands were busy doing. If you have access to the Phillips anniversary album they gave out to all the employees back on the 50 year anniversary go to the pictures of old Frank Phillips sitting with the contestants of the bathing suit contest held annually down in Johnstone Park by the river. Guess who did the judging? I would wager that more than one of the young winners and probably the runners up found their way into old Frank's bed. Money and power corrupt and Bartlesville proved the rule rather than the exception. Our iconic royal family, the Kennedy's, illustrate this as well. The patriarch of the family, Joseph Kennedy, former ambassador to Great Britain and well known prohibition bootlegger, had a Swedish mistress who lived with the family at the Kennedy compound. One account has him keeping the whole family waiting at the dinner table as he returns from playing tennis, he takes the mistress upstairs in full view of his wife and kids, bonks her, then comes to dinner. Nice guy, wot? Is it any wonder his sons all turned out to be womanizers too? Well, Frank was probably full of himself. My father, a military man of 30 years and someone who did not need to prove his manhood to anyone having served in two wars, took one look at the cowboy costumes on display at Woolaroc that belonged to old Frankie, and said it appeared that the man was about 4 feet tall with an ego around 12 feet tall. I think that sums it up. Just like his contemporary, John D. he had the money and power to indulge any and all of his peccadilloes no matter how twisted. He also had a lock on public opinion in an essentially company town. His own little fiefdom: Bartlesville. Most of you know the story about Frank's hand picked successor, "Boots" Adams. If ever there was a conniving calculating man, he was it. When I was hired I had a beard. I was told that under Adam's CEO ship I would have been put on the plane and been sent home without having an interview. He employed spotters to see if PPCo employees patronized any gas stations other than Phillips. Employee's cars had to have Phillips tires and batteries unless they were original equipment on new cars. The guy was a megalomaniac. The topper was how he used his first wife, and Osage Indian to get exclusive rights to develop the Burbank Field, the field that made Phillips the company it became. I guess no sooner than the ink was dry on the lease, he divorced her. You have all heard of "Bud" Adams, owner of the former Houston Oilers and the now Tennessee Titans. Well that was Boot's son by wife number one. There is a family photo in the PPCo album showing Boots, Bud and trophy wife number 2 and all Bud's half siblings. Bud sticks out like a turd in a punch bowl. He is short and squat; his half siblings are all tall and slender, mirroring his step mom. It is no wonder why Bud Adams has rejection issues. If you recall he moved to Houston to make his fortune, with not a small amount of seed money from Pops (like all the kids got). He bought the Oilers and started a love hate relationship with the host city and its fans. Bud never really fit into Houston and never really tried to be part of the Houston social elite scene. It probably reminded him too much of Dad and the PPCo/Bartlesville elite. Hell, hadn't that nose in the air crowd run Cities Service Company out of "their" sending them packing to Tulsa? The town was only big enough for one oil company it seems. As you all know, Houston didn't see eye to eye with Bud Adams so he took his ball, and his team to Tennessee, where they became the Tennessee Titans. Maybe Bud will fit in better in the Volunteer state. I hope so; I think his dad really did him and his mother dirt. There were lots of stories about the Old PPCo, like the elevator girls in the old Frank Phillips building also serving as entertainment for visiting dignitaries. I assume call girl was not one of the job categories at Phillips listed with the Employment Commission. There was also the story about the bootlegger that the company employed. No he didn't make moonshine for the company, but he brought in and stored quantities of liquor across state lines, which was then illegal, for use by the company executives. Then there were the Nixon slush fund contributions. The story goes that a company functionary was caught traveling with a brief case full of cash. This was ostensibly to pay off some Middle Eastern potentate. But on investigation a money trail was traced and it was found that PPCo had made substantial contributions to a slush fund for then President Nixon. Not surprising really, there wasn't anything illegal about it then I don't think, and today we just call the PACs, or Political Action Committees. PPCo supported more than a few and I remember the company holding meetings soon after PACs were legislated, urging all employees to contribute. When the company urged anything you couldn't help feel the muzzle of the gun against the side of your head. United Way was the same way. I mean you came in and found nicely printed cards on your desk with your name and all relevant company info on the card. There were messages setting a deadline for completion of the pledge cards, and word had it each manager was expected to deliver a response of X percent as part of his performance evaluation. Never one to be pressured, I would dutifully submit the pledge and never send them a dime. My repugnance was only verified years later when it was revealed that the President of the United Way was using our hard earned money for booze and hookers. Hell, I wanted my hard earned money for booze and hookers. Let him get his from someone else. I often wondered if the company got kickbacks for strong arming their employees the way they did for so called charities.

Chapter 7: Denise, My Indian Maiden

Then there was Denise. I think her last name was Cole. She was the girl friend of a dope smuggler pilot from Bartlesville, who had the misfortune to have is loaded plane go down with mechanical problems. He got busted on Federal charges. I met them at a Christmas party one year at a house on Chickasaw or Choctaw. Denise filled out a t-shirt in an amazing way. She was full blooded Cherokee, with a full head of jet black curly hair. She was stunning. Anyway, I didn't see her again for a long time. I ran into her at the DI and she was alone. I recognized her, (who wouldn't have), and asked her to dance. She was with a friend, so we exchanged phone numbers. I don't think she came home with me that night but we got together soon after that. Denise was a sweetheart when she was straight. Problem was there was only about a 30 minute window when that was the case. She would light up a joint with breakfast. She confessed she had done harder stuff but didn't while we were involved as far as I knew. Denise had a daughter named Micah, who later ran off seeking refuge with relatives in Kansas. I remember the notice in the Sunset News in 1990 or there about, that she was missing. I felt really bad. The little gal deserved better. I remember her as a little freckled thing with a smile that would light up the moon. We used to go up to the family run swimming lake (was it Sunset lake?) up in the Osage Hills in my little convertible. I still have pictures of that. I'd carry her around on my shoulders in the water. When I finally had a daughter of my own, I used to remember Micah a lot. Very sweet kid. I can only guess that she ran away to escape the advances of one of her mother's boy friends. Denise was husband or sponsor shopping. I knew she had me and another guy on a line. And was looking to see who would get serious first. I still laugh about that. If she's been straight she still had a lot of baggage. Her whole family was fucked up. Her sister lost a husband out on Birch Lake. They ran over him with a ski boat and cut his arm off, pulled him in the boat and watched him bleed to death. I assume they were all too stoned to think of tying on a tourniquet. Her sister lived off the social security money from his death. They all bounced from living with their mother, to living with each other or whatever guy they could hook up with. Denise fell into this mode when the FBI (this was pre-DEA) seized her boy friends house and evicted her. Then took her car which was in his name. All purchased with drug money. So Denise was shopping. That was fine; I was straight up with her and said I was not interested in a relationship. I was seeing about 4-5 other women at the time and really really didn't want to be in a relationship since I had just gotten divorced. As I said, Denise was a raven haired beauty, the Indian blossom had not hit her yet, and she was still in her late twenties. Her hips were still about 35 or so and she had all the right curves. Unfortunately her nice rack was silicone. Not that that is a bad thing, but she got butchered. The doc hadn't given her big enough implants for the extra skin so when she was leaning forward she would have this little flap of breast hanging over the end of each of the implants. And the crescent scars around the bottom of her aureoles were pretty massive. Must have been the guys first time or he got his med degree in Tijuana. But she was sight to behold in the knit dresses she so liked to wear. She turned heads when ever she entered a room. I am not kidding when I say this, but one of the sexy things about her in my book, was the look that a lot of Hispanic women have. She had this dark hair on her upper lip that gave her upper lip a shadowed look that makes it look lip curls upward. Denise was a hairy one for sure. Indian's don't have hair. Bullshit. I used to kid her about the occasional black hair she had between her breasts. We had a great time together in and out of bed. I fondly remember the trip to the Sooner Park Art Festival. I still have a charcoal drawing of her I had done with all the thick cascading black curly hair. Gorgeous. She was with me when I bought a bunch of water fowl prints from a prominent local artist. I still have the prints I hanging in my house. We had some great times, like driving to see Don Henley together in Tulsa at the Old Lady on Brady. She stripped her panties off in the little convertible, legs pedaling in the air as we sped down US 75. Then woops! Off they flew to land in the road. I had to stop and go back to pick them up. Don't ask me why she took them off.... I was uncomfortable parking near the Federal Jail the night of the concert, as that was where her ex was being incarcerated at the time. Fun times. But it didn't last. Things went down hill. The first signs were when she ran into a telephone pole on Adams Avenue on the curve near Margarite Ave near 123. This was about the time she got evicted. I went with her to get stuff out of her impounded car. The something included a (9mm automatic belonging to her ex-boy friend). When she pulled it out of the car, the cop escorting us was not amused. She got in a rage when he took it. I calmed her down, and I guess I looked sane and safe, wearing a suit having come from the office. He gave me the gun. She exchanged words with him, and then hiked her short skirt up over her panty-less bottom in a kiss my ass parting gesture. I had to calm him down again. He let me with the advice that I had better get my girl friend under control. Good advice. The next episode was at a party with my co-workers. She got drunk, left in a huff and took my keys. I had to catch a ride and found her at a convenience store calling for a ride. Some good Samaritans dropped her off at my house and had my friend drive me there too. When we got back to my house and she pulled the gun out, ostensibly to show the concerned Samaritans that she could protect herself from me if necessary. That was the last straw. I can put up with a lot of erratic behavior, but when the erratic one has a 9mm in their hand, I bail. I never saw her again. Good pussy or not. In 1988 I ran into her at a concert at the Fairgrounds, REO Speedwagon I think. I was with future Ex#2. She was with this young kid a boy half her age, stoned and barefoot. She saw me; I had just come back from my short lived transfer to Houston. So some time after the concert I looked her up. The guy at the liquor store on 6th street at Cherokee knew her and remembered me coming in with her and was able to tell me where she was staying. During my short stay in Houston during the 1988 crash I had sent her a plane ticket to come visit. Yes, I liked her enough for that. But she had cashed in the ticket I guess because she never showed. I dropped by to see her; she was living off Chickasaw with her mother and sister, dating some teenager. I realized it was a lost cause for good then. I regret things didn't work out with her and wonder if she is till amongst the living.

Chapter 6: Drugs in Bartlesville

In my experience, where there is excess money, there are drugs. It came as a great shock to the whole town, when in the mid 80's probably 1985, the Quarterback at the high school, the one off of Cherokee, got caught selling drugs. Big scandal. I had to laugh. My response was to say, "Take a look at the HS parking lot. There are more new cars there than the parking lot at R&D". The kids were spoiled. They got new cars and a big allowance so there was a big market. I mentioned that the leggy brunette I worked with, Carolyn, was living with a long haired 40 something biker named Ron. He worked at R&D and the drove in to work in a new Cadillac. I used to see him without her with a few buddies at a lot of clubs dealing. There was one club that opened out in Osage County off of Route 60 west of Bartlesville. Can't remember the name. But it was very popular for a short time. The place probably got busted for serving under aged kids or drugs. Anyway, the place went from 90 to nothing in a heartbeat. They probably lost their liquor license. Well Ron was there every time I was. When I played ball, there was a young geophysicist he and I got friendly. What I didn't know was he was working on developing a coke problem. We were both friends with Richard and were on the team. Turns out that the company was monitoring his phone calls. He was working in the Asia group but was requesting a lot of wells for N. Oklahoma be processed by the well log analysis group. Turns out he was selling the analyzed well data to a local company. He confided in Richard, who told him to quit the company before being fired. He didn't but was lucky the company didn't prosecute him for theft. They fired him and he got hired by the company he was selling to. This leads us to the biggest revelation. There was a very well respected Sedimentary Geologist/Petrologist who worked at Phillips. For a time he headed up the Training program for new hires. About a year or two ago, he dropped dead of a heart attack in the Houston Airport. If that doesn't tell you who he is his initials were Gif Kessler. Every 3 months or so, may be 6 months, a new crop of new hires would come through town and be run through a series of classes. Since I was in R&D, I caught the classes on a space available basis. There was a lot of partying going on, and even if you were not in the classes, being local you were invited if you had a mind to go. Gif didn't like or have time for women. From what I know he was a momma's boy and was decidedly gay. Not that there's' anything wrong with that, as Jerry Seinfeld would say Hell I had a gay Uncle I loved very much who died of HIV. Gif was misogynistic. I remember the look on his face when I introduced my girl friend. He looked like he wanted to spit on her. During all these training classes he had a protégé' usually a male new hire from Europe in tight jeans. Gif also supplied drugs at the parties. It was common enough knowledge that the geophysicist and I ended up at Gif's house, I think it was either off Silver Lake road, or 123 one evening. My friend wanted to go there for something, and as it turned out it was for coke. Gif obliged and turned out about 8 lines. I said thanks but no thanks and watched as my friend did his fill. I imagine the drugs were Gif's bait. I don't think I ever saw him do any. But he had them for anyone who cared to ask, so long as you were male. Gif was blonde, overweight, with a shock of thinning blonde hair, a van dyke beard and rosy cheeks. He wasn't a bear in the homosexual vernacular, but more of a teddy bear. He looked more like a receiver than a pitcher if you get my drift. More like Truman Capote. Anyway, I think the drugs were what he used to attract male companions. I liked Gif; the industry lost a very competent geoscientist. I just hate hypocrisy. He might have been outed to his friends, but I don't think many know about the drugs. I used to visit him in his office to chat, and attended his Sedimentary Petrology Field Trip. But that's another story. Drugs were used by a lot of the Phillips professionals for recreation. I dated an R&D librarian. She did a lot of pot. She cleaned her stash in my car one day. I found the seeds later and in a perverse move planted them in my backyard. This was at the house at 1316 South Cherokee. I had built an 8 foot privacy fence in the back and had a Doberman. The next spring I was weed eating and noticed I had a crop of 3 foot high marijuana plants along the fence. The bottom of the fence was boxed in by rail road ties forming a planter in order to bring the fence up to the level of the alley behind the property. Anyway, long story short, I forgot about the plants and got a 4 week field assignment to Montana. I called the police to put my house on police watch while I was gone. No I didn't need the back yard checked on account of the dog. I was on the plane to Montana when it hit me. Holy Shit! I had a crop of 6 foot high plants in the back yard. I called the then Ex #1, and thankfully we were on good terms. I had her pull up all the plants and put them in the back of the garage. Problem solved. When I got back I cut and dried the stuff. Now why you might ask did I run the risk of growing the stuff if I didn't use it. Well, I was stupid and I wanted to please. Most of my friends, including a current Phillips VP smoke pot. I wanted to have some for them when they came over. Imagine the look on their faces when they wistfully said, "It sure would be nice to have some pot." And I said " Pot?, not a problem." And climbed into the attic and produced a Tupperware cake saver full of cut marijuana. I let them take a quart zip lock full. In short order I was out of the pot supplying business as the free pot disappeared pretty quickly. I have to say that THAT was the single stupidest thing I have ever done in my life. The ramifications of getting caught for something I didn't even like still boggles my mind. It still gives me shivers to think about what could have been. Hell you don't know who your friends really are and I could have been ratted out by anyone as a dealer simply to save themselves. I never sold as much as a leaf. I gave it all away, and never lit a joint for myself. It was stupid, stupid, stupid.

Chapter 5: Patrick's Bar

I've already mentioned the bar Patrick's and how popular a place it was in the early 80's. It was where the young professionals from the downtown area met to meet. It was your average run of the mill, dive with two pool tables and enough Pac man, Defender, Pinball and Asteroid games to keep everyone interested while they downed $1 longnecks. This place was home base for our tournament softball team and our general hangout. It was also crawling with available and ready babes. The gals there ranged from locals to imports. There were local girls, like the ones that worked at Gray's Jewelry and the others that had landed jobs at Phillips. There were others from out of town that worked in various capacities either at Phillips or in the booming economy around town. I got involved shortly with a gal from Gray's Jewelry; she was going through a separation and ultimately a divorce. We met one wild Friday. This gal had a rack from Bartlesville to Tulsa. We ended up driving up towards Lake BarDew and turned off on a side road. Since she was driving a brand new Camaro, I laid her on the hood of the car and we went to town. Either I was in rare form, or she hadn't had any in a long time. Suffice to say we had to go to the car wash to hose off the hood of the car before she took it home. We went back to Patrick's to more than a few winks and nods. She and I kept it up for a few months after that, but it was uncomfortable. I was over at her place one day when her estranged husband came by. I recently heard from her. She looked me up on the web and sent me an anonymous email. She now lives in Florida and was going to B'ville and as she made the drive from the Tulsa airport, she said I popped into her head. I guess they were pleasant memories. They were for me. Wonderful breasts, hers. She says they still are. LOL I remember on one Saint Patrick's Day, I squeezed in between two women at the bar to buy a beer. A short blond with a nice figure got up to go to the ladies room. I pulled some bills from my wallet paid and then went back to talking to my co-worker. He was an old PPCo hand that had been with the company for 25 years and coached the softball team. A few minutes later the blonde came up to me. It seems that I had dropped a credit card receipt on her chair from my wallet. She assumed I had left it on purpose. Well, she had just arrived in town, and was staying at a house a few blocks from the bar. One thing led to another and off we went to tear off a quick piece at her place. Then we came back to the bar. My buddy, Richard, asked where I'd been, and I told him. He just shook his head in disbelief. Patrick's was always the Danish Pastry's and my jumping off point after volley ball. That gave us an alibi. After a while Patrick's began to go down hill. It wasn't uncommon for Patrick to come in and take 90% of the cash out of the register to buy cocaine. He stopped putting money in the place and it became more and more a dump. That started to hurt business. I remember driving him around one Saturday night late so he could score some coke. When I realized what he was doing, I dropped him off and went home. Shortly after than I think he started dealing. I remember how erratic his behavior became. He bought a big boat at Grand Lake and totaled it. He served a course Marshal when the PGA tour came to Tulsa. Boy was he pumped about that. But on another occasion he came back after a weekend in Dallas with several strippers in tow. One was a big blonde with tits bigger than her head. We ran into them at the DI and he walked up to our table. There were six of us sitting by the dance floor. He just swept our drinks off the table, thinking it was funny. He turned into a real flake. It wasn't too long after that that he got busted trying to sell to a cop. He had to sell the bar and it never regained its popularity. Of course by that time Bartlesville was in the depths of a depression, after Phillips had downsized twice after the T. Boone Picken's and Carl Icahn takeover attempts. For those who may not know, PPCo laid off a higher percentage of geoscientists and other employees than any other company in the industry, over 50%. The company was hit by the double whammy of green mail and the precipitous drop in oil prices in 1986. In the event, not only did Patrick's go out of business, but the DI closed then reopened under a different name and management. There were a few other attempts at opening nightspots, but they were pretty feeble or short lived.