Chapter 21 Incahoot's, 51st and Memorial

Incahoot's was at the time one of the most popular nightclubs in Tulsa. It was at the mall at 51st and Memorial. I lived in Bartlesville at the time and hated to go to Tulsa to go out, then drive home after drinking. The drive was a killer. This was before US 75 had been turned into 4 lane. I had a co-worker who suffered severe head injuries and his wife was decapitated in a head collision on one of the Verdigris River bridges. Nasty stuff. Anyway, I decided to apply for a job as a bouncer at the club so I could party for free and not drive home drunk. I got the job and worked Friday and Saturday nights. My partner at the door was a very affable former Marine. I can't remember his name but he was a great guy, and I trusted him implicitly. We were pretty much alike, clean cut, not into drugs; we'd rather have a beer than a line of coke. Line's of coke were readily available. There were usually parties after hours for the restaurant and club workers. I remember one at the newly opened and still under construction One Eton Square apartments. When the club closed we went on over and the host had a mirror in the bedroom with a mound of coke on it. People were lined up like it was a cafeteria waiting their turn. We looked at each other and headed for the door. It is funny how people are. I worked as a petroleum geologist by day and bounced on weekends. The patrons at the club treated you, the door men I mean, like we were invisible. I guess they felt we were below their station in life. I thought it was pretty funny since I probably earned more than 90% of the people who walked through the door. People I got to know and who got to know me were incredulous that I would work a job like that. Well, I did a lot of duck hunting on weekends during the winter anyway, so I just drove home at 3am had a few cups of coffee and went hunting. I'd come back home after lunch, sleep a few hours then drive back to Tulsa to the club, then go hunting Sunday morning again. The owner of the club was Lebanese; the manager was a nice guy about my age who had a very nice looking wife. I got to know her a year or so later when I lived at One Eton, she worked the bar at TGI Friday's. I can't say I got to know any of the other bouncers at the club, I met them, but most of them were meatheads. They caused more fights than the stopped apparently. One tall blond guy thought he was Larry Holmes. I think he spent more time down at the TPD station than at the club. I only got into one brawl. My skill was in talking the unruly patrons out of the club. I didn't threaten or bluster, I negotiated. The one exception was due to intervention by the dumb ass owner. A local who owned a gym in town, a former lineman for the Bengals, I was told, came in. I guess he was 'roided out or just a plain ass hole. Anyway he proceeds to go into the men's room and knocks all the toilet partitions down. He's hitting them like they're a blocking sled. The manager tells me to get him out of the club. Well, off I go to do it. I later find out that not one other bouncer in the club would have done it. I approach this guy on the dance floor and we have a quiet conversation. At first he isn't taking me seriously, but then agrees to leave. End of story. Not! He's walking out with his date, and the Owner; did I say he was a dumb ass? goes over to him to have the last word. I had followed him at a distance. Just as I approach he is at the grabs the owner by the shirt, did I mention the owner was a dumb ass? Shit it's no wonder the Lebanese blew the shit out of their own country. Anyway, Joe football cocks his arm ready to put his fist through the owner's face (yeah, the dumb ass owner). Without thinking I hit Joe Lineman with a shoulder tackle driving him into the wall. He grabs me by the hair. It is all I can do to hold his right arm against the wall. Luckily in the next instance, the bartenders, and DJ are on him too. We hold him against the wall and he is straining like he is on a Nautilus Peck Deck machine. I yell to slide him down the wall to the emergency exit. At the time I have his brother on my back pounding away on me until someone pulls him off. We get Mr. Dick Butkus wanna be to the door and I hit the latch bar and out on the sidewalk he goes. I slam the door and run to the front door and pull up a stainless steel rope stanchion and tell my fellow bouncer, who up till then was busy making time with a patron, to do the same. I said use it to hit the biggest guy you see come through the door. Luckily cooler heads prevailed and the got Mr. Roid Rage into a car that almost made it out of the parking lot before the police came. End of story. When I moved back to Tulsa, the Mr. Dumb Ass owner's wife who must have been in the back ground that night recognized me as a patron. She asked me if I wanted to come back to work for them. I declined. She remarked that I always prevented fights unlike the other bouncers. I like to think I also prevented her husband having to pay a very large oral and maxillary facial reconstruction surgery bill. My ego likes to think she wanted to get to know me better. Who knows, it wasn't long after that that the club changed names, several times and ultimately closed. We did have a lot of nice after hour's parties. I never kept in touch with any of the people there. Later when I lived at One Eton, I met the manager's wife. She remembered me from the club. I used to come in regularly on Friday for my version of a boiler maker, a Capt. Morgan's and a beer. She would set me up before I got to the bar stool. On numerous occasions I sat next to a guy that had more than a passing interest in her. They new each other pretty well, I'd wager. She was a sweet dish I have to say. I got more than my share of drinks on the house or two for one's. At the time I was dating my Future Ex # 2. I was driving a little red MGB convertible. I recall, after an evening of drinks going out to the car. We only had to drive to the apartment in the second row of buildings down from the clubhouse. As we drove by the glass windows at the front of the place, my Future Ex #2 turns in her seat, rises up on her knees and pulls up her top. All I could see were the mouths dropping open as the window side seats got a grand view of her perky 36 DD's as we drove by. We had been sitting at the bar all evening. I often wonder if more than a few of the guys got their wish by her little act. What surprised me was it was totally out of character for her. I sure surprised the shit out of me.

Chapter 20 PPCo Surface Mapping

I hung out with the Surface Mapping Group my first few years at Phillips. It was my assignment at R&D to give them R&D support in Remote Sensing. I used their image analysis system in the old bank vault quite a bit. There were a number of people I remember, techs mainly. Richard, I think his name was, was the main computer tech, he ran the system loaded the old imagery tapes and wrote our processed images to film for us. He had another assistant, a local cowboy type who worked a farm/ranch down south of town. I borrowed a bunch of hay bales from him on autumn to deck out my garage for a Halloween party. A very nice guy. We had a few beers together at least once. There was an Osage gal, I think her name was Carolyn. She was in her late 30's early 40's. A motherly type. A matronly broad, in both senses of the word. She was great fun. I used to make eyes at this lovely young woman who was also Osage, just a gorgeous example of a native American woman. She seemed to always were these tight jeans... Anyway Carolyn noticed me looking and we got to talking, something we did a lot. Conversation came around to the other gal and she laughed. She said you think she's pretty. I had to admit she was. She pulled out a photograph and said, what about her? I looked at the photo and had to admit the gal in the picture was a knockout. Long black hair, athletic build, very pretty. The spitting image of the other younger woman. I looked up at her expecting her to say with a fair amount of pride that it was her daughter. She said simply, that a picture of me. I did a double take. She laughed again, then explained to me what she called the Osage Blossom. I didn't know what the hell she was talking about. Remember this is straight from her. It seems that in her opinion there is this thing that happens to the women of the Osage, that is genetically coded in them somewhere. In their mid-thirties, their bottoms just begin to "blossom", hence the name. Carolyn had this profound derriere. She maintained that it happened to them all. At some point she told me, that lithe, slender athletic Indian maiden I lusted after would look just like her. Carolyn was not unattractive, she was typical Osage. Round face, sepia colored skin, wonderful smile, dark brown to black hair that she kept cut to her shoulders. And she had a very ample bottom. Well, I will have to defer to her on whether the Osage Blossom really exists or not. Though I did notice that over the time I worked around the young Indian maiden I did notice that the jeans got tighter and tighter, and she did seem to be loosing that "athletic" look. I guess the only proof would be to do a representative sampling and run the statistics. There were a bunch of other characters in the group. I only remember a few of their names. Hal, Garry, Kurt, Steve, Claude, and a host of others I cannot remember. Some disappeared when the group's leader Hal, retired, and the wolves descended on the group laying off or transferring most of them. Out of over 40 odd people only about 4 survived and were moved out to R&D for a couple of years, and were finally "attritted" in the bloodletting of 1988-89. John Mihm, or as we called him, Mihm the Merciless, or Ho Chi Mihm, the head of our division led the executions. When the dust settled, I think only about 4 or 5 people remained out of a staff of over 50 including those assigned to support them at R&D. Phillips had the dubious distinction of making the deepest cuts of any oil company in the industry during the decline of the 1980's. They laid off around 50% of their geological and geophysical staff. With regard to my immediate co-workers, they were pretty much gone. Granted some were found positions in other parts of the company, but a lot left for other companies or left the industry entirely. At the time, I bailed out and got a transfer to Houston, got laid off there after 3 months, then was recalled and transferred back to Bartlesville as part of the reconstituted International Exploration Group, they had moved from Florida. That carefully thought out human resources moved cost Phillips probably around $70,000 dollars of their scarce money. They paid me two lump sums of $10,000 to move there and back in under 5 months. They paid me severance all of which I kept. They paid me living expenses for 1 month and sundry other move related monies. They did it to several other guys I am aware of, one a close friend at the time. He's an engineer and works in the Health Safety and Environment Group. Last time I spoke to him he was in charge of monitoring pipelines somewhere. They should have been laying off the dumb asses in accounting and human resources. Those clowns, it was decided had lain off too many people. In January, they moved 20 of us to Houston, then in April laid most of us off. Then recalled some of us, and moved us back to B'ville. Well thought out, right? Typical Phillips.

Chapter 19 Lisa L.

Lisa was a former ballerina. She had danced with the San Antonio Ballet company but suffered a knee injury. At the time I knew her, her father was the Mayor of Caney, Kansas. She was dating one of the roommates living over west of my house on Cherokee. Kent was her boyfriend, or rather the boy friend she wanted. He worked for Reda Pump as an accountant or something like that. He had at one time been a competitive water skier. Nice guy. Lisa was a quiet but fun loving type. The thing I remember about her the most was the way she walked. I learned it was distinctive to ballerinas. She was very slender but was still well endowed. So much so that she told me they used to require her to bind them down when she danced with the ballet troupe. Her breasts were too pendulous for Kent's taste and he was trying to divest himself of her attentions. I would have to differ with his opinion. To paraphrase the words of Jackie Chiles the attorney on Seinfeld!, "They were real and they were Magnificent!" I guess he liked them small and perky, because both he and his roommates had a derogatory name for her breasts and those of Dana, another gal who made the rounds of the house while dating one of the other guys who lived there. It had something to do with an Italian form of pasta baked in a pan. Dana I believe, went on to marry a minister in town. From what I could see neither deserved the descriptive tag. Guys, go figure. At the time I was seeing someone on and off, but Lisa and I spent a fair amount of time together. She filled out a bikini exceptionally well. The one down side was she was pining away for a guy who split his time between Arkansas and Kansas. He was, by her own admission a real hound, and couldn't be trusted, but for some reason she just could not get this guy out of her system. She eventually married him and is till with him to this day. So I guess she was meant to be with him. But 20 years ago, he couldn't make the commitment. She eventually waited him out. I think I could have really fallen for her if she could have decided she could do without the other guy, but apparently she couldn't. This may have been a contributing factor to Kent loosing interest. He made it final one night at the DI and I was there to console her. She came on back to my place that evening. We hung out a lot together, partied, went dancing. We even went shopping to Tulsa for classical music. She knew where all these small mom and pop music shops were. I really enjoyed my time with her. I had only one complaint, that was she like to drink a bit too much at times. That is still a pet peeve of mine. I was married to a bi-polar gal for 5 years. I guess that was my penance. I learned at that time how much I detested drunks. Don't get me wrong, I love my drink. I home brew and love single malt scotch, vodka and a good sipping rum. But I also know when to quit. So I expect others to know their limit too. I have never plied women with alcohol. I have on more than one occasion tucked a date in bed and gone home or simply rolled over and went to sleep. In my book it is no fun having sex with a drunk, I might as well beat off. I remember meeting this very pretty and very buxom young former stripper in Houston. She had two neat tattoos on the inner swell of her substantial cleavage back before tattoos could be seen on every kid on the block. We went to a comedy show, had dinner and drinks and went dancing. I took her home and she promptly passed out. Now mind you I wanted this girl in the worst way. It was like a movie. I went into the bathroom brush my teeth, I undressed, came to the bed, she was buck naked and out cold. I stood there looking at that very voluptuous young lady out cold and me nursing a very substantial hard-on. I tucked her in and turned out the lights. Thinking there would be another time. There never was. She moved to Dallas and I lost track of her. But I never regretted my decision. Now Lisa owned a house next door to her mom and dad's place in Caney. So we spent most of our time at my house. I can still remember watching her pad around the house sans cloths with her peculiar ballerina walk. It was like a scene out of a very sexy movie. She had this very infectious laugh and a killer smile. She would laugh so hard this vein in her forehead would stand out n her high forehead. I can't remember the color of her eyes, either gray or brown, and she had the prettiest nose with a sprinkling of freckles. She had a lot of the same properties that made Karen Allen, the brunette in the first Raiders of the Lost Ark movie so attractive. Lisa also tanned like nobody's business. The difference between her flat tanned belly and the part covered by her bikini was like night and day. My current wife is a lot like her, in build, temperament and tan. LOL, maybe I never got over Lisa. I spoke with her not too long ago. She's happy and her and Mr. Right now have two small businesses, a garage door installation company and something else. She had a knock-out younger sister whose looks would stop a train. Absolutely gorgeous. Poor kid had some substance abuse problems that she ultimately beat. I was rooting for her. Ultimately Lisa and I drifted apart. She just could not get this other guy out of her head and I felt like a place warmer. I filled the emotional gap when he wasn't around. We did see each other on occasion. I remember having to drive all the way from Tulsa prior to an overseas trip to get my wallet. We had met at a place called Talk of the Town. Very apt name, wot? Well I had left it there on a Friday night when we met after work. Then I had to drive up to retrieve it, around a 200 mile round trip. I guess I have to say that Lisa was worth it.

Chapter 18 The Stables

Once upon a time there was a strip club on Peoria Avenue in Tulsa. After the club on Bartles Road closed, the Stables was the only establishment of the type worth going to in the general area. I got to know the place pretty well. I had a former lab partner from college who worked for Amoco and came up to the Research Center in Tulsa from Houston on occasion. We would head there for a few beers. One night we walked in and this guy started poking us with a pool cue. It took a minute or two for what he was saying to get through all the noise. It turned out to be another classmate from college back east. He worked for Cities Service. Now talk about the odds of that happening. Me from Bartlesville, Jim from Tulsa, and Steve from Houston all ending up in the same hole in the wall strip club on Peoria. Well, I got to know a stripper named Danyel, a 5'7"+ stunner with a pair of snow cone tits. Very pretty. She was somewhat of a headliner there for a while. There was another gal named Judy, probably Osage or Cherokee. She would wear mukluks on stage and do this whistle routine where she'd bend over and whistle and her pootie would move with the whistling. Cute. Now remember this was in the days when total nudity reigned supreme. No latex on the nipples, no g strings. Three dances and you were down to the bare facts, ma'am. I remember Danyel coming out and doing her first two then dropping the g-string and whoops there was her tampon string. She stepped behind the curtain then deftly tucked everything away then finished her number. I ran into her up on 31st or 21st in some club back about 10 years ago, right after the Stables was forced to close. I was up visiting my kids from Houston and staying at a motel over on 31st. I got in late and went over to see the dancers before picking my kids up the next morning. Danyel remembered me and I remembered her. She used to live over off Peoria near me when I lived at Place One on Riverside Drive. I remember seeing her one Friday night at the club, then running into her at the grocery store Saturday morning. She was pushing her daughter in a shopping cart. We probably both looked pretty rough. But she smiled, stopped and we chatted. This last weekend was my daughter's 16th, so I flew into Tulsa to arrange a surprise party. She was born on St. Paddy's day. I dropped into the club Cloud 9 to kill some time and the bartender looked familiar. So I asked. She had been the bartender at the stables probably 20 years ago or more. She remembered all the girls and we had a nice time chatting and remembering the good old days. Old strippers never die, they just tend bar or keep on dancing. I met two young soon to be old strippers. One with two nifty piercings, the other a 6" 2 beauty that could table dance like nobody's business. Viva la dancers!

Chapter 17 Odds and Ends

Blondie There was this blonde that worked as a my mail girl for a while at Research and Development. I can't remember her name. I used to have her name written down, as my Ex-Mother In-Law 2 knew her, or of her. If I recall she had a bad reputation or so my Mother-in-law said. So she must have been from the Dewey Bartlesville area. She was the prettiest thing. She had the most enormous breasts for someone with as slight a build as she did. This gal was straight from Tobacco Road. She would come to work wearing tan pants and sandals looking like the stereotypical waif. Every time I hear the song "Chevy Van" I think of this gal. Especially the line "A dirt-road main street, she walked off in bare feet". I imagine her in cut off jeans and a tied short shirt. Like Daisy in the Duke's of Hazzard. That's how I'll always remember her. I wanted to get to know this young lady in the worst way. It was apparent that she came from a less than affluent background. She used to put makeup on a face that didn't need it. Obviously no one had ever taught her how to do it. Her mascara looked like it had been put on with a trowel. Despite that, she was just gorgeous and had this aura of naive sexuality about her. I asked her out once and we went to the little club that was on 1st Street I think. It was there I learned she was too young to drink. I despaired that the gulf between our back grounds was just too vast to bridge. I truly wanted to make a Lisa Doolittle out of her. I am a care taker at heart. I guess I wanted to save her, give her a better opportunity. I really did. I guess that is arrogant. She was probably as happy as a clam where she was. I learned that later on traveling to a lot of distant places. People no matter how mean there existence are usually pretty happy. Kids in the jungles of Bolivia, don't know they are supposed to have a TV, McDonald's Happy Meals, Cokes, and $2000 worth of overpriced junk called toys littering their bedrooms. The kids in the Christian Children's Fund or whatever are like that. I can't imagine how long it takes them to get the kids not to smile for the camera. Total Crap. When you give to that fatherly white bearded man, you are really paying his and an army of other leach's salaries. The kids get the crumbs they didn't even ask for. She was just so, so pretty and sweet and sexy. You just don't see them come any prettier and sexier naturally any more. This gal had the patent on how brick shithouses are built. The last I heard she got married and probably had a bunch of kids living in a trailer somewhere. I do remember running into her later and she had this hyper jealous boyfriend. They looked like they were joined at the hip He held on to her like grim death. I can't say I blame him. She probably had every guy in a three county area bird dogging her. Rene' Rene' was a dream. She was a regular at the DI. A true local girl. She picked me up one night at DI. I was very flattered, but also very drunk. This girl had the most fantastic body I have ever seen. I mean this girl was perfect. Perfect everything. She had the most perfect breasts, with those pear shaped or what they call puffie nipples. Lean, svelt and just absolutely perfect. As I said I was very drunk and as I recall did not acquit myself very admirably in the bed that night. I rue that day, I really wanted to impress this woman. Well, we hit it off anyway. I took her antiquing the next day, a Saturday. We hit every store in Dewey and Bartlesville. I was on a frame buying jag, and needed frames for water fowl prints I wanted to hang. I had a great time with her and hoped it would lead to more. Imagine my disappointment when I learned that I was apparently a pre-marital fling. Yep, she was sowing her last wild oats. The next time I saw her she was working at the Phillips Hotel and was pregnant. I don't think it was mine, LOL. I had been gone for a while to Houston and she had married in the meantime. Rene', Rene' sweet Rene'. One of the most physically perfect women I have ever known. Like Diane only with a perfect set of boobs. I hope life has treated you well. to be contiued...