Introduction: The story begins....

I graduated from a university back east. At the time the oil industry was nearing the hiring peak in the early 1980's. I got a position in Phillip's Research and Development and relocated in fall of 1980. I remember listening to the Phillies and Kansas City play in the World Series during the drive west. I probably should give a little back ground on myself. I come from a military family, traveled my whole life. Lived overseas, in the Far East and Europe attended some college in Munich, Germany. Not a lot surprises me. I have been exposed to a lot of drugs, but since my father laid down the law so to speak with regard to that form of recreation, I have never done drugs. Yes, I did the odd toke on a joint in college, but due to allergies (yes, this is really true) I have a real aversion to pot in all it's forms, particularly hashish, the sweetish odor of which turns my stomach. I was lucky to have a roommate my first two years with a similar aversion. So we were probably the two straightest guys on our floor with regard to drugs. We had a heroin pusher at the end of the hall and 4 pot/hashish heads across the hall. So I do know a little about drugs and the folks that use them. Going to a small American University in a foreign country introduced me to what you would call the musical beds. In dealing with a small finite group, there are only so many men and women and paths, or more correctly, genitals are bound to cross. As incestual as it may sound it was not uncommon for a girl or guy to date and mate with roommates. Or in my case, my sister's roommates. My older sister's roomies saw me as a safe alternative to a lonely night or an unknown and chancy one night stand. They knew me, liked me and were protective of me in a big sisterish kind of way, only this little brother had bedroom privileges. On their terms of course. I was at their beck and call. Poor me. So not too much surprises me sexually. I make acquaintances easily, and can usually break down social barriers pretty quickly due to my itinerant past. It did not take long for me to find and become a part of several loosely associated social groups in Bartlesville. I liked my co-workers at Phillips at first sight. Most of them anyway. My supervisor was a slow talking Texan with a ready smile and a grin that only west Texas could produce. My mentor was a Harvard fellow with the same bizarre sense of humor that I possessed. There were a few other professionals; the local born and bred lab supervisor, the goofy nutty professor type geek chemist, the Mormon stiffy so uptight his asshole squeaked when he walked. The lab techs were a little more normal. Let me say that while most professionals employed by Phillips were from out of state, imports you might say, like me, the non-professional staff were all locals. Now a lot of them were very good. Some had even worked their way up from the mail room. Others were simply riding out the good times at the ole oil company till the next down turn sent them back to the farm or ranch. We had quite the collection of techs. The 20 something willowy, beautiful busty brunette who lived with the 40 something biker/drug dealer tech working in the same building. Then there was the single mother/desperately single cow girl type who wolfed diet pills to fit into her skin tight jeans. The A&M dropout who dipped so much snuff he had to take medication for his nicotine induced heart condition. The 400lb biker from the Kansas Sand Hills. The quiet bookish cute little blonde. The trim buxom, 50 something cow girl that still looked like a million with a name to inspire Kenny Rodgers. No, I don't know if she took her love to town, but I sure wish she had brought it as far as my house. Outside of my immediate coworker's the cast got even more interesting. Over in data processing, there was the auburned hair daughter of a very high profile PPCo geologist (this guy published more than Mathew Mark Luke and John put together, he was a real Rascoe..l) and his daughter, well, lets just say she liked it. What about the secretary with very prominent assets who was caught getting boinked in the conference room? We have the Danish pastry, her future husband, the black writer poet/absentee welfare dad and his irate wife living in OKC. The former hippy store/restraunteur and her child psychiatrist/sex offender husband who was former mistress to the black poet and friend of the Danish pastry before he met and bedded the Danish pastry and then she and the wife found out. (Follow all that?) You also have the petroleum engineer/fraternity brother/future Conoco Phillips VP on the fast track and his very determined Kiwi girlfriend/future wife. We can't forget his high riding big spending frat brothers who ran (and would run into the ground) a thriving insurance company. What about the Okie Filipina who marries a geologist using the old I'm Pregnant scam. Wow! I just remembered there were two of those. There was also the wife of the high school football coach, who had a thing for threesomes and collecting husbands. There was the coach, the fireman, (that lasted a week or two) and the attorney (that lasted for at least one or two kids). I managed to squeeze in (double entendre intended) between the coach and the fireman, and again between the fireman and the attorney. No telling who she might have met (heh, heh) while she worked at the country club. And we can't forget the Team roper's wife. She ran around a lot while he was on the road and ran into me. I hear tell she married one of the sons from the moneyed family who owns a big ranch to the north east of town. I just remember the brothers from Birch Lake driving their jet boat. You remember, back when the beer and drugs ran as free as the water. Leading up to several unfortunate deaths and the prohibition on drinking that is now in effect there. Last time I was there it was like one of the Caney Valley's many ghost towns. Too much of anything can ruin a good time for all it seems. We also have a huge cast of singles. A bevy of quietly desperate women willing to give up sexual favors in return for escape from Bartlesville in a play that would eclipse An Officer and a Gentleman. You have the huge supporting cast down at the Disco International other local country joints. You have members of the Jane Phillips Memorial Hospital cafeteria and nursing staff. We don't want to forget the gals at the Phillips credit union, or the ones down at the now defunct savings and loan on Adams Blvd. Then there were the girls at Larry Lively's bars, his abused wife and the local boob doctor's belly dancing wife. We can't forget the BBQ Place, or the stroke inducing hot hamburgers and fries out at Murphy's on the west side. Just to flesh out the itinerary, we have the beer and sex filled canoe trips down the Buffalo River, the wild sex and beer filled weekends out at Grand Lake, wild beer and sex filled Fridays at Patrick's, wild beer and sex filled Tuesday's Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays at Disco International, the old titty bar and country bar out on old 75 on the way to Dewey, and ménage a trois starting at the old country bar just south east of Nowata Road and 75 behind the old motel. Yep, they were the fun old days. There were other people and places and I will bring them up as the story crosses their path. So what do all these folks, me, Bartlesville, and Phillips Petroleum have in common? Well we all came together to weave a neat tapestry of sex, drugs, and rock...well, a little rock and roll and country music, but certainly sex, drugs and relationships in a small town dominated by a big international oil company desperate to maintain an image, that sadly never existed. And I the writer run through the whole tapestry like an out of control thread. Join me for the ride.