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Show 4 ' FUTURE TIMES - MAY 1992 The Best Little Oil Town in Texas .Jt must be hardfor the likes of you, to get by in a world that you just can’t see through... —-"Razor Face” by Elton John, 1972 Let me tell you what the exploratory, discovery, and production of oil and gas can do to a little village. Just so you can pull the pictures together in your mind. It’s a sad tale. It could be the story of Castle Valley in the years ahead. Kilgore, Texas, has always been a small town. Traffic lights go on blink at sundown. Kids sit on tailgates sneaking beers in the grocery store parking lot on Friday nights. My mother was born there. My son was born there. Kilgore is on the edge of Bayou country, 50 miles west of the Louisianna border, 100 east of Dallas. Huge southern yellow pines dominate the skyline. The Sabine River makes a bend there. Kilgore is the place where in 1930, the discovery well of the massive Cotton Valley Oil Patch was “brought in.” This deposit has been one of the most productive in North America. So productive that virtually all other local industries serve, depend on, or benefit from the activity. For fifty years Kilgore boomed. People got rich in the “awl business.” Refineries spewed greasy nastiness constantly. Bum-off flares colored the clouds pink, orange, and red at night Salt water dumps would overflow their black, stinking goop during heavy rains. The river stopped supporting any life except catfish and the handful of alligators who had managed to outwit the poachers. Christmas lights twinkled from derrick to derrick along Main street The mid 19805 brought the crash. World oil markets were glutted; oil went cheap. Kilgore went bust. T52 Dgwsg, from page 1 minute.” (Now focus on this, we are paying for insurance. What if it really talking about hydrology about 250 feet underground.) 1 play along. 1 ask, “How deep is the water?” works and we just do not understand the higher dimension in which the dowser works?” You guessed it. We called a dowser. Not just any dowser, but the best in Moab—Milt Walston. I told him of my personal problem—I really do _ not believe in this, but it is just insurance, you understand. Being the professional that he is, he understood and did not hold my problems against me. He got out of his car and asked where we would like the well. We showed him the perfect spot. After trimming the willow a little bit so the energy would not “leak out" through the knots; he went over to the spot. The search began. Mill’s first comment after beginning was, "This would be an awfully deep, dry hole. There is no water here.” He started large sweeping circles, going away from our perfect spot. After about ten minutes, he said. “Oops, now here is a little bit of water, now more, now even more. Well, guess what? There is a whole collection of small streams in this area!" (We were standing about 150 feet from the perfect spot.) “in fact, here is a small pond right here, with streams flowing in and out at about 15 gallons a After careful bouncing of the willow for abOut ten minutes, Milt says that the water is 273 feet down and that the pond is about 15 feet thick (or deep, 1 can not remember the correct term. I was having trouble because I could not believe I was really paying for this information.) “This is where the well has to be, because we know that the water is here.” Now, wait one minute. Where does Milt get this “we” bit? Milt sees my problem and offers to let me feel the willow. He tells me to Production was cut to 15% of capacity. The East Texas Oil Museum visitors dwindled. Layoffs forced thousands of workers to pack up and leave. Real estate became a buyer’s dream, but there were no buyers. Banks failed. Texas became the third largest public assistance state. Some parts of the state were the worst polluted in the Nation. Kilgore still has the scars and the wounds that won’t heal. The stench is still there, the refineries still refine with skeleton crews. The river is still dead, nearly. Welfare mothers (many just little girls) smoke crack and sell their bodies. The bumper stickers no longer proudly boast that “oil feeds my family and pays my taxes.” There are lots of Amway dealers. Kilgore has gone to sleep, but fitfully, for the damage done won’t quit calling in the night. —- John Flahie The proof of the pudding, of course, is the well. The well was dug about two feet off the sweet spot. The water is at 255 feet. The flow is at 15 gallons per minute, as forecast, and is about 15 feet thick. Not a bad reading—93% accurate on depth and 100% on flow and quantity. As you might guess, I am a convert. In talking to Jim Adamson, the County Sanitarian, I found that Jim uses Milt all the time to find plastic water and septic lines. Has not missed yet. I guess that answers that question. — Joe Kingsley go over about 20 feet because we know there is no water over there. There goes the “we" word again. I tell Milt that the “we” be is referring to must be between him and God. I know nothing about water 200 feet underground. I hold the willow and start the sweeping strides, just like Milt. Then it happens—oops, there is a tug on the willow. I hold on tight and go over to the “pond." The willow bends hard, so hard that the bark breaks and starts to peel right off the bare, green stick. I swear, I could not believe it. It really was happening. It felt like holding a magnet and walking over a large piece of iron or another magnet in the ground. By Mara Ginnane |
