A coin in the dust

Chapter 5

I was supposed to be born in Oklahoma. Not sure you knew that. The first four Hayter kids were born in Oklahoma, and, the way the wind was blowin’, so would any future kids. There were to be three more of us. Didn’t make much sense to me, either.

Regardless, I do believe it was Faris and Elsie’s intent that whatever kids they had would all graduate Purple Pirates from Bristow High. None of us had much say in the matter, but what kids do? Truth be known, I don’t think there were supposed to be more than two of us… three at the most. Why would any non-Catholic, non-Morman, non-pioneer couple want seven kids? It makes no sense. But, born I was. And, so were my two younger siblings, Jill and Alan. Only we weren’t born in Bristow… or even Oklahoma. Because of the toss of a coin, we ended up being birthed in Texas. And, we each graduated as an Eagle from Pasadena High. Try to figure.

While I much prefer Pasadena, Texas, to Bristow, Oklahoma, it really wasn’t my decision to make. I believe I said that. Had I gotten a vote, I believe I would’ve put in for Oregon. I’ve seen the pictures. Nice place.

Not, that Pasadena isn’t a nice place. I take that back. Pasadena isn’t. Pasadena sits just south of the Houston Ship Channel, a channel that is rimmed with refineries and chemical plants. Oh, and there’s a paper mill. It was called Champion Paper Mill when we lived there. Don’t know who owns it now. I do know it employed a good number of Pasadenians. But not my dad. Fortunately, not my dad.

The paper mill was just north of Pasadena on the other side of the channel. Don’t know if you’ve ever lived close to a paper mill, but it’s definitely a must miss experience. With the paper mill and refineries sitting both sides of the Channel, and with an occasional wind blowing from the north, east or west, Pasadena’s unofficial name became Stinkadena. Our official logo read “The grass is always greener in Pasadeener.” Wasn’t long before people passing through the city changed it to, “The AIR is always greener in Pasadeener.” People can be so cruel.

But, like I said, because of a coin toss, Dad decided to uproot the family and head south for the City on the Channel. Some would call it bad luck. Some would call it fate, bad Karma, bad juju. Years, after the fact, I tend to think it was a place God wanted the family to be. I never mentioned that to Dad, ‘cause I didn’t know what he might be mad at God. When Dad told me the story of the coin toss, he didn’t sound all that happy about the outcome. I think it’s about time I share the story.

After the war, rationing ended, and people who could, bought new homes and new cars. With the cars, they were better able to move out of the cities and into the suburbs, where they could commute to work. All of this required gasoline, which put an even greater demand on oil.

In the midst of this big oil demand, Dad and two other Oklahoma roughnecks pooled all their money and bought an army surplus truck and a well-servicing unit-- some giant monstrosity on wheels that fixes whatever is ailing a rig. Dad’s two partners were Crenshaw and Smith. I do not remember dad telling me their first names.

What I do remember is that, after a short while, two of the three entrepreneurs bought out the third. No idea why. That left Dad and Crenshaw. Or, Dad and Smith. No idea. With oil wells going up like cane across Oklahoma, “Three Ninety” was doing all right. By the way, 390 happened to be the company’s phone number. Just as quaint and helpful a name as it could be. Bottom, line, Dad was, for the first and only time in his life, his own boss. He co-owned his own business. Life was good.

There’s a reason I didn’t put a “happily ever after” near the end of that paragraph. Seems things too soon fell into the proverbial crapper. Dad told me that his partner in the well servicing venture turned out to be less than dependable. Dad ended up doing most of the work and shouldering practically all of the responsibility, while Bob (for lack of his real name) partied and drank.

One hot, steamy afternoon, Bob drove up to the rig site way late and somewhat inebriated. It was pretty much the last straw; the way Dad saw it. After a brief argument, the two men sat down at the base of the oil rig and both agreed on a parting of the ways. It was to be a very good parting… for one of them. You see, neither Dad nor Bob could afford to buy the other out. If one of them left, the company would have to be sold to an outsider to pay off the departing partner. Neither wanted that. So, after less than careful thought, Dad suggested a way to end their partnership. He recommended that they toss a coin. If Bob won the toss, Dad would turn over the business. He would end up with absolutely nothing. If Dad won, Bob would be the one losing it all.

I don’t know if a sober Bob would’ve agreed to such a ridiculous parting of the ways, but the tipsy Bob was all over the idea. So, there on that dusty Oklahoma prairie, Faris Hayter pulled a nickel out of his pocket and told Bob to call it. The nickel went spinning into the air a second before Bob called out “Heads!” When the coin hit the Oklahoma dust, Dad looked down, and, with little expression on his face, walked to the rig platform, grabbed his lunch kit and hitched a ride back to Bristow. It didn’t turn out the way Dad hoped, but I can’t help think he wasn’t all that surprised with the outcome. I always viewed my father as a man who learned not to expect.

As far as I know, Dad never told Mom that story. He didn’t tell me until my college years. Mom was told that 390 had to declare bankruptcy. That he and Bob lost all they had. I don’t know if he was trying to distance himself from Bob, or had just had all he could stand of Oklahoma, but Dad told Mom it was best if they loaded the family up and move to Texas. Maybe work in the oil fields for Pearl’s latest husband… whoever that was.

So, move they did. I don’t know how Dad acquired the transportation, but he drove something down to Texas. Dennis was maybe a year old at the time. Lynda was about 10, Larry 8 and Susan 5. Me? I was on hold, waiting to be the first Hayter to be a Texan; to be the first Hayter to be born in a hospital. And, I was waiting to be brought home to an old, wood-framed shack on a dirt road called Spencer.

The events that change our lives are so often small and spontaneous. I’ve never seen the hand of God come down and shove someone onto a different path. I believe His hand is directing, but He is obviously way subtle. If Bob had picked any other day to drive up drunk and late, maybe Dad wouldn’t have been so quick to risk losing his part of the business. Or, if Dad had tossed the coin a little lower and it’d come up tails, or maybe if Bob had over thought and called tails instead of heads. Who can know? We all reach forks in life’s road, where whichever turn we make is a life changer… for good or bad. Or, maybe for good or better. I don’t think Dad had a “for good or better” attitude. Too few of us do.

Listening to Dad tell the story, I could tell that he viewed the outcome as bad for him. He would always wonder how far he might’ve taken ol’ 390. Maybe he would’ve been happier, a better provider for his family and so much more respected. I do believe he felt that way. While I would have loved him to be happier, I didn’t see wealth as being a determining factor in the development of my respect for Dad. I don’t believe anyone who truly loves another, considers wealth to be much of a factor in a relationship. Through all the ups and downs of life, I always loved my Daddy. He provided for his family. He carried us through the good times, and tried to make the bad times a little better than they might’ve been. It’s time we now take some journey’s through some of those times.