By Joe Pierce

There are a lot of strange sounds that come out of an old house in the spring. The wind whistles through the doors and cracks. The sound of the old clock on the court house square can be heard chiming every hour on the hour. When you open a window you can hear the birds chirp and the sound of trains. At 9:30 each evening the Rock Island would pass through the night on its way to the West Coast. On warm summer nights you could hear movement from the trees and the swaying of the branches. Thunder and lightening signaled the beginning of a approaching thunderstorm. And some nights it was eerily still as the word went out that a tornado could be forming that might be headed in our direction. Every hour the clock counted the hours and minutes as we moved to a bigger house, according to my mother's recollection. Her oldest child would be starting school, she reasoned, there were questions about transportation. The war had just ended, additions to the family might be coming and her husband's business was growing. He needed more room to conduct his business and maintain his records. He had secured the bulk plant and distributorship for a County in central Kansas, after working in the District office in Kansas City. Bored with office work, he had applied for the position of Territory Manager and traveled the Western half of Kansas. He was tired of traveling and his wife was not happy being left alone, so they decided to move to McPherson. The distributorship had become available and they jumped at the opportunity to settle down and raise a family.

This fixer upper house would vie with Television for the family's attention. On Saturday mornings, the young son would sit down in front of the metal box with the flickering screen and watch as the test pattern turned into Winky, Dinky and you. This Saturday morning kids program advertised a special viewing kit that would enhance the enjoyment and encourage participation in the program. The kid was ordered from New York and soon arrived. The kit contained an instruction booklet, a soft plastic screen with a green tint, and a magic pen. Each week at the end of the program, he would pick up the green plastic screen, roll it across the face of the picture tube until it held in place, grab the magic pencil and trace the clues to determine the location of Winky Dink. Was it the taj mahal, the pyramids, or the pirate's ship. If you drew correctly, the outline on the plastic screen would match the outline on the tube. This would setup the adventure coming next week.

In the evenings the family would gather in the living room across from the TV and eat dinner. Mother would cook in the kitchen and then bring the trays of food into the living room. Slowly we would agree to watch special programs. My favorites would include Playhouse 90, the General Electric theater hosted by Ronald Reagan, and the panel quiz shows from New York: What's my line and I've got a secret. Others shows of note were Ed Sullivan's Toast of the Town, Arthur Godfrey, Dumont theater, and Lassie.

Father's office would be located upstairs at the end of the short hallway. He bought an inexpensive wooden desk and green naulagahide padded chair with rollers that would slide comfortably into the desk. He found a matching side chair that would permit a visitor to nearby. A bookcase would complete the lineup. He made it clear from the outset that this was his room. He kept his business records and a few books in the bookcase. There was a closet in the room where he could hang his clothes. There were shelves in the closet for other clothing. He smoked a pipe and kept pipes, cleaning materials and ashtrays on the top shelf. There was another large ashtray prominent on the desk. He needed an adding machine to count the invoices and daily transactions from his service station. Invoices and receipts from oil and gas deliveries occupied one pile of papers. Brown manila envelopes containing pricing schedules and correspondence from the district office in Kansas City occupied another stack. Transport deliveries from the Conoco refinery in Ponca City, Oklahoma would be included in this group. Finally the right side of the desk was the location of the telephone. Here the deliveries of gasoline were discussed. Business arrangements with Kansas City, Ponca City, and the corporate headquarters in Houston were discussed and finalized from this telephone.

The bookcase was placed behind the desk against the eastern wall. On top of the bookcase stood the radio. Here a young boy could hear voices from other part of the world. Harry Carry, and Jack Buck, would sing the praises of Stan Musial and Enos Slaughter. On another station the play by play of the St. Louis Browns and Satchel Paige filled the air. But it was the St. Louis Cardinals that dominated the air waves. There was reference to the earlier antics of the Gas House gang, the Pepper Rodgers, and earlier baseball legends. And it was Stan the Man who was this boy's hero. He was a hitters dream. He could hit long, short, or between the bases on the ground. He was a right hander who batted left. This was important because left-handed batters had the advantage of starting from a position closer to first base. Conversations with Father would occasionally be interrupted by the voice of Cardinal announcer Harry Carey: "It's a well hit ball, it's a long drive, it might be, it could be, it IS a home run. Mother was only interested in baseball because the rest of the house was drawn to the game. Baseball was the national pastime and the lingo and sign language were everywhere. But expressions like stealing base, hitting a home run, getting to first base and going all the way had an entirely different meaning to her.

One night the telephone rang. Mother answered the phone as she liked to do. But it was not one of her friends calling to set up a meeting. "It's for you," she shouted to her husband. She knew this was an important business call. She could hear her husband speak a few lines. Delivery of petroleum, Barnolt well, southwest of Conway, southeast of Windom, were some of the phrases. Next morning I headed out with my dad to work. My Grandmother has sewn a special uniform for me that matched father's usual Continental Oil Company clothes. It featured green and white stripes with a matching shirt and pants. Off we headed to fill father's truck with a load of gasoline and a couple of barrels of oil. Then we headed west according to the written directions received the prior evening.

I remember we left a main county road and drove into the middle of a field along a rough dirt road. Rough looking men were working feverishly connecting pipes. We stopped and walked into a shed. Here men were resting. Those who had worked through the night were sleeping. "Any minute now," I heard someone say to dad. "We are getting close." This seven years old boy had no idea what was going to happen. All he knew was that these men were big and tough looking and he was glad his dad was there to protect him from these strangers. We left the bunkhouse and started walking toward the truck to unload the gasoline and oil. We passed directly in front of where the men were working. Suddenly they pulled back from drilling and pulled the piping and other equipment back out of the ground. The earth erupted with a gusher of black substance. Black liquid continued to spew across the field. Some landed on my new clothes. I remember thinking mother would not be pleased with my messy clothes. Later I would realize that this encounter with Black Gold would change the lives of everyone in this small town in Kansas.