Hey! I know that place!

 I spent the summer of 1965 working on oil rigs around Wyoming’s Wind River Valley. It’s tough, unforgiving country, but beautiful and rewarding at the same time. A college friend and I thought being “rough necks” sounded cool, so we signed up for what we thought would be fun summer jobs.  Fun if you think working midnight to noon or noon to midnight (yew takes yer choice !) 7 days a week is fun. I did find that thick black coffee with a little help from Uncle Jack (Daniels) would get ya thru the night. I also found that working on rigs is a very good way to die young, and I often wonder what ever happened to my old crew mates.

It takes 4 guys to run a rig. Other guys came and went, including my college friend, but 3 of us, Blacky, Buzz and “Slim” stayed together for most of the summer. I picked up the “Slim” handle from somewhere and it stayed with me ‘til I went back to school. Few people went by their real names, as it was just plain easier to call someone by a name that they looked like. I suppose it was also handy in case you were running from something or someone.

Blacky was the rig runner and he had a lovely single-wide mobile home–OK, a trailer house–that he kept parked behind the gas station in lovely Jeffery City. “Been runnin’ rigs fer years, and do it better with a few beers in me.”

Buzz was the derrick hand, and he was from Shoshoni. A champion rodeo cowboy, now retired due to age (35) and injuries, he had a two-horse trailer custom painted fire-mist metallic to match his custom painted 1962 Oldsmobile. I don’t think he really lived anywhere, and Buzz told me that he and The Black One went to fist city the first night they met at a bar, but went home that same night as best friends.

I was the floor hand, and whoever we could find to help me work the wrenches made us a foursome. That’s me in the white hard hat (optional). There was intense bar room discussion about whether a real man would be caught dead wearing one … or something like that.

My daughter, Michelle, and I made several trips to the Wind River over the years. It was always fun to revisit those drill sites and tell her, “Daddy used to work on one of those big towers. We drilled holes to get gas to run our trucks.  Neat, huh.”   

 I spent a few days recently with Michelle and her friends on the Wind River near Jackson Hole, Wyoming. How we got there is quite a story.

      

Michelle is a New York-trained actor/screen writer, and as a summer job she worked at the Jackson Hole Playhouse. She worked there for three summers as both an actor and production manager. During a weekend visit there, I asked the owner, Vicki, where she was from, and she said Orem, Utah. I mentioned that at one time I wanted to be an art teacher and I did my student teaching at Orem Junior High. By adding up the dates we found that Vicki was a student of mine in 7^th and 9^th grade Arts & Crafts Class. Wow, what a connection!  Fortunately no student brain cells were harmed in the process of me deciding not to become a teacher.      

Jackson is now officially “One of the most expensive zip codes in the country.”  The billionaires have finally chased out all the millionaires, and Dubois may be the next real estate opportunity.  Don’t bother using the correct French pronunciation, “Dubwaa,” as none of the locals will know what yer talkin’ about.  It’s “Du Boys.” And most of our theatre friends have moved there.

I’ve always loved Wyoming, especially the Wind River Valley. Dubois is the main commercial center where you can pick up your mail and groceries.  The skyline is not as well known as the Grand Tetons but it’s just as beautiful in my opinion. It’s only an hour from the Jackson airport , which has good connections to the rest of the country. As the world gets crazier, and the option of “work from home” becomes more common, the Wind River looks ever more attractive.

I’m a little past my oil rig days, but I could sure supervise the construction of a nice cabin, and the installation of a few Wind Wheels to power the place.

We’ll keep ya posted.