Alone in West Texas

The first year I worked in Midland, Texas, I rented a room in a private home. It was pretty nice -- just a bedroom, a private bathroom and a private entrance.

I knew no one in Midland except the oil company personnel I worked with, so I decided to go to a church for starters to find the church I wanted to attend permanently and to meet new people.

I chose a small Baptist church out of the phone directory. Bingo! I met several young people -- males and females -- about my 21-year-old age. One guy had started his first year as a high school math teacher. A couple of girls were starting their first year as elementary school teachers.

The guy's name was Jim, and we quickly became friends. He was sharing a small house with an older guy, and they were not very compatible. I found Jim to be an interesting guy. He was taking flying lessons and had just completed his first solo flight in a small rental plane. He invited me to go flying with him the next weekend.

Saturday morning I met Jim at the appropriate hanger, and off we went into the wild blue yonder.

I don't know why we didn't get arrested or something, because Jim flew low over both Midland and Odessa and buzzed every drive-in joint in both towns, checking out all the girls in convertibles. (There were lots of them.)

Anyway, I was not nervous about Jim's flying, because he seemed like he had learned how to handle the plane very well.

We had some double dates for bowling and movies with the two girl teachers during the next weekend, then Jim suggested we go fishing at Lake Concho near San Angelo the following Saturday.

Saturday morning when we were getting ready to go (in my new 1955 Chevy), I was driving through an intersection in a housing neighborhood when I was struck by an old pickup that failed to stop at a STOP sign. The damage was substantial to my car. The elderly man driving the pickup was on the way to a funeral home. His wife was being buried that day. He had neither regular nor liability insurance on the old pickup. After the police and my insurance guy had left, we had my car towed to a repair place. Jim picked me up there.

I was ready to call off the fishing trip, but Jim insisted we go and use his car. So, we went on over to the lake. It took a little more than two hours.

Jim said he would handle the renting of a boat. We got in the boat, started the motor, and took off for about the center of the lake. We had our life jackets on, of course.

We used our rods and reels and managed to catch a few good-sized bass and a lot of crappies. The sun had started to get really hot, so we headed toward the shore where the rental shop was. Then, the boat's motor coughed a couple of times and quit. No more gas.

We hand paddled all the way back. The rental guy had told Jim the tank was full. Obviously, it had not been filled.

"Remember this. Before you take off in a plane, double check the gas yourself!" I said to Jim.

We stopped at one of San Angelo's outstanding Mexican restaurants, and then stayed to watch the town's July fireworks display.

It was a bad weekend; it was a good weekend.

-- Louis Houston is a resident of Siloam Springs. His book "The Grape-Toned Studebaker" is available locally and from Amazon.com. Send any questions or comments to [email protected] or call 524-6926. The opinions expressed are those of the author.

Editorial on 07/22/2015