Third Grade-Wink, TX

Wink, originally named Winkler, got its beginnings with the discovery of oil in 1926.  The oilfield boomtown grew from nothing to an estimated population of 10,000 then to 20,000 in less than three years.

When our family arrived (circa 1953) in that dusty West Texas town the numbers were probable 1,500 people with an equal number of Jackrabbits.  

High school football was king and the Wink Wildcats were no exception.  The entire community would attend the Friday night extravaganza.  Television?  For all practical purposes there was no television back then.  To my knowledge there was only one TV set in the entire town and a test pattern was the extent of its programs.  Neither football nor TV was of much interest to me.  But it was a wonderful time for a nine year old in a small town…swimming at the city pool and exploring the world on a bicycle.

I don’t recall much that transpired inside the classroom therefore I considered it a good year.  No memories are good memories when it comes to my academic endeavors.  The teacher must have known how to deal with children learning disabilities…or perhaps just knew it was pointless to call on me.   Maybe I’ve just blocked out all the bad recollections.  Recess was remarkable…Dodge ball, Red Rover, marbles, tops and yoyos were the pursuits of choice.  The school assembles in the auditorium were fun and interesting.  The science stuff was fascinating…one time a man came and demonstrated how the properties of substances changed with a change in temperature…he froze a banana in liquid nitrogen, hammered a nail into a board with it, then pealed and ate the banana.  Now that got the attention of this third grader.   Another time the science guy showed up with the Van de Graaff generator…that was shocking.  Science stuff was always exciting.

It was a time before girls were a problem.  Girls were a non-issue.  They were just people that were rumored to have “cooties”…so guys kept their distance.  

Wink’s claim to fame was Roy Orbison who graduated Wink HS Class of 1954…nobody knew him then. 

I recall “the lake”, a brine water reservoir where they disposed of the unwanted salt water from the oil wells.  I fantasized about build a raft and Huck Finning it down the muddy Mississippi.

There was an old oilfield “doghouse” in our back yard that Dad converted to a playhouse where I spent countless hours playing with an American Flyer electric train with the track mounted on a 4 by 8 sheet of plywood. 

That un-insulated oilfield camp house built in the late 1940’s.  That back porch that my dad made into a bedroom.  The bunk beds where my brother and I spent those cold winter nights.   Each morning getting up to warm ourselves by that open flame gas heater with a little water compartment that added much need humidity to the dry west Texas air.  Christmas came and went but no BB gun.  I recollect how bad I wanted an official Red Rider lever action BB gun.  I even promised to never ask for anything else as long as I lived.  But I got a new bicycle.

The brand new Western Flyer that was massive with chrome fenders, front spring suspension system and extremely wide whitewall tires.  The facade of a gas tank housed an electric horn, which only work for the first two days.  The front fender sported a headlight, which I never used, as we were not allowed outside after dark. 

We would attach playing cards to the finder support for the sound effect of a motorcycle.  The new bike eliminated the chance of shooting my eye out and it replaced that legendary first grade bike (see 3/2/2009 blog: First Grade). 

It was the year my dad built his mega version of an automotive air-conditioner.  (see 3/7/2010 blog: Invent’n Winton)

So many vivid memories...

The steel ring dad brought home I think is was a gasket from a blow-out preventer   we had great fun rolling it down the street with a stick.

The beer cans that littered the hwy between Wink and Kermit.

The first time the went to a movie show (no popcorn, no candy).

The play ground in the oil field camp.  With it high swings and slides.

The only Catholic Church was in Kermit, 10 miles away.  I remember going to catechism class and being drafted into alter boy service, having to memorize Latin prayers (Greek to me).  My parents were constantly tried to point me in the right direction, the straight and narrow, while I had more of a tendency to follow the crowd toward the bright lights of the big city.

Knocked out my brothers front tooth with the only solid line drive hit in my extremely short baseball career.  I’ll take credit for switching him from playing sports to writing about sports (John Jeansonne, famous sports writer and columnist).

This was a time of fun and perceived prosperity…a time of many fond memories.

Now as I approach the twilight of my life it seems my memory of long ago is for better than today…today I can’t remember where I left my car keys, the names of my children or what I had for lunch.

Life is good, God is great.