Essays

Moseying: History of the Southern Llano Estacado

Goldsmith – Living in the ruins, Part 2

“I’d like to give you a tour of Goldsmith.” Dub Riley, a member of the Chevron Retirees association, came up to me before I gave that organization a presentation. He handed me his card, and I told him I would call him. A few days later Channel 7 - CBS cowboy reporter Sam Conn dropped by the Sibley Nature Center to ask a few questions for a news story about bubonic plague and the fleas that transmit the disease. I told him about Dub’s offer and asked if he wanted to go along. He did.

On June 21st we met at Miniskirt Junction at 10.30 in the morning. The old café known as Miniskirt Junction is long torn down, and its predecessor, the Moonlight Bar with its history of rowdy partying has been gone even longer… but both live on in the memories of older men that worked the North Cowden oilfield. Lila, Deborah’s dog, rode with Dub and I. Sam followed. I had brought the dog because of her stitches from being spayed. Lila has become a good companion for me, too, and will run to my truck to come with me, even if just to the store.

Dub first took us to the Wight headquarters ranch to show us two objects of historical significance. He had gotten permission from the Wight family, having known them for years. “I have heard that this “barn” is the oldest building in Ector County,” he said, pointing at a little ten by twelve foot building. It used to be a few miles away, about where Goldsmith is now, but they drug it out here on rollers a long time ago. “The first Wight to arrive here was originally from the Isle of Wight, and he brought sheep here from Colorado when this region was opened up for settlement. It was their homestead house, and was just a box on the prairie. To get land by the Homestead Act, a person had to make improvements, erecting a building, drilling a well and so on. When an inspector came out to see if they had met the requirements, he made them cut a door into the box of a building. Next to the barn there is a little hole, and in that hole is often a trap. One time they caught rattlesnakes or packrats in that trap over 400 nights straight.”

“I have hear that this windmill is the oldest continually producing water well in Ector County.” Dub walked over to the 40 by 80 foot stocktank behind it. Pecan trees nicely shaded it. “This willow tree fell over, but rooted again, and now is 20 feet from where it was.” A circular water storage tank made of caliche rock and cement stood near the pond, too. “A number of years ago, the Wights let the pond dry up and then planted their vegetable garden in it for a few years – it sure produced!” A tin building abutted the steel tower of the windmill. Each side had windows that could be propped open. “ This was where they hung their beef – opened up the windows at night to cool the meat, then closed during the day.” Dub showed us its thick walls.

While we were looking around Jason Wight and young Stephen Womaschel drove up with a load of cattle, unloaded them into a chute, and then got astride already saddled horses and began separating them. Sam kept the camera running as they worked the cattle. Then Dub showed us recent photos from a “workings” on another of the Wight ranches near Penwell, naming the cowboys in the pictures, including the two working nearby.

As we left through the bumpgate, Jason held the gate for Sam’s car after we had bumped it open. I had not known of bumpgates on the Llano Estacado. Bumpgates in the Ozona – Sonora region have a center pole hung with gates on either side that swing open when bumped just right with a car. These were single panel bumpgates. What a treat – to visit the ranch was an honor!

As we bumped down the ranch road Dub kept pointing out oil wells. “I worked as a roughneck on this well.” A little further he continued, “See the difference between the pumpjacks?” He then launched into a discussion of torque and angles and horsepower that made each one different. He had bought and sold pumpjacks for Gulf Oil part of his career. He had had a hand in some of the design of some of the pumpjacts because of his knowledge of their capabilities. I hope the Petroleum Museum will give him a holler and record his discussion of pumpjacks for their oral history collection!

During a stop at the Goldsmith Country Club (now a mesquite patch ,) Sam received a page that he had to hurry to Hobbs and film a story for the evening news, but before he left he interviewed Dub in front of the old Goldsmith jail built in 1938. The jail is made of concrete – floor, walls, and ceiling, with only steel-barred windows and doors for ventilation. It was stripped-down facility for those folks with the “brown-bottle flu”, and had no lights, no power, no bathroom facilities, and two 9 by 12 foot cells. I walked around and identified wildflowers and the plants in the landscaping around the old cable-tool rig and historical makers in the little park around the jail.

Goldsmith became a town in 1936, a oil boom town. Every oil company had camps in their fields – Sun Oil, Sinclair, Gulf, and more. Baseball teams from each camp enjoyed a fierce rivalry during those years from the late 1930s until the early 1950s, when most of the camphouses were sold to the employees for less than a thousand dollars who hauled them to Odessa. “To get people to work in the oilfields, the companies built tennis courts, boarding houses, dormitories, and houses for families.”

We headed out to the Pioneer Café for lunch, after a quick stop to admire the Goldsmith Men’s Club. Sam could not stay, which was a shame. He missed out on some good stories! Sharon Davis, the manager for the owner, had been raised in the same Gulf Oil Camp where Dub had lived. The owner is a member of the Turnbaugh family who started the café and moved it to its present location in 1946 with the help of Clarence Scharbauer. The café is a miniature history museum – the neighborhood folks donate old photographs and artifacts like an old Knothole Lumber Company nail bag.

Ms. Davis leaned up against the lunch counter and chatted with us while we ate. They traded stories about folks like R.C. Roy, also known as Chief Roy or Hacksaw. Chief Roy was a Boy Scout leader and baseball coach loved by the townspeople. He also came to the school and told Indian stories, all rigged up in the proper outfit. They also talked about Sam Fife, whose father was a great friend and neigbor of Dub’s.

Sam Fife and several other men started the Goldsmith Men’s Club in 1997. If you drive northwest out of Goldsmith you will see a tractor on top of an old water tower base -- you can’t miss it! The clubhouse is covered with old oilfield signs. Out front is a fishing pond. While we were waiting on Sam Fife at his office, Dub told me “Sam is the “mayor” of Goldsmith – he promotes the town in a fun way. He and his brother have done pretty well, too, running roughneck crews, has heavy equipment, has a welding shop and more.” Sam’s brother Tommy drove up first and chatted with us. “It is amazing what has come to that pond – lots of wildlife, deer, all sorts of birds, and three wild hogs (that we know of.)”

When I asked him the membership fee for the Men’s Club, Tommy responded, “Sometimes all it takes is a six-pack of beer – and other times, well, it depends.” Sam drove in and after a round of affectionate insults with Dub, took us in the office to look at a set of laminated Goldsmith Tribune newspapers from 1938. As we flipped through its pages, Dub and Sam argued about when what building burned, and who built which building, and what happened in this or that tragedy.

I took 20 pages of notes in four hours that day, and only used half for this essay. And talking to Dub later, he grumbled about all the stories he did not tell me that day. Goldsmith is like a lot of west Texas towns, “just about all wore out and blowed away.” But, if you take some time, and have a good guide who knows folks, Goldsmith is full of stories.