Hank's Crude

[Wow! I'm suddenly very tired. I will edit this later.]
When I graduated from Southwest Texas State University in 1981, I had no idea how lonely my life was about to get. I took a job at Waeldar ISD as the special education teacher for the entire district. It was a tiny town with nothing for me but work during the day and fishing in the evenings.

I tried to maintain my friendships in San Marcos, nearly killing myself to drive up there to party with the gang several times per week. The hour-long drive back to Waelder on two-lane country roads was not pleasant after a night of guzzling beer. Eventually, the party life just wasn't worth the effort. Besides, I was quickly starting to feel out of place, as many of my better friends had graduated and left. It was time for me to move on and leave the glory days of college behind.

There were some good times during my time in Waelder. I went dancing with my assistant and, through her, ended up dating the daughter of one of our coworkers for awhile. Things got kind of serious for minute or so, but I started to feel trapped by that relationship and escaped.

My buddy Clay Hanks was living up north near Palestine. He would drive down to Waeldar to visit about once a month. We had a great time running around the area. Sometimes, we just got in my little green Honda Civic, bought some beer, and drove the country roads. His family was from Gonzales, and he took me around to meet some of them. It was always a good time. But it always came to an end when he had to get in his car and head back to work.

Then Clay got married. His wife was finishing up her studies at Texas Lutheran in Seguin. They got an apartment there and invited me to come down almost every weekend to watch football and eat dinner. It was awesome. I really enjoyed those days. One of them sticks out in my mind more than any other.

Now, before I talk about that day, I have an admission to make. Although I remember the events vividly, I may be blending more than one awesome day together. I'm not trying to pull anything here. It is just the way I remembering it. To find out if I am blurring the days, you would have to ask Clay.

Anyway, that particular Saturday, Clay's lovely wife Cheryl was having some ladies over for something or another. Clay was pretty much banished. We decided to go fishing. The odd thing is that I don't remember actually fishing that day. I don't even remember carrying any fishing gear with us, although we may have.

We started out at an ice house buying beer. Our normal routine was to buy a quart of beer and a bottle of Boone's Farm wine, EACH! I probably bought cigarettes, also. At that time I was smoking about a pack a day- two to three when drinking. I'm not proud of any of this. I'm just stating the facts.

I remember that we started the day with a trip to Wimberly to see our buddy Richie Neil. He was living up there in a really nice house with some other people who weren't home that day. We listened to music for a while and drank a few beers. Then Richie told us something that really threw us for a loop. He told us that our former hall director, Ruth Billings, had had a major stroke. He didn't have any details.

To understand the impact of the news about Mrs. B, you would have to know more about her. I don't want to turn this into a tribute piece, although she is more than worthy of one. I'll just say that Ruth Billings was a wonderful woman who advised and molded many young college students. She was one of the first adults who treated me like an adult, although I have to admit that she spent a lot of time reminding me It was time to act the part. I absolutely loved her. All of us did. Enough said.

Back then, there were no cell phones. Clay and I headed to San Marcos to see what we could find out. The dorm were she was now working was pretty dead that day. There was a desk worker there, but she didn't know much more than what we had already heard. I decided that we needed to call a Reed Carr who was the director of student living at that time. I had met him through Mrs. B., and his was the only name I could think of.

Mr. Carr was a very nice man. He told me that Mrs. B. was in a hospital in Houston, and gave me a phone number I could call to contact someone. It may have been her daughter. I don't remember. I didn't call the number that day. It was bad enough that I inflicted a half-drunk tear-filled call on Mr. Carr. He was such a gentleman. He must have known I was "under the influence", but he never let on. Then, just before we hung up, he said, "Jim, you be careful out there."

Wow. I just looked up Mr. Carr in Google to see if I was spelling his name right. His obituary came up. He just passed on August 6th. This is the link. You should read about this great man. http://www.tributes.com/show/Reed-Carr-96233380

Well, now that we were in San Marcos and felling pretty down, we decided to head on over to the Cheatham Street Warehouse for more beer. It was my favorite place during school. I used to go there to study. Beer was 99 cents a pitcher, and you brought your own pitcher. They didn't care how big it was. I would buy a pitcher, sit at one of the rickety tables, and study in a quieter and more pleasant environment than the dorm or library.

The building was an actual warehouse along the train tracks. The huge depot-style doors were usually open, and trains did occasionally roar past. The ashtrays were huge tuna cans that had been bent on the edges so you could lay your cigarettes in the groove. I kind of remember a juke box, but at night they usually had a band.

We probably sat there for an hour or so drinking beer and talking about Mrs. B. before deciding to roll over to Herbert's Mexican Restaurant over on Riverside for lunch. Unfortunately, it was closed for some reason. We decided to go to Lockhart for barbecue instead.

We hit another convenience store to buy another quart of beer for the road. When we pulled into town, Clay wanted to stop at a cemetery where his younger brother, who had drowned when they were kids was buried. We only stopped for a minute. We went on to Black's barbecue. It was really good.

We started to make our way back to Seguin, after that. I'm really not sure where else we went. Part of me thinks we drove through Luling. That would make sense. I know we passed through Gonzales, because it was somewhere near there that we stopped at one of his family's new oil wells. I don't remember who in the family owned it. I just know we stopped, climbed to the top of it, and filled empty Dr. Pepper bottles with crude oil. I still have mine to this day. It is in the photo below. It used to say "Hank's Crude" on the side in gold letters, but I noticed the words are gone.

I took Clay back to his apartment. In my opinion we were both in perfectly acceptable condition. Cheryl must not have agreed. For the rest of the time they lived in Seguine, she would say, "No Fishing!" whenever we left the apartment. We didn't get too many more opportunities. They moved to College Station, and shortly after that, I moved to San Antonio and got married, too. Then kids came along, and life got all crazy.

I need to give Clay a call. Maybe we can take another wild drive in the country. This time, we'll wear seat belts, and alcohol won't even be an option. Things change. Yes, they certainly do.









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