Denis Lehane: More money in cattle than oil now
“Well the Lord save us all, JR,” says I, as he climbed down from his truck, “But are times so bad that you had to come out yourself?”
Tilting his ten-gallon hat, JR snorted back in his Texan twang.
“Ewing Oil,” says he, “has been through some God damn bad days in the past, but this price collapse in the oil business is the worst I’ve ever seen. The worst since the day my daddy struck oil with my momma.”
“I had never realised things were as bad as that for you,” I replied, as the veteran oil man started hauling out his flexible hose.
“Bad!” he cried, “you don’t know the half of it. I only said to Sue Ellen this morning, go easy on the liquor darlin, we can’t afford it. She’s a drunk, Denny.”
“I know that,” I responded, “sure didn’t I spend the better part of my youth watching her spluttering and stuttering on the television.”
Anyway, getting down to business, JR asked how much tractor diesel would I need.
“Yerra,” I said, “half a fill will do me fine.
“God damn it,” he roared back, “but that’s no good. The price is already rock bottom, and you with your half fill of oil only barely covers the cost of delivering it.” JR was very cross indeed.
“Now look here,” I barked, “ye oil barons have had it good for years. And we here in Irish farming have suffered greatly as a consequence. And it was not only with expensive oil that we were hurt, but with the prices we had to pay for silage plastic and fertiliser.
“So less of the dramatics, please, JR,” I demanded, “I’ll have a half a fill, and you’ll be thankful for it.”
“OK,” says he, mellowing considerably now. “I’m sorry for losing the rag but ‘tis embarrassed I am really.” And he went on to explain how the drop in the price of oil has affected his once high and mighty oil empire.
“Do you remember Sly, my gorgeous secretary?” JR moaned.
“I do surely,” I responded.
“Well I’ve had to let her go on account of the downturn, and it broke my heart.”
“I’ll bet it did,” I responded.
“I’m in partnership now with that loser, Cliff Barnes, to keep afloat,” JR continued.
“Times must be bad,” I acknowledged.
“Yerra,” says he, ‘tis Miss Ellie’s pension that’s keeping us all going, if truth be known.
“Do you see them steers over there?” JR gestured, pointing to a few of my rambling Jersey bulls who were at that moment climbing over the garden ditch. “I do indeed,” I replied.
“Well, there’s more dollars in them now than there is in Ewing Oil.
“At the moment, Ray Krebbs is making more on the Southfork ranch from steers than we are from oil. And Krebbs is an idiot,” he concluded.
“He is indeed,” I nodded.
And then, suddenly JR started to cry like a baby.
So I put my arm on his shoulder as he poured in the drop of diesel I had ordered.
“JR,” says I, feeling sorry for the once high and mighty oilman, “Fill her up. Go on, fill her up.”
And with a tear of gratitude appearing in his eye, I let him at it. There really were no more words to say.
