Denis Lehane: Farming with JR Ewing's diesel
There will be no price increase here at Ewing Oil, so long as my momma and my daddy are around.
For many years now, I have been bypassing all the mumbo jumbo and buying my tractor diesel direct from Ewing Oil.
The scheme has saved me a fortune.
In the world of oil, I find the Ewings to be the most upstanding and trustworthy of all.
Even last week when I rung old JR looking for tractor diesel, there was no bother.
"I'll be out tomorrow," says he.
And when asked if they too would be putting up their prices, I got a swift and straightforward answer.
"No, my daddy wouldn't stand for it," JR drawled down the line.
And then he elaborated further, "There will be no price increase here at Ewing Oil, so long as my momma and my daddy are around."
And fair play to old JR, he must be at least eighty, but he still has a good heart and respect for his elders.
Anyhow true to his word, early the following morning, about half ten, I heard his old truck rattle up the lane. Blowing plenty of smoke by the time he arrived, I greeted my oily visitor with a wave of my hand.
Being well used to my set-up, he quickly swung the truck around the yard, ignoring any old buckets and bags in his path.
"Back away there," I roared, "until the ground gets soft under you."
And boy golly he did just that, forcing his truck to within ten feet of the tank.
T'was JR himself behind the wheel and when he got out, he offered me a cigar.
"No thanks," says I, "I'm off them for lent."
"Well fair play to you," says he, before he lit his up with a fine crack of a dry match.
"Tell me," says he, "how's the old farming game going."
And I told him t'was like the oil business, only with less explosions.
"Prices are gone stone mad," says I.
"You couldn't buy a bullock or even a dry cow at the mart, without a strong drink to steady your nerves."
JR, as usual, had all the gossip from here to Dallas, so it was some time before his old truck began to pump out the glorious green stuff.
And in fairness to him, t'was hard to stop him from overfilling the tank.
"Gee whiz!" says he, "but this tank sure is small. Back home in Texas we have hats bigger than your tank."
JR was talking sense of course, as usual.
And then I broached the subject of money and sure enough, the man wouldn't hear a word about it.
"There's more to life than money," says old JR, as he hauled up his hose.
"Give me a few dollars when you have it," says he, "and we will hear no more about money."
JR was never a big fan of money, "There's more to the oil business than money," he often says.
And then of course, fellows might wonder why I don't go back to the horse and trap and forget about the tractor and the diesel.
Well yes, in an ideal world this would be a great way to go, but alas we don't live in an ideal world.
On this farm, I'm all set up for the tractor, with implements like my cock lifter and transport box only suited to the workings of a tractor.
Also, I find the tractor handy for going to collect the paper and taking me to Mass.
But most of all, I feel there is nothing like the sound of a tractor to notify my neighbours, and the world in general, that I'm working hard.
The horse will never make much noise, regardless of what you are doing. And so, I fear, for better or for worse, so long as JR is in the world pumping oil, auld Lehane will keep his shoe to the floor.
