B E R K E L E Y
LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF
CALIFORNIA





O C E E M c R A E, T E X AS





Ocee McRae, Texas
A NOVEL OF PASSION, PETROLEUM AND
POLITICS IN THE PECOS RIVER VALLEY
By
Ira Lunan Ferguson
%
EXPOSITION PRESS
New York


LOAN STACK
Z/€77G
Exposition PRESS INc., 386 Park Ave. South, New York 16, N.Y.
F I R S T E D I T I O N
© 1962 by Ira Lunan Ferguson. All rights reserved, including the
right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form, except for
short quotations in critical essays and reviews. Manufactured in the
United States of America.





II
III
IV
VII
VIII
Ix
C O N T E N T S
“You R WIFE Is MARRIED To ANOTHER MAN!”
A NEW LIFE—A NEw NAME
FLOOD of BLACK GoLD
SENORA JUANITA VILLARoNGA
INTERGROUP RELATIONs
WATER Politics
SoPHISTICATEs ABROAD
HousewarMING
His ExcELLENCY, THE Governor
11
25
37
59
77
94
123
148
167





O C E E M c R A E, T E X AS





C H A P T E R I
"Your Wife Is Married to Another Manl"
“Hey, soldier | Sergeant! Hey there, Sergeant!” the conductor
urged as he shook the sleeping man, a soldier with the stripes of a
master sergeant on his sleeves.
Smiling as he slowly opened his eyes, Mike mumbled, “Hi
there, yourself.”
“We'll be in Lake Couteau in about ten minutes,” and looking
at his watch the conductor added, “Due there at 1:32, and we're
right on time.”
“Thanks, bud.” The soldier waved at the conductor as he moved
on. Then Mike straightened his lanky frame, stood up, stretching
and yawning. He looked out of the wide coach window into the
inky blackness of the Minnesota night through which the powerful
diesel engine of this Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul Railroad
train thundered.
The conductor was returning from the next coach. “Won't be
long now, soldier. Pretty late at night to be getting home, isn't it?
Your folks coming to meet you? This is only a whistle stop for
this train, you know. And the station agent locks up at 10:15 right
after the last local in from the Twin Cities.”
“No, I don't think anyone will meet me. I didn't tell them I was
coming. Sort of a surprise,” Mike replied.
“Home on leave?”
“Better than that. I was just separated from the service. Got
in San Francisco three days ago from Japan.”
“I see you've really been in the thick of things,” observed the
conductor, pointing to the decorations on Mike's chest. “Must have
been away a long time to accumulate all of those.”


12 Ocee McRae, Texas
“Too long,” Mike mused almost to himself as the train eased
to a smooth stop at the little station, ninety-four miles from Min-
neapolis. He jumped down from the train, swinging his duffel bag
from his shoulder to the ground. The conductor waved, and Mike
returned the wave with a wide salute, the train moved off, gathered
speed, and was soon lost to view in the black distance.
Mike looked about him. The little station was closed, as the
conductor had told him, but there was a single light on a pole at
the end of the platform. By that light he made out a street sign,
“Main,” and from it took his bearings. It had been way back in
1942 when he last stood on this plaform. He was then on his last
furlough before being shipped overseas, and Emmie, his brand-
new wife of five weeks, was bidding him good-bye. . . .
He turned up Poplar Street, and was soon knocking on a door,
gently at first, then more vigorously. “Maybe the folks are away
on a trip . . .” but a cat sidled up against his trousers just as an
upstairs window was raised and a sleepy voice asked, “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Mom Olson, Mike. Mike Gulbranson, Emmie's hus-
band.”
“Dear Heavenly Father l’” she exclaimed. “I’ll be right down.”
In a few seconds she was opening the front door to let him in.
“Mike, is it really you, son? Let me look at you. Yes, it's Emmie's
Mike, all right. Poppa, it's Mike!”
She reached for Mike's hand, then, reconsidering, she kissed him
as her husband came in to grip the soldier's hand and pat him on
the back.
“Sit down, Mike,” Mom Olson said. “This is awful. I mean
. . . Well, you see . . .” And she was overtaken by uncontrollable
weeping.
“Mom!” chided her husband. “You don't want the boy to think
you are sorry he is alive!”
“Heavenly Father, no! You know better than that. It's only
that . . . I am so mixed up, everything is so mixed up, I don't
know what to say....”
“Now, Mom,” Mike soothed, “I’m not going to cause any
trouble. I just wanted to find out for myself, to see if everything
is all right with Emmie.”


“Your Wife Is Married to Another Man!” 13
“But she's married to another man! They have a baby and are
living in Pennsylvania....”
“Yes, I know. Soon after I was released from prisoner of war
camp in Germany, back in 1945, a buddy of mine who came back
to Minneapolis checked down here somehow and found out for me
that she had married two or three months before and moved East.
But I just had to find out how it happened.”
“Mike, as God is our witness, I swear Emmie was faithful. . . .
Oh, if we had only known sooner, years sooner, why she hadn't
received your letters....”
“You mean she didn't receive any of my letters? Why, Mom,
I wrote and wrote and wrote, with not a word from her. My buddy
couldn't find out why she hadn't written all those years. I don't
mean while I was a prisoner of war, but before that, from the time
I left the States; why, that was over a year, and I wrote regularly
and often. I just don't understand!”
“Mike,” Mr. Olson said, “Mrs. Lindgren intercepted all of your
letters except the first few, so Emmie didn't receive any of them.”
“So that's why she didn't write! But who's Mrs. Lindgren?
What would she want to do that for 2 When did you find out about
it? What did you do to her?” Mike demanded in mixed anger and
confusion. º
“Mrs. Lindgren was the postmistress here, son,” Mom Olson
told him. “You don't remember meeting her, I know, Mike, but she
was the widow who ran the grocery store where the post office
used to be. Our children, Ralph and Emmie, and this woman's
daughter, Lou, all grew up together, went to school together, every-
thing. And it was just about understood that Lou and our Ralph
would marry some day. Well, soon after Ralph was drafted—that
was just about the time you and Emmie were married—he married
another girl, the sweetest little girl you could imagine. He met her
while he was at Fort Dix in New Jersey. We didn't see her until
after Ralph was overseas, and we went to see their baby. Ralph
came back three years ago, and they have the loveliest little home.
... But as I was telling you, Lou had always looked forward to
marrying Ralph, and she was awfully upset when he married some-
one else. She went to pieces completely, they say, and Mrs. Lind-


14 Ocee McRae, Texas
gren had to send her away to some institution. She never did
recover her mind, it seems.”
“But I don't see what that has to do with Emmie and me,”
Mike interrupted impatiently.
“It doesn't make any kind of sense, I know, but Mrs. Lindgren
blamed Ralph for her daughter's breakdown. And she wouldn't
even speak to Pop or Emmie or me, just snarl sort of, whenever
she saw us, cursing under her breath. And she would say the most
vicious things to our neighbors about us....” Mom began crying
again.
“Oh, so that's it! She destroyed all your mail out of spite l"
Mike said.
“Yes,” Pop Olson said, “all of the mail from you. She knew
that would hurt Emmie—and Mom and me too. And it did.”
Mom Olson regained her composure and continued. “It was
last December. Mrs. Lindgren had been sick in bed for a few days
—that wasn't unusual, she had been sick off and on these last years.
But what was unusual was that this time she sent for me, wrote
me saying she was afraid the end was near, and she wanted to give
me a message. Mike, with Dad and me there at her bedside, she
confessed she had sworn vengeance on us—the whole family. But
she'd been sly. She knew we would suspect her if she destroyed all
of our mail, so she chose yours only. She said she wanted us to
suffer a taste of the anguish she blamed us for causing her by let-
ting Ralph jilt her daughter the way she said he did.”
At length Mike broke the silence. “That's a very serious of—
fense, tampering with the United States mail. Did you have her
prosecuted?”
“The Lord took it out of our hands, Mike. She died in pain
that night,” Mrs. Olson whispered between sobs.
“That's too bad, but it didn't help us any. Look at what she did
to all of our lives,” Mike said.
“Heartaches! Mike, you can't know how Emmie grieved—first
because she didn't hear from you, and then when the telegram came
from the War Department telling her you were missing in action.
Son, you have no idea what that child went through. . . . It was I
who insisted that she go to Minneapolis and find work, just to help


16 Ocee McRae, Texas
call her sometime tomorrow, or write to her...” Pop Olson began.
“No, I'd rather see her, make sure she is all right, and explain
about the letters. Then I'll come back to Minneapolis, maybe, and
look around for a job.”
At length his mother-in-law said tenderly, “Yes, I guess the
best thing for you to do is to go see her and straighten everything
out. Here, I’d better give you her address right now, son. She lives
in a town called Pittsville. I’ll write it all down for you.”
Mike merely glanced at the slip of paper before shoving it into
a pocket.
“Let’s give the poor boy something to eat,” Mom Olson said.
“He must be starved. Why don't you men come along with me?
It'll only take a few minutes to fry eggs and bacon.”
With his arm on Mike's shoulder as they followed Mrs. Olson,
Pop asked, “Where did you come from, son, New York or Cali-
fornia?”
“San Francisco. Came in from Japan. Got in Minneapolis at
noon yesterday. Tried to look up a few fellows I knew, but couldn't
find them. I fell asleep in the station and missed the seven o'clock
train, so I had to wait for the 11:50.”
“Here, son, sit at the table. Dad, take the boy's coat.”
“Sure. Then I can look at all those decorations. You must have
given those Germans a fit before they got you, Mike! What's this
one?” he asked, pointing to one of the ribbons.
“That one is the ETO ribbon with two battle stars. This one is
a good conduct ribbon. This one is the purple heart; this is from
the European Occupation. Here's my American Defense Medal,
and this is the Silver Star,” Mike explained, and continued, “But
you should see some of my buddies. Some of them have twice as
many as I have.”
“Don’t be modest, son. You were a brave soldier, I can see that.
I heard about that Silver Star for heroism over and above the call
of duty. You don't fool me,” his father-in-law reproved him,
smiling.
Mrs. Olson was placing food before him. “Eat, son,” she
urged. She sat down across the table and watched him as he ate.
She poured her husband a cup of coffee. “You’ve filled out, Mike,


18 Ocee McRae, Texas
“That's fine, but remember what I said, and write if we can
help. Write us anyway, let us know how you are getting along
where you are.”
Mom kissed him good-bye, Pop hugged him, and he left for
the station, where he bought a ticket for Pittsburgh via Minneapo-
lis. In Minneapolis he had time to walk around the city, have
luncheon, and see a movie. Late that evening, he took the train for
Chicago, and was in Pittsburgh the next day. After spending that
night in Pittsburgh, the next morning he did as Pop had advised,
taking a bus for Pittsville, and found himself in a pretty little
town on the Punxutawney River.
The Olsons had told him that Emmie was now Mrs. Lawrence
Whittaker, that her husband was manager of a hardware store,
and they had a child sixteen months old—a little girl who was
now walking and talking. Mom had also said that Emmie worked
with her husband in the store, which was on the corner of Lom-
bard and Spruce streets, just one block from their home.
Mike left the bus station with his duffel bag, and searched until
he found a pleasant hotel at which he took a room. He washed up
and then went out to find the Whittakers’ hardware store. He found
it. But decided he wanted to see Emmie alone rather than going
into the store while she and her husband were there. By asking
around, he learned that Emmie usually left the store around four
o'clock to go home, apparently to prepare dinner, taking the little
girl with her.
Waiting across the street at about four o'clock, he saw her
come out. She looked lovely—more beautiful than he had remem-
bered her. She was now, of course, about seven years older, more
mature, with a matronly beauty. Mike was a bit startled to realize
he had forgotten that her hair used to be the rich honey-blond
color of her little daughter's. He watched her holding the child's
hand as they walked leisurely along the sidewalk up Spruce street.
He followed, waiting until she entered her yard, then walked
rapidly up to her gate and called, “Hey, Mrs. Whittakerſ”
She turned and waited, smiling until he came up the walk to
the porch. She said expectantly, “Yes?”
“Don’t you remember me, Emmie?”


“Your Wife Is Married to Another Man!” 21
“That's okay with me,” Mike agreed. “You want to write it
out, or shall I?”
Larry wrote out a statement:
I, Michael Gulbranson, do hereby swear that I have renounced
all claims on my former wife, Emmaline, now Mrs. Emmaline
Whittaker, wife of Lawrence Whittaker. Inasmuch as she
married her present husband in 1946, believing me dead after
four years of not hearing from me, I solemnly promise to sign
all necessary divorce papers that her lawyer may send me, in
order that she may be morally and legally free to continue in
her present happy marriage. I agree to her using my six years'
absence and silence as desertion and grounds for the divorce,
which I shall not contest. So help me God.
Signed this tenth day of April, 1948.
In her nervous state, Emmie made many errors in typing the
three copies Larry suggested. Mike signed all three.
“One copy is for you, Mike,” Larry said, handing him one.
“You can keep all of them. I know what's in it, and I won't
need a copy. I'll send you my address as soon as I'm settled.”
Mike left the Whittaker home, shaking hands with Larry, pat-
ting the little girl on the head, and waving good-bye to Emmie,
who could only sit and try to force a smile.
Larry and Emmie looked at each other miserably after he left.
“We’re not even married,” Emmie moaned. “And the baby, our
poor little baby! She's not legitimate. . . .”
Larry tried to comfort her, reassuring her that everything
would soon be all right again.
“I’ll have to leave first thing in the morning,” she said, looking
around the little home in which she and Larry, and now Evie, had
lived so happily. She was glad of the activity her decision to leave
in the morning necessitated, and began packing, lightly, of course,
because she knew she would not be gone for long. She called her
parents in Lake Couteau to tell them what time to meet her plane
in Minneapolis.
“I’ll write from Lake Couteau if I stop there, and then from
Reno the moment I arrive, dear,” Emmie promised her husband as
she boarded the plane in Pittsburgh.


22 Ocee McRae, Texas
“I think you had better telephone, Emmie. Letters take too
long,” Larry said, kissing both Emmie and the baby again.
That evening she did call, telling him she had left Evie with
the folks, and that they had driven her back to the airport in Min-
neapolis and she was calling from there. Her plane was to leave
for Reno within the hour. “Oh, Larry, I miss you—I know it will
seem like an eternity. I'll call you again the moment I have found
accommodations in Reno tomorrow, regardless of the hour. "Bye,
dear.”
Larry put down the receiver after talking with Emmie, and
strolled down to the store, just to get out of the house. He absently
looked over the books, the stock. He was lonesome. He fidgeted
around a while, then locked up again and went across the street
to the drugstore to buy something with which to read himself to
sleep. He casually glanced at the front-page headlines of the late
edition of the newspaper. Then he looked again, his eyes popping:
ARMY SERGEANT FOUND DEAD
Man Identified as Michael Gulbranson, Age 29, Identified
Through Papers on Body. Hit-and-run Victim's Face Smashed
Beyond Recognition.
Larry couldn't believe his eyes. He went immediately to the police
station. There he saw an officer, who took him to the morgue. “Yes,
that's Mike, all right,” he told the captain on viewing the body.
“He’s still wearing the uniform he had on when he was talking to
us yesterday. And if you'll wait until she can come home, my wife
can identify him for you, too.” Larry knew he could not reach
Emmie. He would simply have to wait until she called again to tell
her the news.
“It does change our plans, Emmie,” he told her, when she called
the following day from her hotel in Reno. “Well, no, I don't know
just what we should do about it, but you must come back right
away. It's out of the question now to get Mike's signature on di-
vorce papers anyway. Wire me from Chicago, and I'll meet you
at the Pittsburgh airport.”
“So much confusion!” Emmie moaned over and over to her-


“Your Wife Is Married to Another Man!” 23
self on the return trip. She was completely unable to think clearly.
Larry would have to do that. . . .
“Now, dear,” Larry counseled her as they drove to the morgue,
“you don't have to say a thing; we really are not at all involved.
But I want you to see for yourself.”
“What do you mean we're not involved? How did you explain
our interest in the matter to the police, Larry? Did you tell them
I was once married to Mike?”
“I told them we knew him from before the war. That's all. He
has his uniform on, you know.”
At the morgue Emmie steeled herself against viewing the
maimed body. A glimpse of the head and shoulders, the decorated
chest, brought tears, near hysteria. She nodded. “No 1 No!” she
cried.
“We'd better take her out,” Larry whispered to the policeman.
Alone in their car, Emmie regained her composure to say,
“Larry, it can't be Mike....”
“Yes, dear, it is. Even though no one could recognize his face,
his identification and clothes established that it is Mike.”
“No,” she insisted. “Mike has brown hair. This man's hair is
almost red. Wait a minute! Larry, Mike lost a toe on his left foot
while he was still in boot camp. Take me back. I want to see if he
has all his toes!”
“Now, just a minute, Emmie. This could be a most convenient
development for us. We have to be practical. If you tell the police
you even suspect that dead man is not Mike, they will start looking
for him. Or they might even inquire further into our interest in
the case and come to the conclusion we may have murdered him.
Why, anything could develop. As it is now, our marriage is safe.
Let's leave it that way.”
“But, Larry, I simply must go back to see his left foot.”
“No. Mike is dead. Emmie, get hold of yourself! I know you
have been through too much these last few days, but now it's all
over, and we can forget the whole mess. We must.... Here, dear.”
And he gently kissed her forehead and rested her head on his
shoulder. In her weariness, she could protest no more.


24 Ocee McRae, Texas
Later that evening at home, Emmie repeated her conviction
that the dead man they had seen was not Mike. “And if it isn't
Mike, we still are not married, Larry.”
“Oh, yes, we are l’” he insisted. “We are married legally and
morally, and you know it.”
“But what if Mike comes back again. ...? Why, we can't ever
be sure again,” Emmie cried weakly.
“Emmie, whether that is Mike or not, he certainly is not going
to come back to see us again. I personally think it is Mike. But
if it isn't, as you say, there can be only one explanation—somehow
Mike killed the man and changed clothes with him. In that case,
you know very well he won't be coming back here. He'd be a
murderer, a fugitive from justice, and he'd know better than to
return. Now, Emmie, please let's try to forget the whole thing.”
And sitting down beside her, he once again put his arm around her,
sharing his strength. “Dear, look at me. You know I love you,
and I want to spare your feelings. Just put it out of your mind.
We'll think about going back to Lake Couteau for a few days as
soon as you are rested. I called your parents to tell them it is no
longer necessary for you to get a divorce in Reno, and they are
more than willing to keep Evie until we can both come for her.
Okay?”
“Okay, darling,” Emmie replied feebly.


C H A P T E R II
A New Life-A New Name
SoMEoNE would undoubtedly find the victim and care for him,
either that night or early in the morning—of that Mike was
certain. “Now what to do?” he asked himself. “Can't go back to
the hotel. Only thing to do is move along.” And that he did, taking
a bus to Pittsburgh. The departure of the next bus, for Indianapo-
lis, was being announced over the loudspeaker system in the Grey-
hound bus depot as he alighted. “That's as good a place as any for
my next stop,” he told himself, and moved toward the ticket
window.
“Last call for the Indianapolis Special, leaving at 2:10 for
Steubenville, Columbus, Xenia, Richmond, and Indianapolis in
Lane 5 !” the loudspeaker blared as he boarded the bus.
Mike found few passengers in the bus, and most of those were
seated singly. He did the same. “Might be able to stretch out and
sleep,” he thought. The lights of the city—the factories, suburban
homes, and passing cars—were left in the distance, and Mike tried
to find a comfortable position. He closed his eyes, but he could not
sleep. Through the window he watched the moon shift direction
as the bus wound up and around curves. He picked out the dif-
ference between stars and the lights of airplanes. But sleep would
not come. Mom and Pop Olson, Emmie, the postmistress he could
not remember having met, Larry, little Evie, the dead man—they
all intruded on his thoughts each time he shut out the view from
the window. The picture of the dead man, now identified as
Michael Gulbranson, returned most frequently to his restless mind.
“If Mike is dead, I have to begin a new life. A new life, a new
name....” And he sat upright. “No, I can't keep the same old


26 Ocee McRae, Texas
name. ...” It occurred to him he would like to name himself after
some great man. He thought of the “father of his country,” but
somehow “George Washington” seemed too commonplace. He con-
sidered “Abraham Lincoln,” but that would be just too much of
an oddity. He thought of the army officers he had liked most. One
was Colonel Cromwell, then there was Captain Oliver, and there
was Colonel Aagard, and Major McRae. “McRae, that's it! McRae,
that's a good name!” And after toying with possible combinations
of given names, he recalled having read as a boy of Oliver Crom-
well. “Oliver Cromwell McRae. O. C. McRae. Well, that's all
right!” So that was settled. His name henceforth, then, would be
O. C. McRae. He could be called Ocee for short. He sighed a deep
breath of satisfaction, and fell asleep.
His bus arrived in Indiapanolis early in the evening. Badly in
need of rest, he decided to spend at least one night there, register-
ing at a hotel where he had the first opportunity to use his new
name. On the spur of the moment, he recorded his address as Fort
Bliss, Texas, his birthplace.
After a good night's rest and a hearty breakfast Mike—now
Ocee McRae—left his hotel to look around Indianapolis. He
bought some clothes, a razor, and several local newspapers before
returning to his room that evening to scan the Help Wanted
columns. Engineers, mechanics, teachers, social workers, tool and
die makers—these were in demand. But no farm implement firm
seemed to be in need of an employee. “Ocee, old man, it looks as
though you'll have to pound the pavement if you want to find a
decent job you can handle in this town,” he mumbled to himself.
When the following day's casual search produced nothing ap-
pealing to Ocee, he bought a small suitcase, packed his few belong-
ings, and went to the railroad station in the early evening. “One-
way coach ticket to Kansas City,” he told the agent. “That will
put me back in farm country!” he added amiably.
“Yes, sir! Was out there visiting, myself, once. That town is
famous for its steaks. Man, they are good, too ! K.C. must be right
in the heart of the cattle country. Here you are, mister. That'll be
$14.32. Next train leaves at 9:45, track 2.”


28 Ocee McRae, Texas
ily on him. In the Army he had been surrounded all the time by
thousands of men of all kinds, from all parts of the country, with
whom he had had to live in close quarters. They were his “family.”
Even in prison camp he had been but one of hundreds of men
living intimately together, planning together, looking out for one
another. Now he was alone. He missed the boys.
He took out his address book, and riffled through the pages of
the little book which held only twenty-five or thirty names. But then
he remembered he could not get in touch with them now that he
had changed his identity. In the duffel he had left in his hotel room
in Pittsville there were names and addresses of scores of servicemen,
among them Bert Hanson who lived in Kansas City, he recalled.
Again he reminded himself he could not even try to locate his pal.
“Maybe it wasn't such a bright idea to do what I did after all.”
He scowled to himself. His brooding was interrupted by the con-
ductor's announcing, “Kansas City' Next stop Kansas City l’”
“Well,” Ocee smiled to himself, “now we’ll see if it's true what
they say about Kansas City steaks!”
In the dining room of his hotel, the waiter brought Ocee's steak
to his table still sizzling in the pan on which it had been broiled.
It was at least an inch thick, he judged, and almost two pounds of
meat! Smothered with onions and garnish, accompanied by crisp
french fried potatoes, tomato salad, sauces—“the works!”
“I have to agree that Kansas City has the best steak I’ve
ever tasted,” Ocee told the waiter.
“Thank you, sir,” he replied. “We serve only prime Texas
beef. We are glad to know you enjoyed it.”
“Texas beef" Ocee repeated in disbelief. “Why, I thought
Kansas was the farm center of the country....”
“Yes, but our primary crops are grains. Kansas City is a live-
stock center because cattlemen from all over the country ship their
cattle here to be finished, fattened, on our grains, before going to
market. Now would you care for dessert, sir?”
“Ice cream will do. And more coffee. I have some thinking to
do about this cattle business . . .” he said with his eyes atwinkle
with the first wave of enthusiasm he had known since returning.


A New Life—A New Name 29
As the waiter moved off, Ocee soliloquized, “I don't have enough
money to start in the cattle business or even to buy a farm. My
fifteen thousand dollars would be just a drop in the bucket. Of
course, with my knowledge of machinery and my experience in
supplies and procurement in the service, I ought to be able to
manage a big distribution company.... And, according to Tex, not
only is the Lone Star State the biggest, but everything down there
is king-sized. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea . . . .”
Ocee left the dining room to walk in the night along the city
streets, stopping occasionally to inspect a brightly lit store window.
His step quickened as his thoughts roamed far afield. “If I'm go-
ing to launch a new life, I've got to make up my mind soon. Those
few thousand dollars won't last forever,” he reminded himself.
“I’d better check on train schedules for Texas I”
He bought a ticket on an express to Houston, leaving in the
morning. The agent assured him that from there he could make
connections to any point he later decided on.
In the railway coach, Ocee greeted the young army lieutenant
who occupied the window seat next to his reservation number.
“Well, Lieutenant, it looks as though we are going to travel to-
gether for a while. Going to Texas, too?”
“Sure am! That's my home—little town near Houston. And
this time it's to stay!” And the two fell to exchanging experiences
from their years in the service. The young officer mentioned that
he had received his commission in the ROTC at Texas Southern.
“Say,” Ocee asked, “isn't that where those famous Texas Ag-
gies come from?”
“Well, not exactly.” The lieutenant smiled. “I see that you, just
like many people from the North I’ve met, don't realize that Texas
Southern is a colored school, while the Texas Aggies are a white
school.”
Ocee fidgeted, unable to think of an appropriate comment. But
the officer eased the situation by discussing a bit of his own plans,
now that he was out of the service.
“My plans are not that definite. This is a sort of exploration


30 Ocee McRae, Texas
trip,” Ocee said. “I have a good idea what I would like to do, but
I'm still searching for just the spot.” He elaborated on what he
had in mind.
“If you are looking for cattle country,” the lieutenant sug-
gested, “you'll do better to go on up to the Panhandle. But there's
a booming oil business in the prairies just west of San Antonio. It
sounds to me that your abilities and know-how would be more
valuable than cash in those new oil fields.”
As their conversation progressed, a plan for the immediate
future crystallized in Ocee's mind: “If I go to San Antonio directly,
I could start out by bus there, and if I traveled only by day, I
could look over the country, stopping now and then to get the lay
of the land,” he said.
“That's right. You couldn't miss that way,” the lieutenant
agreed. “There is one place you really should see, though, before
you leave the southeastern part of Texas.”
“You mean Houston P”
“Well, Houston's a metropolis, and you've seen other big cities
all over the world. I was thinking you would like to see Galveston.
It's an island city—just like Manhattan in that respect. But it's
tropical. Really something!”
“Well, I'll give it a thought. Is it very far from Houston?”
“Only about fifty miles. You catch the bus in Houston and are
there in about an hour, then . . .” but his directions were inter-
rupted by the strident voice of the conductor who entered the
coach, shouting, “All colored passengers gotta move on up to the
last car forward.” And, passing Ocee's seat companion, he added
loudly, “An' dat means you too, boy!”
“What... ?” Ocee was taken by surprise.
“The same old thing, buddy,” the lieutenant explained to Ocee.
“Jim Crow. I swore that if I came back alive, I would never ride
another train or bus in the South. And you can stake your life on
my word that this is the very last time,” he grumbled, rising to take
his luggage from the rack above.
“Listen, I want to talk some more about Texas. Don't leave,”
Ocee urged.


A New Life—A New Name 31
“Sorry, soldier, but neither you nor I would ever get to Texas
if we put up an argument. So long. And good luck.” He nodded
grimly to Ocee and strode forward up to the Jim Crow car, where
all the other colored passengers were being herded.
Ocee reflected on the situation.
On arriving in Houston, Ocee found that, just as the lieutenant
had said, Galveston was but a sixty-minute ride away. After
spending a leisurely day in Houston, he boarded a bus for the
tropical isle the following day. There he went sightseeing along the
broad, palm-lined avenues, enjoying the numerous flower beds
nestled between the gleaming modern buildings of the downtown
area. Ocee was aboard another bus going back up Galveston Bay
on his return to Houston the next day, when he impulsively de-
cided to inspect Texas City, a bustling town where the bus had
stopped briefly. He walked around the town of twenty thousand
inhabitants, observing the business activity on the wharves and
piers where ships, mostly freighters, from many foreign ports,
were taking on cargoes of cotton, oil, chemicals, and other merchan-
dise. Always the friendly tourist, he stopped to pass the time of
day with a guard at the gate to the huge Monsanto Chemical plant,
the town's biggest industry. “They must have an awful lot of
people working in there, don't they?” Ocee opened the conver-
sation.
“I should say they do ſ” replied the guard. “You must be from
out of town, mister, or you'd know all about this plant.”
“You’re right. After more than five years overseas, I've been
back in the States only—let's see. Today is the fifteenth, and I
landed in San Francisco April third. So that makes it just a little
less than two weeks.”
“San Francisco's a long way from Texas City | Did you come
all the way down here to look for a job?”
“Not exactly. I did a little sightseeing in Galveston, and now
I'm going back to Houston before moving on out to west Texas
to see about work.”
“A man like you ought to be able to get a pretty good job here


32 Ocee McRae, Texas
with Monsanto.” The guard went into his public relations per-
sonality. “They don't turn away anybody who wants work. If
you want to look into it, go right on up through the gate and ask
for Personnel. You won't have any trouble finding it.”
“No thanks.” Ocee smiled. “I’m interested in working in the
oil fields, or if nothing develops there, I’ll go on up to the cattle
country. Just thought I'd like to do some sightseeing before leaving
these parts. But thanks just the same.” And he bid the guard good-
bye to walk back to the bus depot.
Again in Houston that evening, Ocee had dinner, bought sev-
eral newspapers, and went up to his hotel room to relax, smoke,
and read in bed before falling asleep. He awoke next morning a
little before ten, washed up, shaved, and went down to breakfast.
He was eating leisurely when he heard the newsboys shouting, “Ex-
tra, Extra! Texas City burned to the ground ! Read all about it!
Texas City another Hiroshima! Extra ! Paper, mister?” Ocee gave
the boy a dime for the paper, and read the tragic early details of
the holocaust in the town he had visited only the day before.
“And if I had stopped over in Texas City, who knows . . . .”
There must be a God somewhere,” he thought to himself, “or I
would have been there in that inferno, burned beyond recogni-
tion.” He turned to a florid man sitting at the table next to his.
“Say, have you read this about the catastrophe down in Texas
City?”
“Why, yes, I was just reading about it. Seems that hundreds
of tons of explosives in the hold of a ship went off, starting a fire
that's burning the city to the ground. Awful, isn't it?”
“Terrible!” Ocee said. “What makes me feel so creepy is that
I was in Texas City yesterday. Went down to Galveston sightsee-
ing, and came back on the bus by way of route 146, so I got off
there just to look around the town. Came near staying over, too.
If I had, I’d have been a goner!”
“You go to church, buddy?” the other man asked, with feel-
ing.”
“Once in a long while. Guess I’d better start going, though.
That was one close shave. And just think, a lot of fellows that


A New Life—A New Name 35
ested in paying fifteen hundred dollars to see one.” To himself
Ocee was thinking, “I’ve run up against sharpies and slicksters all
over the world, experts in the art of flimflamming and confidence
games. And I’m not going to let the first hick from Texas I run
into do me for fifteen hundred dollars! No sir!...” “But thanks,
just the same for the offer,” he said aloud, smiling.
“You don't know what you've just passed up, pardner,” Ful-
ler said. “I’ve met all kinds, but, brother, I’ve never met a guy
before you who didn't trust me. I don't want your money anyway.
Wouldn't want a pardner who didn't trust me. No, indeedy! I'll
find me somebody I can trust, that's what I’ll do!” And he rose,
leaving indignantly. -
Ocee turned to add, “Wish you luck, Fuller. And no hard feel-
ings, okay?” But the man was on his way out of the café, out of
hearing.
Ocee noticed a group of men seated around a nearby table, all
smiling and nodding in his direction. One of them moved toward
Ocee, saying, “Put 'er here, McRae. We couldn't help but overhear
you brushing Fuller off. That guy is a local pain in the neck, a
ne'er-do-well wildcatter, who has stung more newcomers than you
could count.”
“Yeah? His story just sounded too pat....”
“But you'd be amazed,” said the other, “how many people
have fallen for his line. He always takes them out to the same
old well. Say, come on over and meet some of my friends. Maybe
you can fit into one of our setups. We were just talking about
help.”
The other men in the group pulled up a chair for Ocee as the
two joined them. “What can you do?” one asked as an opener.
Ocee briefly outlined his experience, emphasizing his interest
in machinery and his experience as first sergeant in the quarter-
master corps.
“Name's Randall,” the second man volunteered. “I think you'd
be interested in an opening we have over at Tosco. Tell you what
it is. I am with the Tirabuzon Oil Field Supply Corporation—
Tosco; we manufacture and assemble the bulk of the tools and
supplies for the fields hereabouts. And the business has grown so


C H A P T E R III
Flood of Black Gold
THE BULK of the local business of the Tirabuzon Oil Field Supply
Corporation, for whom Ocee went to work as manager of the
Transportation Division at a salary of five hundred dollars a
month with bonuses guaranteed each year, was with established
oilmen who needed replacement and repair parts for their rigs as
they moved from digging to digging.
“I have found over the years,” Randall told Ocee, during his
first week with the firm, “that one of the best ways of a new man's
getting the feel of this business is to actually see oil well drilling
operations underway. I think it would be a good idea if you went
out with me tomorrow to a field where a friend of mine, Grant
Travis, is just getting his equipment assembled on the site of his
first local venture.”
Randall took Ocee out to Grant's diggings, introduced the men,
and left. Grant, a tall, well-built, deeply tanned, vigorous man, had
the look of the outdoors all over him. The two men liked one an-
other immediately, as Grant launched into his explanations.
“I was lucky to pick up this used rig,” Grant said, as he slapped
the steel wing brace of the substructure. “This is the derrick or
mast. See all those pulleys up there? Well, a derrick is erected
primarily to support those pulleys, and the cables you see running
over them lower the drill pipe into the digging. Over there are the
engines, the draw works, and the slush pump. And this, here in
the middle of the derrick floor, is the base of the rotary table. Ro-
tary drilling is about the only type you will see in these parts now.
The drill pipe runs down through the rotary table, all the way
down into the ground. A bit is fastened at the lower end of the
drill pipe.”


38 Ocee McRae, Texas
“The bits were the first items I was introduced to at Tosco,”
Ocee said. “Two things about them impressed me; I was surprised
that oilmen lease or rent them rather than buying them outright,
and the other thing was that I expected to find a bit something like
a chisel—with sharp cutting edges.”
“You weren't too far wrong. Come over here and we can look
at one. You see, the bits we use have rollers with teeth. Then, when
the pipe is turned, the bit rotates too, and these rollers grind out
the rock.”
“What happens when the bit gets dull? What can you do... ?”
“That often happens. When it does, we have to make a round
trip, as we call it. We have to pull all of the drill pipe up, change
the bit, and then lower all the pipe with the new bit back down in
the hole. That's where the derrick comes in handy again. Some-
times as much as ten thousand feet of drill pipe have to make such
a round trip, so we break the pipe down into thribbles or fourbles
—those are stands of three or four of the thirty foot joints of
drill pipe—and stack those lengths in the derrick while we change
the bit. It can really burn a driller up to get the new bit down
there, and after making hole for about ten or twelve feet, blotto
goes the new bit, so then he has to make another round trip. That
is most likely to happen when they're drilling through especially
hard rock formations.”
“Isn't that drill pipe lying on the horizontal rack?” Ocee
pointed.
“Right. Some of it is—the 4%-inch pipe. Those larger pipes are
casing, and are of various diameters. You see, we start out using
a 1334-inch bit for a hundred feet or so of hole, and we put the
largest casing in that portion. Then we change to an eleven-inch
bit, which makes a hole requiring casing of a smaller bore, and
so on until we have a series of strings of casing, each a little
smaller in diameter than its predecessor, so that one extends
farther than the other, something like a telescope, down into the
hole.”
“You said you sometimes have as much as ten thousand feet
of drill pipe down there. That's about two miles! How deep do
you have to go anyway?”


42 Ocee McRae, Texas
|''
get more work out of a crew than I can myself!” As Big Ben was
called back to the operations by another workman, Grant contin-
ued, “Yes sir! He's worth twelve of these boll weevils around in
the oil fields !”
“That's another one on me, Grant.” Ocee shook his head. “Boll
weevil, why that's an insect that destroys cotton, isn't it?”
“Not these!” Grant laughed heartily. “We use the term to
describe an unskilled oil field worker—anyone who, either because
of inexperience or inability to learn, just isn't worth a darn"
“Oh, I see—actually such a person could do more harm than
good....”
“Right. They can, and often do. The bulkiness of drilling
equipment may deceive one into thinking its operation requires no
more than gross control. But, take it from me, a high order of
accuracy, alertness, and vigilance is required. And when I find
a man who combines the traits of leadership and these attitudes
and skills, I place him in a position of responsibility.”
“That makes sense....”
“It does to you and to me; but, Ocee, you haven't been in
the South long enough to have observed the patterns—even here
in Texas—which prevent just common sense from operating.”
“I don't follow you. Even in the short time I’ve been here,
I've seen Negroes working all over the place. You have two or
three in addition to Big Ben, I can see from right here....”
“True. But if you will analyze the jobs you have seen Negroes
—or Mexicans, too, for the most part—doing, you will see that
those jobs are always menial, or at least classified as menial. The
pattern is that they are restricted to those classifications. Now,
a Negro can do any type of highly skilled work as long as he is
designated as a menial, and receives only the menial's pay. But
as soon as he is given official recognition by the employer and is
paid accordingly, the ‘pattern' has been violated, and there is hell
to pay!”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the white employees often object, even quit, and other
prospective employees won't hire on. Or the suppliers may cut off


Flood of Black Gold 43
your credit. Why, I've even heard of and occasionally seen violence,
fighting and destruction of a construction job.”
“How could you risk all that?”
“All of my men were with me—and with Big Ben. As you can
see, his build, for one thing, gives him an advantage.” As Grant
and Ocee moved toward the truck, they glanced back at Big Ben,
who was on the monkey board high up the derrick, directing men
on the floor as they swung the rotary hook to one side to engage
the swivel bail. He was easily six feet three inches tall, well over
two hundred pounds. “For instance,” Grant continued, “he doesn't
say ’sir' to a man simply because he has white skin. And the men
respect him for it. His bearing—well, I guess it's dignity—and
his competence just impress you.”
“I see what you meanſ” Ocee emphasized, as they jumped into
Grant's old truck and started back to town.
“Yes, he's a valuable man. I know it, and the crew knows it.
It would be a long search to find another like him—white or
colored l’’
“You’re lucky to have him.”
“Yes. But smart, too. I know which side my bread's buttered
onl”
Jogging along on the eight-mile return trip to Tirabuzon, Ocee
plied Grant with detailed questions concerning some of the acces-
sory equipment and parts he had become familiar with in the
warehouse. “You certainly know this business! I'd say you are
more conversant with the machinery than Randall himself is,
Grant. Been in it long?”
“Can't remember when I wasn't tinkering around an oil well,”
Grant answered. “I studied petroleum engineering in college, and
I’ve been looking forward to this moment for years, ever since I
graduated. This venture is a dream come true.”
“This is the first time you're drilling a well of your own?”
“Right. You see, I graduated during the depression, and my
first job was with the Public Works Administration out of San
Antonio back in '34, working on a survey of oil lands. We knew
then this area would be productive, but by the time the survey


Flood of Black Gold 45
“He is. My wife raised a lot of sand when she discovered he
had helped me in this venture. She wants me home there in Fort
Worth instead of away off down here. Well, anyway, he showed
her that he had had papers drawn up assigning his entire share
to our children l’”
“Brother | What a deal || Of course, I didn't have in mind find-
ing an arrangement quite so tidy.”
“Now, I tell you, if you can catch an oilman at just the right
moment, when he's up against a stone wall and can't borrow or beg
the money he needs to tide him over a stretch of bad luck... I've
seen it happen to men who swore they weren't going to let any-
body in with them, but in a pinch they had to or face the alterna-
tive of losing everything and abandoning a well possibly just a
matter of feet from oil.”
Ocee laughed skeptically. “Yeah, I’ve heard of that, too. In
fact the first day I was in town a guy propositioned me....”
“Not Fuller l’”
“That's the name.”
“Oh, no! I hope you didn't fall for his line!”
“No.”
“That's good. He tried it on me, too, soon after I came here
about six months ago, and he's caught several suckers since then.
No, of course, I didn't mean to advise you to jump into that type
of a deal; I meant you could keep on the lookout for a bona fide
setup. In fact, I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for you. Well, here
we are,” Grant said, as he pulled up in front of Ocee's boarding-
house.
“Thanks, Grant,” Ocee said, extending his hand as he moved
to leave. “And good luck!”
Smiling, Grant shook Ocee's hand and said, “This isn't going
to be just luck; I know there's oil there !”
Much of the raw material used in the manufacture of drilling
rigs, slush pumps, rod and sectional liners, rotaries, and swivels
comes to the United States from Europe through the port of Hous-
ton in the form of steel plates, bars, and rods. In the course of his


Flood of Black Gold 47
coastwise and internal shipments play a large part in the tremen-
dous volume of commerce we have here,” the Director told him.
Impressed, Ocee reluctantly took his leave to keep an appointment
with the representative of one of his firm's suppliers.
“With this new three-star motor supertimer,” the salesman
explained to Ocee at lunch in the Marine Room of the hotel where
he usually made his headquarters while in Houston, “oil wells can
be pumped on a preset schedule to meet any field allowance—
completely unattended indefinitely, as far as the programming or
the electrical equipment is concerned.”
“That sounds to be just about what one of our oilmen wants.
He has a string of wells west of Hernando County, where the
power supply is none too reliable. Now what about a power out-
age?”
“That's taken care of, too. You see,” and the salesman pro-
duced another series of diagrams, “when an unavoidable stoppage
occurs, any number of pumps restart in a fixed sequence, thus
preventing overloading the power lines.”
“Now about the control unit itself,” Ocee returned.
“Yes. I’ll give you the details on that, Mr. McRae. Our unit
is designed to do two things. First, it provides the means for get-
ting the desired pumping schedule—hours per day and days per
week. Second, it provides seventy-three accurately controlled re-
starting intervals—restarting time delays from zero seconds to
as much as three minutes. This is the feature you need after power
interruption such as you mention.”
“You don't leave anything to chance....”
“No, our supertimer leaves absolutely nothing to chance, Mr.
McRae. Unfortunate coincidental restarting of even two pumps
is impossible. And, in addition, a small switch on the panel per-
mits instant conversion from automatic to manual restarting when-
ever it might be desired. This control has everything...” He
broke off as he looked up, saying, “Oh, excuse me, will you? Those
friends of mine I mentioned have arrived.” He rose to greet the
two ladies as they approached.
“Miss Saunders, Señora Villaronga, Mr. McRae. Here, Jane,”
he said, as Ocee moved to assist the Señora.


Flood of Black Gold 49
Christi on a steamer of the Mexican-American Line, stopping at
several Mexican ports along the way down as far as Veracruz.
That's seven hundred miles down the coast, in the Bay of Cam-
peche. The ship made only brief stops along the way, sailing on
down the coast after a day in port at each stop until we reached
Tampico. We spent two days there, but we didn't do much sight-
seeing. In Veracruz we had four days, and stayed at a hotel in
town. We saw a bull fight, a couple of cock fights, and went to a
movie that turned out to be an American silent film with Spanish
subtitles! There are lots of pretty good movies—Spanish—made in
Mexico and Argentina now, though, I guess. All around, it was
a good trip, and I imagine you'd like to take one like it sometime.”
“That's too much for the first time! I think I'll settle for a little
excursion down to Monterrey in a couple of weeks!” Ocee prom-
ised himself. Grant smiled understandingly.
And so he did. Arriving in Monterrey late Saturday afternoon,
he sought out a large hotel, where he registered before calling
Juanita. To his surprise, it was only six blocks from his hotel to
her home. He walked that short distance, observing the children
congregating around the pushcarts of street vendors of candies
and all sorts of sweets, the people passing the patterned tile park
benches and store fronts without noticing them, the numerous
churches.
Juanita introduced Ocee to her widower brother, Francisco,
who was auditor for the city of Monterrey. They shared the
lovely home left them by their parents. It was constructed, as were
most of the substantial residences there, of stucco, with tile roof
and aquamarine tile floors. As Juanita showed him the garden in
the rear of their home, Ocee told her of the patio at his hotel.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like it. The rooms all open
onto a veranda overlooking the patio. And the walls and floor and
columns are covered with little pieces of colored tile arranged in
patterns. There's a tiled fountain and flower urns of the same de-
sign—very much like those you have over there.”
“This is one area of Mexican excellence—beauty,” Juanita
explained. “It is true that most of us do not have homes even as


Flood of Black Gold 51
interrupted their casual conversation with news that the bit was
dull again and would have to be brought back up.
Grant nodded and, turning to Ocee, said, “You know, I'm
lucky to have anticipated such costly delays. Not that the bit
rental is so much, but the crew has to be paid all during the round
trip.”
“Do you think it will hold up the drilling for long?”
“Oh, no, not much. Ocee, old man, it's not going to be much
longer, even with these interruptions. When that well comes in,
I'm going to Fort Worth and bring my family down here. I miss
the wife and the kids more every day.”
Ocee glanced keenly at Grant, and asked, “None of my busi-
ness, Grant, but is everything all right between you two?”
“Peculiarly enough, everything's fine, actually. We just don't
see eye to eye on this oil business. Here, let me show you a pic-
ture of the whole family.” Ocee looked at the group photograph
taken on the boy's birthday. “Brenda,” Grant pointed out, “as
you can see, is a dream. Won the beauty title of Miss Coed while
we were both at the University—she was a senior in Arts College
then, and I was in my third year of engineering. And this is Sue;
she was born in '37 while I was traveling around with the PWA.
And here's Junior. I was home with the folks when he was born
in 1939, you know, working there in Fort Worth with the New-
combe people. This is Marilyn, our youngest, six years old.”
“And who are the others? Your wife's family?”
“Yes. Her mother and father and Helen—that's her kid sister.
She's twenty-four. Oh, you'd like her. She's on my side, telling
Brenda she wouldn't mind traveling around with her husband, if
she had one, even if he wanted to ‘chase oil bubbles'—that’s what
Brenda says I’m doing!”
“Does she really think you are wildcatting?”
“She says she can't see any difference between what I’m doing
here and the work I was doing on the side with that wildcatting
outfit, except that I was paid for working then l Now I don't earn
a cent until oil starts flowing, Brenda just won't believe wildcatters
operate on little if any first-hand survey information like I have—


Flood of Black Gold 53
it's quiet, not much traffic. The kids would have a nice rumpus
room, and plenty of space to run around in.”
“Sounds good! How did you manage to get a chance to buy it
before anyone else—and at a bargain? Oh, now I remember, you
mentioned your father-in-law knows him.”
“They are both alumni of the Yale University Law School.
He's the best corporation lawyer in this area—or was before he
became Mayor four years ago—and Brenda's dad is one of the best
in Fort Worth. They see one another on business occasionally, and
both have been going to their alumni reunions up in Connecticut.
He's a man about forty-seven, younger than Brenda's father, but
they are good pals. Then, too, he's a trustee and senior warden
in the church I attend, and I am junior warden. So we've seen
quite a lot of each other since I came here. Now he has all but
promised to hold off putting the house up for sale until I'm in a
position to buy it.”
“What a deal! I wonder if I’ll ever be able to work up to a
house like that....”
“No reason why you shouldn't,” Grant said, “but you need a
wife first. Say, what about you? Are you, or, in the language of
the subversive inquisitors, ‘have you ever been’ married?”
“Well, yes, I was once. But not now—don't have any family,
really,” Ocee replied, growing pensive.
“Too bad. Don't you have parents, and ... ?”
“They were killed in an automobile accident when I was still
in high school.” And he went on to tell Grant briefly of Emmie,
the circumstances leading to her remarriage, and of his spur-of-the-
moment decision to come to Texas and start a new life. “There's
one thing that has me a little worried, though,” he confided to
Grant. “I think I should go back to Pittsville someday to get
everything straightened out—you know, maybe a divorce, and
change my name legally.”
Grant had listened attentively throughout the recital, and looked
over Ocee's honorable discharge papers in the name of Michael
Gulbranson. “A divorce is something you have to consider should
you want to remarry, I suppose,” he told Ocee. “But it does seem


54 Ocee McRae, Texas
only reasonable that you at least start the proceedings to have
your name changed. That's important—especially since you are a
veteran.”
“Maybe the Mayor could handle it before he leaves....”
“Possibly. I'll ask him. He could probably set the machinery
in motion, at least.” And then, slapping Ocee on the shoulder, he
said, “Yes, indeed! You certainly came to the right place, and
I'm glad you chose Tirabuzon to settle in. Of course, our weather
is much milder than those sub zero winters up there in Iowa
where you come from, but . . .”
“Believe it or not, Grant, I was born right here in Texas I’”
“No kidding ! Well, what do you know ! Put her here, old
man l’’
“Yes.” Ocee grinned, shaking hands. “My dad was stationed
at Fort Bliss during the first World War, and my mother was
with him. That's where I was born, three months before Armistice
Day. Then when the war was over, they went back to Iowa.”
Ocee laughed. “Dad was a regimental sergeant major. Listen to
him tell it, though, he was a more important man than the com-
manding generall Maybe he wasn't so far wrong. I was only a first
sergeant, but those sergeant majors were really something.”
“Only a first sergeant, you say! Now, I know something about
those ranks even though I didn't get in the service myself. And
I’ve heard that a first sergeant is the top man in his outfit. What
branch of the Army were you in P”
“Quartermaster corps.”
“Well, brother, a first sergeant in the quartermaster corps has
a tremendous amount of responsibility, from all I’ve heard. You
were sort of the ramrod of the company, weren't you?”
“Yes, I suppose so. The first sergeant is really the captain's
right-hand man. He is in charge of the administration and house-
keeping of his unit, a detachment or company. He has to look out
for the physical welfare of the men in his outfit, he controls and
issues passes and leaves, has to make up the morning reports,
administers the sick book, and, as a matter of fact, sees after the
general discipline of the troops. He is the leading non-commis-
sioned officer in the company.”


56 Ocee McRae, Texas
greeted him. “Does this mean those tests you were having run
this morning didn't turn out as you had hoped?”
“That's about the size of it. It seems the oil-bearing stratum is
farther down than we thought. Of course, that's no catastrophe.
But it does mean more power, more pipes and equipment, and a
little more delay. I just arranged with Randall to have the supplies
advanced on credit.”
“Oh, sure. Tosco will stick with you!”
“Coming out to the well after work? I have a feeling, Ocee,
that this hard layer isn't as thick as the survey indicates. And if
I am right, we might go through it yet this afternoon.”
Ocee drove out in one of the firm's delivery trucks to find
Grant and his crew feverishly working over the rotary table. “We
had a twist-off while I was in town today!” Grant shouted at Ocee.
“What!” Ocee shouted back above the din, not comprehending.
“Be with you in a minute.” Grant worked with the men until
they could take over. He walked over to Ocee. Putting his arm
across Ocee's shoulder, he said, “Remember me telling you about
buying in at the psychological moment?”
“Yes. Who... ? What... ?”
“The men couldn't have known, of course. I didn't myself
until I had the results of the tests. But they attempted to pull too
hard with this rig before I could get back with the additional
power. The drill pipe twisted off somewhere down there. Every-
thing would have been under control if ... Ocee, old man, there's
no reason for me to pull punches now with you. If I don't borrow
it from you—and I’ll need around ten thousand anyway—I’ll have
to borrow it from someone else, and everyone in town knows
enough about my prospects here to drive a hard bargain. There's
oil not more than 450 feet farther down. I know it! And everyone
in town knows it.”
“But what about your father-in-law? Wouldn't he prefer to
invest a little more than to have someone else in on the deal?”
“That's a delicate situation; since he assigned his interest to
the children, asking him for more help would amount to asking
him to give my children another gift. Brenda didn't approve of
the original arrangement, and I'm afraid her sisters and brothers


Flood of Black Gold 57
wouldn't look kindly on such an arrangement either.”
“Yes, I can see that, too. . . .”
“Do you have as much as ten thousand, Ocee?”
“Yes, a little more, actually, including my savings here. You
know I banked almost fourteen thousand dollars in San Francisco
on returning from the service. So it's settled. We'll make the ar-
rangements tomorrow.”
Their lawyer, Hubert Nunnally, whom the Mayor had recom-
mended before leaving, was handling both Ocee's change of name
application and Grant's purchase of the Mayor's house, so he was
the logical person to whom to turn to draw up the usual docu-
ments providing for Ocee's investing $12,700 in Grant's well. In
consideration of this sum, Ocee received a 10 percent interest in
the well, with an option to invest in subsequent diggings as a
junior partner with Grant on conditions to be determined after
the first well came in.
“Partner,” Grant told Ocee several days later, “I have a feeling
this is going to be the day!”
“I’ll be out right after work I've never seen a well come in.
Even if I didn't have a personal interest in it, I’d want to be
there!” Ocee assured him.
“All right, I'll be looking for you. But just remember—noth-
ing might happen, and then again everything might happen. And
you may have a long wait....”
“I understand. It'll be worth it. I don't mind.”
Ocee donned his field gear, boots and helmet, before leaving
the plant. As he drove out, the fever of expectation rose, and
when he pulled up to the diggings he sensed that the crew shared
it, too.
“I’ll give a hand there, Grant, if you'll show me what to do.
That way the time will go faster—this suspense is killing me!”
And the men laughed as Ocee lent a hand with the work.
It was shortly after three o'clock in the morning when there
was a deep rumbling sound like thunder under the ground and the
men started yelling, “Here she comes | Here she comes | We've
struck oil ſ”
A column of mud and oil shot up into the air—it seemed about


58 Ocee McRae, Texas
a mile high. Actually it was only a hundred feet. The men were
drenched with the black sticky stuff, but were dancing around like
crazy, Grant and Ocee with them. Grant yelled to the crew, “Cap
'er!” and they set to work harnessing the black gold that was
spilling over, back to the earth from which it came.
“You brought me luck, Ocee!” Grant said, slapping his part-
ner on the back. “Man, you've got a black-gold thumb| You sure
brought me luck!”
“Luck, nothing! You knew there was oil there, never doubted it
for a minute!” Ocee said.
The crewmen, knowing Ocee had provided the last, crucial
financial backing, insisted it was he that had brought success to
the project. And one of them shouted, “Yeah? Well, nobody's as
superstitious as oilmen!”


60 Ocee McRae, Texas
an unbeatable combination, what with your engineering and pro-
duction know-how.”
“Don’t forget your own office experience and administrative
know-how, either.” Grant chucked him on the chest.
“I suppose you are right, Grant. As I look back on it, I’ve been
lucky. Everything seems to have turned out to my advantage. First,
I took bookkeeping and typing way back there in high school.
Then I worked around machinery with that farm implement com-
pany before going into the quartermaster corps. More office and
managerial experience there. Then the introduction to oil field
machinery and operations over at Tosco. Just good luck all
around !”
“Your experience has been varied and valuable, as a personnel
office would put it, Ocee. Yes sir, we'll go far together in this
business!” Grant exulted. And the two men shook on it.
The phenomenal luck of Grant and Ocee soon made newspaper
headlines, and the two were swamped with local newspaper re-
porters and photographers who came out to interview the “two new
tycoons.” In the excitement, Ocee cooperated wholeheartedly, but
after the newspapermen left he realized with a start what he had
done, and turned in consternation to his partner. “Grant, I am
worried about all this publicity. It might get back to Pittsville!”
“Think nothing of it, boy!” Grant waved his concern aside,
“These are only local and Texas papers, and lucky as we think we
are, we certainly are not millionaires, not yet, that is. Our little
two-bit successes won't rate out-of-state notice. So you have noth-
ing to worry about. If you are thinking about that business about
changing your name, that's all been taken care of. Your name has
been legally changed according to the laws of the sovereign State
of Texas' Forget it!”
“That isn't what's worrying me. Emmie doesn't have a divorce.
Technically, I am still married to her.”
“Are you worried that she might want to cut in on your
dough?” Grant asked flippantly.
“No, nothing like that. She isn't that type of person. I know
that. But, well, I may as well start at the beginning.” And he re-


62 Ocee McRae, Texas
let people think this is me? This will be the easiest way out for
Emmie....”
“I knew I couldn't go back to my hotel room, but then, I had
only a duffel bag there, with my clothes and a few souvenirs. If
this death was to look realistic, I had to leave everything. You
know the rest of the story, how I came down here and changed
my name. But now if Emmie were to see the pictures, she would
get all upset again about her marital status.”
“Ouch! Now I see.”
“And then there is another thing that has crossed my mind
many times. I don't know how that switch in identification came
off. The victim's true identity might have been established, and in
that case who knows what kind of charges they may have against
me? I must go back and straighten these things out.”
“I can understand that, and how you must feel. When do you
want to go?”
“The sooner the better.”
“All right, then. I’ll go with you,” Grant decided.
“Would you? Say, that's swell.” Ocee sighed in relief.
They tentatively planned to go to Pennsylvania early the next
week, immediately after conferences with the drilling crew. But
it was only two days later, while Ocee was alone in his office, that
he looked up to see Larry entering. Larry followed by Emmie. He
got up slowly.
“It is Mike,” Emmie cried to her husband.
Taking Larry's hand, Ocee said, “Yes, and if you had only
waited a few days, my partner and I would have been up there
in Pittsville. We were to leave Tuesday. But how did you find
me? Did you... ?”
Larry handed him the newspaper clippings with pictures of
himself and Grant.
“I did it for you, Emmie,” Ocee said. “I put my clothes and
identification on that hit-run victim when I saw the accident, and
decided to pull out.” And he told them the details of the incident.
“You shouldn't have done it,” Larry reproved him.
“I came right back from Reno when Larry called to tell me


Señora Juanita Villaronga 63
about it. But, Mike, I knew that man wasn't you the minute I
saw his hair....”
“At the time she wanted to check to see if the man had all of
his toes, but I was afraid of our being implicated if she upset the
identification.”
Ocee smiled ruefully. “Yes, I have only four toes on my left
foot. I hadn't thought of that.”
“It was through checking the victim's fingerprints against yours
with your war record that the police ascertained that he was not
you. The papers carried the whole story,” Larry continued.
“Who was the victim?” Ocee asked cautiously.
“Apparently, his true identity was never established. It seems
when nobody claimed the body it was assumed he was a drifter.
Sometime later, we heard that a miner had told the police he used
to work with a man of the victim's description, and that he had
seen him in that area during the day when he was struck down. It
turned out, though, that no family or relatives could be located,
so no one really knows who he was.”
Grant returned from the field, breaking the painful silence
which had paralyzed the little group. Ocee made the introduc-
tions and explanations.
“Well, it's quite a coincidence, your showing up just at this
time,” Grant said. “Ocee was telling me only a couple days ago
he wanted to go back to straighten things out, and I was going
with him.”
“We saw your pictures under a feature article in a Pittsburgh
paper about how fortunes are still being made in America,” Larry
said, and passed the clippings to Grant.
“Yes, yes, that's Ocee and me, all right. Not bad of me, but
doesn't do justice to you,” he said, turning to his partner. His
casualness eased the tension somewhat, and the group came back
to the problem at hand.
They discussed the situation at length, and it was agreed that
Ocee's plans would be carried out, that he would go back to Pitts-
ville with Grant within a week. Larry and Emmie returned to their
home the following day.


64 Ocee McRae, Texas
In Pittsville, Grant and Ocee went first to the chief of police,
and Ocee laid bare the story before him.
“Why did you do it?” the chief wanted to know. “You should
have known that you were compounding a felony and obstructing
justice when you first of all failed to report an accident you had
seen, and secondly when you deliberately put your papers on the
dead man's body to obscure his true identity.” This Ocee admitted.
“It just happens that we knew that you did not kill the victim,
although for a time we did suspect that. We found the car that
had hit him, and from its registration traced the owner. He ad-
mited all, and is now serving time. So your only crime was to
obstruct justice. We'll have to book you, but I’ll release you under
your own recognizance and get a ruling from the city attorney,
maybe tomorrow. You come back at one o'clock tomorrow. By
that time I will have his word on this mess.”
When Ocee and Grant returned, the chief told them the at-
torney had decided that Ocee was in no way culpable, and as far
as he was concerned was free to go about his new life. Ocee ar-
ranged with Larry and Emmie about the divorce, and he returned
with Grant to Texas.
“The junior partner of the Travis-McRae Oil Company to
see you!” Ocee said gaily, as Juanita opened the door in response
to his ring.
“Oh, Ocee! How good to see you! Come in Francisco, it is
hel Ocee!” she called to her brother in the garden, as Ocee
whisked her off her feet and carried her through the living room.
“If you will put me down gently, querido, I will be able to
congratulate you properly,” she whispered, kissing his ear. He
did.
Francisco grasped Ocee's hand, Juanita the other, and they
burst out telling him how happy they had been for him ever since
he called when the well came in.
“But what is this ‘junior partner’?” Juanita asked when the
first wave of excitement subsided. Ocee filled them in on the de-
velopments in Tirabuzon—the formation of the partnership, his


66 Ocee McRae, Texas
“In Mexico it is not uncommon,” Juanita told him, “but in the
States I know that even devout people hesitate to call attention to
themselves in a restaurant by saying grace.”
“No one should be ashamed to thank God!” Francisco pro-
nounced.
“It isn't exactly shame,” Ocee replied. “It just isn't the uni-
versal pattern in our country, where there are so many different
religions represented. Most of us are Christians of one denomination
or another, of course, but there are also many Jews, and then there
are Moslems and Buddhists, and members of numerous other creeds
in smaller numbers.”
“You probably have touched on the explanation, there, Ocee,”
Francisco said. “If you had one dominant or prevailing religion
as we have here, the practices would be so widespread and generally
accepted no one would feel conspicuous in following them. There
is at least one disadvantage in such a situation, however. Do you
recall all that difficulty we had between the Church and the State
back here before the war?”
“I don't remember the details,” Ocee began.
“Please, Francisco” Juanita asked.
Sensing her reluctance to have the embarrassing subject of the
conflict pursued, Ocee said, “Well, no matter what the differences
were and how many hard feelings were exposed, I don't think the
trouble could have been nearly so deep-seated nor the struggle
so bitter as those experienced by many of the early immigrants to
the United States who fled Europe to escape religious persecution.”
“Although your country has had complete separation of Church
and State from its very inception,” Francisco continued, “I am
certain you still find the subject so highly charged with emotional-
ism that it is difficult to discuss. And here in Mexico that emo-
tional obstacle to communication is most important when we are
dealing with the multitudes of lower-class people, on whom the
emotional hold of religion is strongest.”
“Why is it, do you think, Francisco, that the poor people, who
need religion least, seem to be most deeply involved emotionally
with it?” Ocee asked.
“There you are wrong, my friend,” Francisco said. “The poor


Señora Juanita Villaronga 67
people need religion the most. The rich have many outlets—cul-
tural, recreational, aesthetic. But what do the poor people have?
With them, with the poor, work is not a source of satisfaction in
the same manner nor to the degree and extent it is with the more
privileged groups. Especially is this true here in Mexico. So re-
ligion has its place, a unique place, filling a void in the lives of the
masses of the people.” And so the conversation continued in this
vein.
Before Ocee said good night to Francisco and Juanita to re-
turn to his hotel, he asked, “I wonder if it would be all right to
go to church with you in the morning?”
“Why, of course, Ocee!” Juanita cried, pleased. “We would
be more than delighted to have you with us. We usually go to ten
o'clock mass on Sunday, so Francisco and I will be waiting in the
car in front of your hotel at nine forty-five.”
As Ocee left them to walk to the hotel, he thought, “Now what
did I want to do a thing like that for?” Try as he did, he could
not remember when last he had been to church “I must not forget
to take the wine with me in the morning and leave it in the car
while we attend mass,” he reminded himself before falling asleep
that night.
Ocee returned with Francisco and Juanita to their home after
mass the following morning. “A little present, querida,” he told
Juanita, as he set a bottle of his favorite wine on the kitchen table
where she was preparing tacos.
“Ah! Thank you! Let us save it for after dinner, Ocee. I
thought we could just relax and listen to music this afternoon, and
the wine would be the perfect addition.”
“Um hum,” Ocee was eying the pots and pans on the range.
“You are a good cook! Everything smells delicious already!”
“I think we all do best those things we most enjoy, and I en-
joy cooking and keeping house so very much I know I do them
well.”
“Even if you couldn't cook at all, querida mía, I would beat a
path to your door. I was telling Francisco it's worth my coming all
the way down here just to talk to you two. I honestly find the
discussions we have, such as the one last night about the social


68 Ocee McRae, Texas
function of religion, most stimulating. Would you believe it, Jua-
nita, I cannot remember ever having discussed the major problem
of religion with anyone before for more than one minute? But
here with you, I am able to relax, and I feel more at home than I
ever have before, and our conversations develop so freely....”
“That being the case, it is plain what you must do, Ocee,”
Juanita said coyly.
“What?”
“Come down to see us every weekend! Many of our friends
are much better conversationalists than I am.”
“Hi, Grant!” Ocee greeted his partner late Sunday evening.
“How was your trip? How is everyone?”
“Everybody's fine. Still excited at the good news from the field,
of course. And they send their best to you—especially Helen. She
was impatient with me for not bringing you this time, so I prom-
ised I would next trip. Okay?”
“Sure, if we can both get away again at the same time and I
don't decide to run down to Monterrey.”
“Ocee, I’ve been thinking. This place is in the middle of no-
where when it comes to making plane or train connections. Brenda
brought it to my attention that I spend more time getting to and
from the airport in San Angelo when I go up to Fort Worth than
I have left to spend with the family. She suggested we get a small
plane. But then I reminded her that they won't be up there much
longer, and what we really need is a helicopter to get around in
the field. What do you say?”
“The helicopter will be a must; that's for sure. And the plane
sounds good, too—you need it right now, and then it might even
help me see Juanita more often. But who's going to fly them?”
“Oh, didn't you know? I have a commercial pilot's license to
fly helicopters and airplanes. You see, when I worked with the
Oil Conservation Program during the war, I had to learn to fly
both types of aircraft in my field work. You were overseas, of
course, but gasoline was a very precious commodity then. It was
rationed. You had to have priority to get enough gas to drive a
private automobile, so we relied on those planes.”


70 Ocee McRae, Texas
“How much is the Cub?” Ocee asked, admiring the small
plane's trim lines.
“You can have it for twenty-five hundred dollars. That's his
bottom price. He actually paid about twice that much for it. If you
don't take it, I'll try to get three thousand or thirty-five hundred
for it. My commission is all I can get over twenty-five hundred.”
As he talked his eyes wandered over to a plane whose motor, it
was apparent, was being overhauled. “That job over there is a
military surplus plane, an AT-6. I sold it to a state senator last
week, and we are fixing it up for him. The military used it for
advanced training. Not a bad little plane. But here is the Cub, all
ready for you.”
Grant and Ocee went out to the plane, and Grant entered the
cockpit to take his seat at the controls. Then Ocee climbed in.
They fastened their straps, and Grant took off with as much ease as
if he had been flying that particular plane daily. He flew around,
down by the river, up Chihuahua Creek, with Ocee carefully watch-
ing his handling of the plane, wishing he could do it.
“It’s a cinch, pal,” Grant assured him. “You’ll be flying better
than I can in a month.”
“Let’s buy it,” Ocee said.
“Okay, it's all yours! Except when I go up to Fort Worth,
I'll be using the helicopter most of the time. And twenty-five
hundred dollars is dirt cheap.” They flew around some more, and
Grant said, “We’ve gone about seventy-five knots. Let's call it a
day.”
“Why do you say ‘knot'? I mean I know it is a nautical or sea
mile. But why would you say “nautical mile when you are over
land?”
“To tell you the truth, I don't know, Ocee, why air people use
nautical miles instead of land miles. The nautical mile is 1.15 land
miles. I remember from engineering school that the nautical mile
is one minute of the great circle of the earth's surface, which is
not a perfect sphere, incidentally, as you know. The fact that the
earth is not a perfect sphere is the raison d’être of the nautical
mile, but I really am not too familiar with the details. I must look
it up some time. One of my kids might ask me about that. And


74 Ocee McRae, Texas
followed his contribution, he leaned back in his chair across from
her to say, “How did we get off on that tangent? I’m the junior
partner in Tramco, remember, no etymologist!”
“I know, querido, and I prefer you as you are—my friend, and
Grant's partner. I like that man very much. I know him, I feel, as
well as if I had met him, because you speak of him so much. And
I am honored, Señor, so to know you both, and especially am I
honored to be dining with a great oilman, the Señor Ocee McRae,
Texas I’”
“Honey, that is really what I came back to Texas for....”
“You say came back. Were you working in Texas before?”
Juanita inquired.
“No, I wasn't. But I forgot to tell you that I was actually born
in an army camp in Texas during World War I. My mother joined
Dad while he was stationed there, and then, after the war, they
took me to Iowa, where I grew up.”
“So you are a born Texan I I was quite right to refer to you
as “Ocee McRae, Texas,” was I not, querido?”
“Yes, my dear,” Ocee said tenderly. “But let me tell you about
our partnership. Grant's a prince of a guy. He'll make a rich man
of me yet. I have a 10 per cent interest in the business now—oh, that
doesn't sound like much, but if and when the entire field is devel-
oped, and all those wells are flowing, we could be in the money.”
“What will you do, darling, with all that money you have not
yet made?”
Ocee laughed as he replied, “Well, what does anybody do with
money? For one thing, I will use it to make more money. I tell you
what I would like to have someday, though—a huge Texas ranch
with thousands of heads of cattle.”
“Cattle? You like cows?”
“I love cows l”
Juanita digested this bit of information, looking at Ocee at
first with disbelief and bewilderment. Then her face crinkled into
a broad smile and simultaneously they began laughing heartily. She
stopped long enough to ask him, “What are we laughing at?”
“We love cows!” he answered, and they went off again into
gales of laughter. Ocee composed himself to say, “You know, Jua-


Señora Juanita Villaronga 75
nita, I read an article in last Sunday's paper. It was in the maga-
zine section. This psychologist in answering a question asked by
a reader said that two people who find it easy to laugh together
and enjoy just being together the way you and I do are in love.
Do you think he was right?”
Juanita, sobered, quietly answered, “I think he was, oh, so very
right, querido mio. And now”—she brightened—“we should think
of our friends at home who await us. Francisco is wondering what
delays us. Shall we go now?”
When the waiter brought Ocee $8.80 change out of a ten-
dollar bill, the happy couple glanced at one another with laughing
eyes, and took their leave.
“There is only one regret I’ll have about leaving this house,”
Ocee told Grant one evening, as they discussed the plans for mov-
ing into the house Grant had purchased from the former Mayor.
“Now what could you possibly miss P Brenda has seen to every
possible comfort,” Grant said, laying aside his pipe. “I’m certain
you will have all the privacy you want, if that's what you are
thinking about. Those two rooms are yours!”
“No, that's not it at all. I'll miss Bella. And Manuel, too. But
mostly Bella. She is such a sweet old lady—much like my mother
would have been, I guess, if she had lived. She has won a very
special place in my heart, somehow. It's too bad that her daughter
died before her baby was born.”
“Yes, that was a tragic incident. She died from a water-borne
disease, typhoid, I think. But you know it happens quite often
among the very poor. They die off like flies, especially late in the
summer when the water is so bad. And it seems death is no re-
spector of persons, not even expectant mothers.”
“Manuel told me about that water situation some time ago. He
says most of the poor people in Hernando County depend upon
springs or at best shallow wells, rarely more than twelve feet deep,
for water. Then when the water level falls after months of no
rain, they can't afford to buy water from deep wells, but resort to
using alkaline, often contaminated water from the rivers.”
“Well, Ocee, if they were to boil it, even that water might not


C H A P T E R V
Intergroup Relations
As THE DEVELOPMENT of the field continued, so the Travis-McRae
Oil Company, using the trade name “Tramco,” flourished, with
Grant busy in the field, and Ocee supervising the ever-increasing
volume of business and office details—ordering parts, managing
sales, recruiting field hands and office personnel, handling tax
matters, investment expansion, and subcontracting arrangements.
“Did your ad bring in any employment applicants?” Grant
asked one evening as Ocee came home late from the office again.
“A few, yes. But those I’ve been interviewing for the office
just aren't qualified to do the work I want. I need responsible,
well-trained people—a secretary with initiative and imagination.
who knows shorthand, not just a typist. And if we could get a
good bookkeeper! As well intentioned as those clerks are, they have
to run to me for every little thing. I don't have time to think any
more! All day long I have to keep telling them, “Do this,” “Now do
that’—it's wearing me down ſ”
“You and every other businessman in these parts, Ocee. I don't
think there is an oilman who isn't on the lookout for competent
clerical help. Well, just be patient; I’m sure someone will come
along soon. Now, if I knew as much about those comptometers
and files as I do about winches and bits, I might be able to help
you out—evenings, of course, that is l’”
The partners laughed. “I could use another good man, myself,”
Grant continued. “Today again I had to make three trips into the
office from the field and back. I thought the helicopter would solve
the transportation problem, but now I think I’ll have to teach
Big Ben to fly the plane so he can go with me around the field.


78 Ocee McRae, Texas
Then he could make the trips back to the office for parts, and
things. But you can see what's going to happen there. If I move
him up, I’ll have to find someone else to take over for him at the
digging.”
“Couldn't Big Ben suggest one of the crew?”
“Why don't we go over to his house and talk to him about it?
Have you had dinner, though?”
“Oh, yes, I have. I must say Miss Fleming is good about hav-
ing a meal sent in before she leaves. Now, that's her speed—she
is a dandy flunky, but she's no good as a secretary !”
“One problem at a time, partner! I'll tell Brenda where we're
going,” Grant said. “You haven't met Big Ben's mother, have
you?” he asked Ocee, as the two drove the short distance to the
home where Big Ben lived with his mother, Angela Rodriques Jack-
son. “She had it pretty rough after her husband was killed in a rail-
road accident. Big Ben told me it happened when he was only eleven
years old. She worked to support the two of them until Big Ben
completed high school.”
“Didn't she receive insurance or something after her husband's
death?” Ocee asked.
“I asked Big Ben the same question. But it seems colored rail-
road employees weren't covered by insurance. He once confided
that his dearest wish is to take his mother up North where she
can live free from discrimination. As you will see when we get to
their house, she's a strikingly attractive woman. And Big Ben says
he would like to see her marry again, but he realizes that oppor-
tunities for her are scarce down here.”
“Why? There seem to be plenty of colored...”
“She's Mexican. I guess I forgot to mention that. Big Ben
says she certainly does not want to marry an illiterate Mexican—
that's about the only kind she meets. He says the upper bracket
Mexican-Americans avoid her because her husband was a Negro.
Then, he said that there were no Negro men of the type he would
like to have interested in his mother in this part of the country
who would consider marrying a Mexican woman.”
“I can see why he would want to take her where she can move
more freely,” Ocee observed.


Intergroup Relations 79
Grant and Ocee found Big Ben and his mother deeply en-
grossed in books and papers. “Benito helps me,” Mrs. Jackson
proudly explained to her son's employers. “Soon I–no, we will
have earned my high school diploma by correspondence.”
“Now, Madre, I don't...” Big Ben began.
“Benito” his mother interrupted. “The gentlemen have come
to talk about business, not my academic accomplishments! If you
would care to sit here, I will take the books away.” And the men
seated themselves around the large oval dining table. Within mo-
ments, it seemed, Mrs. Jackson had replaced the books with cups
of coffee and a tray of fruit-filled cookies, and disappeared into
the living room.
“Yes, I think of two men immediately, Mr. Travis, who could
handle promotion and responsibility,” Big Ben responded to
Grant's question. “There's Sandy Manning and Jack Roberts. Both
of them are good men, and would make good drillers and tool
pushers.” r
“Jack Roberts? I haven't had an opportunity to observe him
very much. How does he get along with the men?”
“He’s good. Men like him, respect him.”
“Seems to me I heard that Manning gambles heavily.”
“Roberts doesn't. Of that I can assure you.”
“Good. Then that is settled. Now, Big Ben, here's what I have
in mind. I'd like to have you work all over the field as my assistant.
Would you be interested in learning to fly the helicopter and the
plane, and working directly with me?”
“Great! Thank you!” And simultaneously he and Ocee and
Grant extended their hands to seal the arrangement.
The day after Ocee employed a bookkeeper and stenographer,
both Mexican-Americans, a delegation of the office employees
came in to see him. The spokesman of the group said, “We can't
stand for this sort of thing down here, Mr. McRae. Mexicans are
all right in their place, just like Negroes, but we won't stand for
any mixing !”
Ocee politely listened to the grievance, then rose to stand near
his desk as he addressed the group. “Here at Tramco we are run-


80 Ocee McRae, Texas
ning a business—not a social club. And if any one of our employ-
ees has false notions about the nature of this organization, we
will reluctantly have to accept his resignation. We're going to put
people in jobs where they will fit best, and where their employ-
ment will be in the best interests of the company. It so happens
that Pasquale Aguilar and Rosa Bustamente are the best qualified
bookkeeper and stenographer I could find. They are both business
college graduates, with experience. Now if any of you here know
of a white young man or woman who is as well qualified for the
jobs as these people are, have them here at eight o'clock tomorrow
morning. But be very sure that they are good! What I am looking
for are a bookkeeper and a secretary—not a white skinſ’’
Then he looked over the delegation as he said, “That's fair
enough, isn't it? Any other objections?”
They shook their heads uncertainly, and departed. The next
morning at eight o'clock, members of the delegation were back on
their jobs, busily working, and with no substitute white applicants
for the Mexicans' jobs. Thus ended the miniature “insurrection.”
It was not quite two weeks after this incident that a white
woman clerk who had been a member of the delegation came to
see Ocee. After several seconds of awkward attempts, she finally
blurted out, “Mr. McRae, there is something special I want to
say to you, please, if you don't mind....”
“Why, of course, Mrs. Coleman.” Ocee smiled at her. “What
can I do for you?”
“Well, it's about that time we came to see you about the Mexi-
cans.”
Ocee bristled internally, wondering what was coming next. He
thought the matter was over and done with, but the thirty-nine-
year-old woman continued, “We were a little hasty, Mr. McRae,
and after we got to thinking it over, why we decided to send some-
body in to tell you we are sorry. So they picked me. Especially since
the Tirabuzon Hotel and the Fair Department Store and the Court
House are hiring Mexican clerks since you started it. Personally,”
she went on, “I always did say the Mexicans are all right as long
as they stay in their place.” She stopped, somewhat confused, and
then began to walk backward toward the door.


Intergroup Relations 81
“Well, that's very nice of you, Mrs. Coleman, and if you will
stay a moment, I’d like to have you take back a word to the group
for me. You tell them that everything is all right, and that I am
very pleased with the way they have accepted our employment pol-
icy, our new employees, and our merit promotion system. You
might as well spread the word also that there will be a 5 percent
increase in everybody's envelope this payday.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. McRae! Thank you, sir. Thank you!”
And the woman was so excited she stumbled over the wastebasket
and almost fell in her haste to spread the good news.
“... I didn't come back to Texas to champion the cause of the
Mexican,” Ocee was overheard explaining his employment policy
to fellow members at the Pecos Valley Country Club in Tirabuzon.
Grant had been instrumental in having him admitted to member-
ship shortly after they became partners. “All we're concerned
about at Tramco–that's the Travis-McRae Oil Company, gentle-
men—is seeing that we get the right people in the right jobs, be-
cause Tramco is in business to make money. It's as simple as
that l” he finished as the friendly little group around him applauded.
“You tell 'em, McRael” shouted Felton Brewster, manager of
the Fair Department Store, “and while you are telling it, let us
in on the Travis-McRae formula for making money. You two
fellows must have a monoply on all the rabbits’ feet in southwest
Texas ſ”
“Not all of them,” bantered Ocee, “but we're working on it!”
It was a beautiful, balmy day in February, Ocee's first winter
in Texas, and he was talking to Big Ben. “I grew up in the cold
country, Big Ben,” Ocee laughed, “but I don't think I'd ever want
to spend another winter in Iowa or Minnesota. I liked it in Ha-
waii. . . .”
“Were you in Hawaii, too, Mr. McRae?” Big Ben asked.
“Yes, nine and half months. You there, too?”
“Yes, in coming from the Philippines. We spent about eight
weeks in Honolulu. Boy, oh boy! I didn't want to come back to
the States. That's one place in the United States of America
where a man's a man.”


82 Ocee McRae, Texas
“Yes, I can understand how it must have been with you. So
you were in the service; Army?” And the men went on to talk
about their war experiences. Ocee discovered that Big Ben's father
had been a regimental sergeant major, like his own father. And
that started them off in real earnest. At length, Ocee asked, “How
old are you, Big Ben?”
“Twenty-eight the Fourth of July coming.”
“Say! You're an Independence baby!” And they both laughed.
“Why haven't you married?” Ocee inquired.
“I could ask you the same question, Mr. McRae. You are older
than I am, aren't you?”
“I’ll be thirty-one this coming August.”
“Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Mc...”
“Call me Ocee, Big Ben,” Ocee interrupted. “I consider you
a man, and think of you as a friend.” Ocee waited while Big Ben
digested this.
Then the big broad smile broke, revealing his unusually fine,
even teeth, and he said softly, “Thank you, Ocee. You are all
man!” And, shifting his position, he continued. “But you asked me
a question, why I didn't get married. Well, I'll tell you. I have
plans, big plans. I want to get rich, get a pile of money, clean
money—oil wells or something. Then I'll take my mother and go
North. When I get there, I want to go to college, a university
maybe, and make a gentleman out of myself. Get me some educa-
tion and get me some couth.”
Ocee laughed aloud at this. “What’s ‘couth’?”
“You know, it's what you haven't got that makes you uncouth P’
Big Ben explained seriously, then waited indulgently until Ocee's
wave of amusement passed, and he resumed. “I want to be a col-
lege graduate, then I want to go in business—not only to make
more money. I want to make that down here. But I want to have
something to do to keep busy and to give colored people jobs, like
you do, Mr. ... I mean, Ocee.”
Ocee nodded, understanding.
“Then maybe I'll go into politics and be a congressman or
something.”


Intergroup Relations 83
Ocee did not laugh. He knew that there were Negro congress-
men already—from Michigan, Illinois, New York. And, looking
at Big Ben, he said, “If another Negro enters Congress fifteen
years from today, it might very well be you, Big Ben. But at the
rate you are going, it will take a lifetime to make the kind of
money you are aiming at.”
They were quiet a few moments.
“How much have you got saved up now?” Ocee asked.
Big Ben looked at Ocee. The ancient, well-taught thoroughly
ingrained lessons from both his father and mother and all the
colored adults who had instructed him that he should never tell
a white man his business now stilled his tongue. Even in the
presence of a white man upon whom he looked as a friend, he
could not speak with complete confidence. He looked at Ocee
again, and decided he could risk going at least halfway with this
unquestionably decent white man. Actually, he had exactly
$5,870.85 in three different banks. So he lopped off three thousand,
and said, “I’ve got $2,870.85 so far in the bank. Why?”
“Just thinking,” said Ocee. “What do you mean by a pile of
money, anyway? How much?”
“Oh, about $250,000, maybe,” Big Ben replied.
“A quarter of a million | Well! That is a pile!”
“That's nothing, compared to, well, compared to your money
and holdings in Tramco, Mr. ... I mean Ocee, or to, some of the
fortunes around here. Oh, I know that only a small number of
people can make that kind of money, but I want to be one of
them ſ”
“Big Ben, the way to make money—real money, that is—is to
invest, speculate, buy stocks, then know when to sell, and sell at
a profit.”
“I thought you bought stocks so you could get the interest on
them.”
“You mean dividends, don't you?”
“That's it, dividends.”
“No, it isn't quite that way, Big Ben. We do it the way the
merchant does with his merchandise—buy only to sell later at a


84 Ocee McRae, Texas
profit. That's the way money is made. You probably are thinking
about bonds. That's a different thing entirely, and someday I'll
tell you about bonds. Of course, I don't know too much about the
stock market myself, but we have a friend who is a stockbroker,
and he knows all about these things. He advises us how long to
hold on to a stock, when to sell. Remember, these are purely specu-
lative securities I am talking about.”
“Well,” grinned Big Ben, “I just never thought of myself or
even dreamed of being a stockholder.”
“How else did you expect to make the kind of big money you
want, then?”
“I sort of figured maybe I could save my money, then find
somebody to go into partnership with on an oil deal, the way you
and Mr. Travis are making it.”
“I'm afraid you would find it tough getting in the oil business
that way,” Ocee said soberly. He knew that about the only way a
colored man could make money out of oil would be to own some
land on which there was oil, and to sell the leases at a stiff figure.
Aloud he continued, “This is by far the quickest way to make a
killing, if you have the nerve to take the plunge. There are chemi-
cals stocks, for example, that I'm thinking about, on which Grant
and I made over 500 per cent profit last quarter, and ...”
“Five hundred per cent! Why, that's an awful lot of money to
make! You were right. A man can't make the real big money,
that kind of a profit, working for it.”
“Very true, Big Ben. Even a highly paid business executive,
earning one hundred thousand dollars a year salary, could never
save half a million dollars working, although he would earn a
million in ten years. He would have to pay much more than half
of that big salary in taxes to Uncle Sam. No, the way to do it is
to invest—invest in stocks, business ventures, and so on. Right
now there is a big drought up in the Panhandle, and the cattle are
dying of thirst. Well, there's a fellow who is making hundreds of
thousands by going out there, buying up cattle dirt cheap, butcher-
ing them, running refrigerator express freight cars in, and hauling
the beef to processing points where the meat is inspected and dis-
tributed. Grant and I have an interest in it. The fellow needed


Intergroup Relations 85
some capital and came to us. We let him have ten thousand dol-
lars, and in less than six months we had cleared over fifty thous-
and dollars on our investment. You can't beat that, can you? And
that man is making a fortune out of the deal for himself, too.”
Then Ocee went on to give Big Ben a short account of other deals
in which the Travis-McRae Oil Company had had a part.
Big Ben listened with mounting interest to Ocee's description
of high finance. He was able to follow a great deal of what Ocee
said, but, as Ocee had told him, a man had to have knowledge and
experience and training in business to understand the intricacies
and ramifications of investments. “That's one reason why I want
to go to college and study business, Ocee,” he said. “I'd like to
know all I can about that sort of thing, so that I can make money
for myself, and be in a position to help my people make money,
too. There's an awful lot of money in this country, but, although
Negroes literally work themselves to death, they have only a very
small fraction of the wealth in America.”
“You’ve got something there, Big Ben. When you get right
down to it, there's not a building or an industry in the South in
which Negroes haven't just about done the hardest work of con-
struction. But the trouble is that for the most part, Big Ben, Negro
labor is unskilled labor. And that comes cheap. Same thing with the
Mexicans. If you want the Negroes to get ahead in the world, you
have to see that they learn some skills. Skilled labor is what com-
mands the big money.”
“There's only one drawback, Ocee. What you say is true, but
there are some Negroes who do have the skills but who can't get
jobs, on account of discrimination. No matter how skilled a Negro
girl could be in stenography and office work, she couldn't get a
job in your office using her skills. You wouldn't dare hire her the
way you hired that Mexican girl, unless you wanted the Ku Klux
Klan to burn you out, and maybe worse. They might even mob the
girl, kill her maybe. And you know that to be true, don't you?”
Ocee pondered this new aspect of the situation. That Mexican
girl, Rosa Bustamente, had been brought into the office as steno-
grapher; and the fellow, Pasquale Aguilar, as bookkeeper. And,
although there had been some grumbling, it was quickly silenced.


Intergroup Relations 89
just make yourself at home, because my home will be your home
as long as I live. Mother will look after you. Hotels are fine, but
nothing like a home. God bless you and yours....”
“Vaya con Dios,” Ocee said, gripping Big Ben's hands as they
parted.
And Ocee thought of Juanita. He had not been to Monterrey
for over two weeks because of the pressure of work, but his
thoughts had been with her constantly. After bidding Big Ben
good-bye, he impulsively called her.
“What would you say to our having a party when I come
down this weekend, querida” he asked. “I was just thinking that
if I were to order them tomorrow, I could bring down some
Texas steaks and we could have an outdoors charcoal-broiled
steak dinner with you and Francisco and Jaimie and the others.
What would you say to that?”
“Wonderful! The last few days have been especially delight-
ful—the weather's just perfect. And if you could manage to
arrive at the airport at about three, Francisco could meet you.
Oh! I am so glad you are coming !”
The plans went according to schedule, with everyone enjoying
the prime biftec immensely. They drifted back into Juanita's
living room in the early evening, where Ocee and the men dis-
cussed the state of the world as they relaxed over their drinks.
“Nice friends we have,” Ocee remarked to Juanita after the
guests and Francisco left. “I like them, but I enjoy them most
when we are alone—just you and I,” he added, as he helped her
stack the ash trays and glasses on the tray she held. He nuzzled
his cheek against her silken face. “You are cute, and you smell
nice too, my little gringisima,” he teased. And Juanita laughed
her tinkling laugh at his banter. “You know, honey, I've been
more close to happiness since I’ve known you and been tasting
real home life than I’ve been in all of my adult life. Ever,” he
told her, as she started to say something. “Yes, that's right. It's
so restful being with you. You are a lovely girl, Juanita. You
make a man happy.”


92 Ocee McRae, Texas
Juanita rejoined them to comment on the point Ocee had
raised. “That may be a factor, Ocee,” she said. “We Latins are
entirely too mercurial, too hasty, hot headed, rash. We, that is,
our men, do not think before we act. Whereas you Norteameri-
canos will meet, get together, discuss and arbitrate your differences
through use of the intellect, our men resort to force and violence,
to fighting, war, and bloodshed, which never really settle any-
thing, because neither side really wins in the long run. These
things I once heard a United States statesman say.”
Francisco turned to his sister. “Hermana mía, when you put
it that way, you seem to be giving support to the feelings of super-
iority many people in the United States have toward Mexicans.
I think it all goes back to the patterns of exploitation,” he said
to Ocee, “exploitation of the poor by the rich, of the weak by the
strong, of the disadvantaged by the advantaged.”
“I still can’t understand,” Ocee contended. “You will find that
type of exploitation in every country. Mexico is not at all unique
in that respect,” he insisted.
“True. In the majority of the countries of the world, we see
a very small upper privileged class, and a very large lower, im-
poverished class—in India, China, and in many of our Latin-
American countries. In the United States, by contrast, you have
a large middle class, with relatively small proportions of the
people either extremely rich or extremely poor. Now I know
exactly what you are thinking—why hasn't a large middle class
developed here in Mexico?”
“What I am wondering is why it has taken so much shorter
a span of time to effect this economic realignment in the United
States,” Ocee defined his position.
“Here I can draw on my American education,” Juanita said.
“One of the most significant ideas I recognized in the thinking
of the United States—in political campaigns, in the acts of the
Congress, even in the newspapers—was the belief in the worth
of the individual, regardless of his socioecenomic status. It means
that the vote is extended to everyone—from the poorest to the
richest, and from the illiterate to the most highly educated. In
contrast, in many of the backward nations of the world, including


C H A P T E R V I
Water Politics
“MR. McRAE,” Miss Bustamente, Ocee's secretary, approached
him moments after he entered the office, “little Ralph Benning
died last night.”
“Oh, I am so sorry.”
“And we have heard of several other employees whose chil-
dren are sick. In fact, Mr. Smith, the control clerk, called in right
after eight o'clock to say he couldn't come to work because his
wife and three of their children are sick.”
Ocee made a number of telephone calls, and then left word with
his secretary that he would be first at the County Health Depart-
ment, and later could be reached at the hotel, where he had ar-
ranged to have a luncheon meeting with business associates and
friends.
“The facts are,” Ocee explained to the little group after lunch,
“that sewerage contamination renders the water of the Pecos and
the Tirabuzon rivers unfit for human consumption without treat-
ment. During the late summer months many—a majority, in fact
—of our poorer residents in Hernando County find their shallow
wells dry, and therefore resort to using the raw, unsafe river
water. The results we are all familiar with: outbreaks of gastro-
enteritis. That is what the Health Department calls it.”
“I can't understand why those people will insist on using that
water when they know from experience what the consequences will
be,” said Jim Manley, a druggist.
Amid rumblings of general agreement with the criticism, Ran-
dall raised his voice. “I’m a much older man than you are, Manley,
and perhaps I came from a more humble background than you


Water Politics 95
do, so I can understand. The reason is economic. It's as simple as
that. The people using raw river water have no alternativel”
“Well, that may be true for some of the families that live in
remote areas of the county, but it certainly isn't an adequate excuse
for those who live near the city's water lines,” Manley maintained.
Ray Higgins, the district's representative to the state legisla-
ture, and local real estate agent when the legislature was not in
session, came to Manley's support. “So-called public-minded citi-
zens, such as Randall here, and now you, McRae,” he said, “have
tried to pressure me every year about this water situation. But I
am still of the opinion that anyone who is sufficiently industrious
does have alternatives to using the ‘raw' river water, as you call it.
You never will convince me that anybody has to drink dirty water
if he doesn't want to And I’ve won re-election to the legislature
four times with that position, so I'm not alone in thinking so!”
At this the argument became heated, and it was difficult for
Attorney Nunnally to make himself heard. “Yes, everybody has
alternatives, but let's look at them: 1. He could try to rent or buy
a house supplied with city water. Or...”
“Most of the people affected by this situation couldn't afford
such a house—that's why they're living where they are!” Grant
interjected.
“They could, if they wanted to " Manley protested. “You just
look at some of the cars those Negroes and Mexicans are driving,
and then you'll think twice before saying they can't afford to move
from those shacks!”
“There is just one factor you are ignoring, Manley,” Ocee
said. “I’ve personally talked with a score of those very people, and
to a man they have told me they would much rather have a better
home, but because of residential discrimination they can't buy the
homes you'd have them live in 1” And turning to Higgins, Ocee
asked, “Which one of those houses over on Pipeline Drive—or any
other street that has a water main—would the owner agree to your
selling to a Mexican or a Negro?”
“Oh, so now you're putting this on a racial basis” the repre-
sentative flared.
“Not at all. I brought that out to emphasize the economics of


Water Politics 97
is just the group to do it. The job is cut out for us if we will only
do it.”
“Don’t look at me!” Randall said. “I am only the vice-presi-
dent. Dickerson has been laid up for almost six months now with
that heart of his, and he hasn't been very active as president.”
“Well, you are vice-president,” Ocee pointed out. “You have
the responsibility of carrying on in the absence of the president,
haven't you?”
“Up to a point, yes,” Randall admitted, “but there is that
point!”
At this juncture, Bill Fletcher, of the Tirabuzon Wholesale
Grocery Distributors, joined in. “McRae is right, fellows. Two of
my drivers are at this very minute in the hospital with enteritis—
two of my very best men, too. What do you say we have a call
meeting of the Chamber of Commerce tomorrow night?”
“Make it the next night,” Grant suggested, “I have to go to
San Angelo tomorrow on business, and I might not get back in
time.”
“Well, what about it, gentlemen?” Randall asked the group.
“Everybody agreed?” And, looking at the nodding heads, he an-
nounced, “All right. Call a meeting for Friday night at eight
o'clock in the same place at the hotel. I will send the notices out
myself tonight.”
At the Chamber of Commerce meeting on Friday night, dis-
cussion and debate on the water situation became rather heated
as Ocee pounded away at the inaction which was responsible for
the current disastrous epidemic. “I think, gentlemen,” he impas-
sionedly explained, “that the contamination of the water supply
which resulted in these illnesses and deaths could be easily stopped
by a plan I have in mind.”
“Let’s hear your planſ” shouted two or three members in
unison.
“Well, for one thing we could set up a Hernando County
Water Authority that would zealously supervise water purification
processes and look into the sewerage problem for not only Tira-
buzon, but for the six other major communities in the county. In


98 Ocee McRae, Texas
other words, we could make it a cooperative enterprise, since it
would be too much for Tirabuzon alone to handle.”
“What do you have in mind for this Water Authority of yours
to do, McRae? Explain your plan.”
“The Water Authority would handle the construction of a
county-wide sewerage system, which would call for a trunk line
from below Tirabuzon to Palm City, up the Pecos River to Lake
Liano Road, with a branch-off at Little Bend, and one up the Tira-
buzon River to Mendota's city limits on the south. A spur could
run through McKissick and Bonanza to the Madera City limits,
with the treatment plant located on the Pecos River, just south of
Palm City...”
“Where is the money coming from to do all this?"interrupted
Randall.
“The Water Authority would be empowered to issue $1,500,000
in bonds to finance the system.” Ocee had his answer ready. His
suggestion was at first received with impressive silence by the
group, who looked at one another significantly, nodding their heads.
Finally Randall said, “You have given this an awful lot of thought,
haven't you, McRae? You must have spent quite a lot of time
working out the details of such a plan.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I did,” Ocee admitted. “I feel per-
sonally involved, what with so many of Tramco's employees af-
fected. My partner and I have discussed this situation on several
occasions, so when this outbreak developed, it was with his support
that I devoted so much time to interviewing officials of the Health
Department, engineers, and the people who would benefit directly
from such a project. Of course, we could easily get sanitary en-
gineers to work out the details of the plan—in fact, the outline I
have just given you would undoubtedly have to be changed in the
light of expert advice. But it's an idea anyway, and I wanted to
put it before you, because I think that many of you, too, would
like to see something constructive done, and done quickly.”
After a few moments of apparent silent indecision, three or
four members were seen to leave their seats and hurriedly confer
with Randall, who in turn whispered animatedly to certain others
in the group, at the end of which activity Bill Fletcher rose to be


Water Politics 99
recognized. “Mr. Chairman,” he said, “if I am in order, I would
like to nominate for the vacancy created by the resignation last
night of Joe Dickerson as president of the Hernando Valley
Chamber of Commerce, Ocee McRael”
Cheers and applause rocked the room. The chairman put down
his gavel and permitted the rousing ovation. As the demonstration
subsided, he announced, “This is somewhat irregular, of course.
But Joe Dickerson did tender his resignation, on account of illness.
Therefore, it will be in order to fill his unexpired term in this
manner. And I ask the question, is there a second to the motion?”
There were several seconds. The chairman resumed, “It has
been duly moved and seconded that Ocee McRae be elected presi-
dent of this body. Are you ready for the question?”
There was a chorus of “Questionſ”
“All in favor say ‘Aye.’”
And the “Ayes” thundered a unanimous roar of approval.
“Those opposed,” boomed the voice of the chairman over the
uproar, but no one paid any attention to him, as everyone was
thumping Ocee and everyone else on the back and shaking hands
all around. The chairman adjourned the meeting for the social
session that followed.
Ocee was formally inducted into his new office as president of
the Chamber of Commerce the very next week, and began imme-
diately to appoint and work with committees assigned to alleviat-
ing the emergency. They raised funds to finance a “Water Pool,”
providing drinking water to all workers unable to buy it. They
distributed thousands of pamphlets printed in English and Spanish
instructing residents concerning the dangers of “raw” water, and
suggesting precautions to be taken to avoid contracting water-borne
diseases. They enlisted the aid of the Red Cross and welfare
agencies in providing hospitalization and emergency treatment for
enteritis cases among needy families.
The crisis passed, scattered rainfall came to relieve the water
situation, and Ocee was hailed for his effective leadership and
organizational skill in meeting the emergency with action. He was
given a citation by the Mayor at a Chamber of Commerce appre-
ciation banquet arranged by the small core of the most genuinely


100 Ocee McRae, Texas
public-spirited citizens: Randall, Grant, Fletcher, Attorney Nun-
nally, Felton Brewster, and Michael Shaughnessy.
This small group of men formed the nucleus of a committee
which emerged within the next few weeks as spokesmen for the
people who had directly benefited from the measures taken to meet
the emergency. They were joined by a Catholic priest, Father
Pedro Rosario, and a Methodist minister, Reverend Eli Bennett,
who urged that pressure be brought to bear on Rayburn Higgins
to initiate legislation the following session to provide the sewer-
age disposal system for which Ocee had formulated plans.
“Father Rosario, Reverend Bennett, with all due respect for
your suggestion, we already know how Higgins stands on this
matter, and I think to approach him would be an absolute waste
of time,” Grant told them at the first meeting of the nucleus group.
“I hesitate to sound cynical, gentlemen,” Randall took up the
discussion, “but Higgins and his position have a great deal of
support in this community.”
“But we saw how the community rose to meet the recent water
emergency—you couldn't have asked for more wholehearted co-
operationſ” the Reverend Bennett said.
Randall continued, “I’ve lived a long time, and I think I un-
derstand people fairly well even though I may not have as much
education as our brothers of the cloth, or you, Grant. And of this
I'm certain: Everyone has enough of the “do-gooder’ in him to
want to help out in an emergency such as we have just gone
through. But when it comes to rationally acting to prevent a re-
currence of such a situaiton, they just won't do it—especially
when it means taking money out of their pockets over a long
period of time.”
“There is another thing we have to think about,” Brewster
said. “The majority of the voters here, the very people who keep
Higgins in office, really don't feel any need for changing the
status quo. They have their water. Now, if the poorer people could
all vote, maybe we could replace Higgins with a representative
who would work in their interests.”
“Then what you are saying,” the priest summarized, “is that


Water Politics 101
we can't hope to put Mr. McRae's proposal into operation, is that
it?”
“Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that it's beyond the
realm of possibility, Father,” Brewster said. “What I think we
are doing, however, is trying to specify the obstacles in the way
of its development.”
The men fell to vigorous speculation as to how their long-
range objectives could be accomplished, and as the night wore on
they realized they had reached an impasse.
“I suggest we all give this more thought, and as soon as any
of us come up with a workable idea we get together again to dis-
cuss it,” Ocee said, and the little group agreed.
The Christmas holiday season was soon upon them, preoccupy-
ing everyone's thoughts and time. But early in the new year,
several of the men would gather at lunch, at someone's home, over
a beer, or just on the street as they would meet, and their desire
to forestall another epidemic the next summer would be reflected
in their conversations.
“As I see it,” Fletcher told Grant on one such occasion, “Ocee
is the only man who could put this plan over. If we could prevail
on him to run against Higgins . . .”
“He has the personality for it all right,” Grant responded
thoughtfully to the suggestion. “But I don't know.... Why don't
we get the group together over at my house soon and work on
the idea?”
They all did meet the following Saturday. Ocee was pleased
at the general enthusiasm for Fletcher's suggestion. “But,” he
told the men, “I can’t see how I could convince the voters to do
anything they don't want to do, especially when I would be run-
ning against a man who promises them he will do exactly what
they want—which is nothing on this issue, of course!”
Father Rosario entered the discussion. “I can see your point,
Mr. McRae. But it occurs to me that you could win support for
your own candidacy on other grounds. For instance, if I were a
politician, I would establish as my platform the extension of the
vote. This has always been one of my major concerns, because


104 Ocee McRae, Texas
clientele will always seek him out! In fact, knowing as I do how
he operates, I’d wager he will use the fact that he has run for
public office—regardless of the circumstances or outcome—to
his advantage. He's that kind of guy.”
New enthusiasm was infused into the group as they concen-
trated on mapping the details of their strategy, and within the
following weeks a plan of action emerged, with Oscar Rideout,
listed as “Independent,” entered in the race against Higgins at
the same time Ocee filed.
Randall and Fletcher had volunteered to handle the advance
publicity for Ocee's campaign, including a brief biographical
sketch about him to be given the local papers.
“What do you think of this?” Fletcher asked, as he handed
Randall the draft of the sketch, which read:
FULL NAME: Oliver Cromwell McRae
AGE: 32
BIRTHPLACE: Fort Bliss, Texas
RESIDENCE: 2 years in County and District
EDUCATION: High school graduation, plus
Army Leadership School certificate
Army Communications School certificate
Army Criminal Investigation Department School certifi-
Cate
Army Administrative School certificate
BUSINEss: Vice-president and Treasurer of the Travis-McRae
Oil Company, Tirabuzon
PREVIOUS PUBLIC of FICE: None
RELATIVES IN PUBLIC OFFICE: None
BENEFITs: Willingness and determination to do a good job.
Will work hard to serve the people of the District and
State. Courage to treat all people courteously, fairly, and
impartially. Young, in excellent health, and strong enough
to serve the people long and faithfully with energy and
zeal. Will make a public official who is independent in
his thinking, conscientious in his actions, and who has
the welfare of the people of his constituency foremost
in his thoughts.
“Looks good to me,” Randall said after reading it. “Couldn't
we include something about his being president of the Chamber
of Commerce, though?”


Water Politics 105
“Sure! That's a good idea. Here,” and he wrote an addition
to the sketch. Randall read:
PREVIOUS PUBLIC office: None, but president of the Hern-
ando Valley Chamber of Commerce.
“Now! That's just the touch it needed !” Randall gave the
draft his approval. “After it appears in the papers, we might
decide to have handbills printed and distributed.”
Ocee had been writing Juanita about his projected campaign
for the legislature, promising weekly that he would positively
take off the next weekend to visit her, but each Friday he found
himself so involved he had to call her postponing the trip until
the following week. He did manage to leave, however, immedi-
ately after filing, pleading he needed the rest before beginning the
actual campaigning.
“Querida,” he told her, “I decided that, after calling so many
times to cancel our plans, this time I would call to confirm them l”
“Ah! Francisco and I and all our friends are so anxious to
hear your campaign plans. We will expect you early in the after-
noon, then, and you can tell them ſ” Juanita cried expectantly.
Ocee was pleasantly surprised on landing at the little private
field near Monterrey to be greeted by a host of the friends he
had made on his many visits to the home of Juanita and Francisco.
In their demonstrative Latin way, they made him feel like a
conquering hero even before the battle had begun. As he went
with them from the airport to Juanita's home, his attention was
directed to an impressive window display in a store featuring
washing machines by an illuminated sign that read: Más tiempo
para el amor—“More time for love!”
“I think I should get you one of those machines today, querida
mía,” Ocee declared. And the jolly banter that followed his teasing
accompanied them all the way to the house. Once there, however,
he was bombarded with hundreds of questions about the campaign,
some of which he laughingly and jokingly answered, trying to
play down his role in the campaign, but sometimes he grew serious,
discussing the basic issues.
“If you can say there is one major issue, it is to do something


Water Politics 107
Mexicans ! And we have coursing through our veins the finest
blood...”
“I do not forget our proud ancestry, hermano mío. But in
America I am a Mexican, and Americans do not think like other
people....”
“The gringisima does! And so do many Americans.”
“Yes, Francisco, you are right; there are exceptions, and
those exceptions but prove the rule. I do not propose to jeopardize
Ocee's political future by marrying him ſ”
“This is insane! Such a thing is not right! I want Ocee as my
brother-in-law I demand that you ...”
But Juanita did not let him finish his outburst. “Shush, herm-
ano! I know you love your little sister dearly, and I love you,
too, for saying that. But we live in a very coldly realistic world.
White Americans look down on Mexicans. I would be ostracized.
Ocee would suffer. That I cannot have.”
“You women are peculiar persons. So you love the man so
much that you refuse to marry him 1 I ask you, hermanita, what
kind of sense does that make?”
“Francisco, let me tell you what I have secretly decided. If
Ocee does not win the election, I shall most seriously consider
marriage with him. But if he wins it, and of a certainly he will,
I shall not marry him. Francisco, I love him too much....” And
she gave way to the flood of tears within her, as her brother
tried to comfort her, patting her on the head, awkwardly trying
to assure her thct he was not angry. He whispered, “Nuestro Padre
en el cielo—Our Father in Heaven, He will help, hermanita mía.”
“Since we last talked over the campaign plan,” Ocee told the
strategy committee, “I’ve compiled a list of some of the aspira-
tions voiced by local citizens—improvements they would like to
see in our district, and which are appropriate campaign topics.”
“Good man, Ocee,” Randall said. “But before we get into
that discussion, Shaughnessy has to leave early, so if it's okay
with you, let's have him tell us, and Rideout, here, what he has
in mind.”
“Rideout's prime objective at all times will be to make his
racist position ridiculously offensive to as many voters as pos-


108 Ocee McRae, Texas
sible,” Shaughnessy began. “Lambast not only Mexicans and
Negroes, Rideout, but also Jews and Catholics and poor white
trash, always lumping them together. You will be sure to antag-
onize your audience, even though they may have no active sym-
pathies for the disfranchised segments of our population. Tell
them that you personally know that God is a white man just like
yourself, just like themselves, and then go on to say that there's
nothing to all this talk about Negroes and Mexicans being made in
the image of God.” Shaughnessy stopped momentarily to cross
himself, bowing his head, as Father Rosario coughed and blew
his nose loudly. “But, as we agreed earlier, we must keep our
objective in mind.” Directing himself to Ocee, he continued, “Mr.
McRae, I suggest you concentrate on the voting. Make your re-
buttals to these racist arguments as straight-to-the-mark as pos-
sible. Hammer away at the idea that if any one group is denied the
vote, every other group is in danger of being the next to be dis-
franchised. Tell them that the more people there are who can
vote the better the government, emphasizing, for the benefit of
the more thoughtful of your audiences, that newly enfranchised
voters will support the demands of the voters who extended the
ballot, adding strength and weight to their side in all subsequent
elections.”
“And this is where I could bring in all these ideas I’ve col-
lected—like additional air and rail service, increased school ap-
propriations, road improvements, and, of course, the water and
sewerage projects,” Ocee said.
“Precisely,” the priest agreed. “Keep your speeches centered
around the needs of the people.”
Rideout was thoroughly in the spirit of the intrigue now, and
his mind was awhirl with ideas even more scurrilous than any the
group could produce. “We’ve got to get in this intermarriage
hoax—now, that's dynamite! Why, I could accuse McRae of ad-
vocating intermarriage every time the matter of equal rights to
the ballot comes up!”
Brewster contributed, “Rideout, you tell them that you don't
believe in intermarriage, no sir! But then, in keeping with this
design of offending your audiences, you say that you stand for the


Water Politics 109
right of white men to have fun with Mexican and Negro women
—but never to marry them! That will burn them up! Even those
who agree with you will think you are going a bit too far in thus
offending the public morals and decency by saying things that
everyone knows and lots of them condone, but are not considered
quite the things to say in public.”
And so the campaign started. Ocee's schedule of appearances
was made up by the committee, whereas Rideout's program called
for a series of ostensibly impromptu meetings at which he would
establish his position, with subsequent appearances to be arranged
as opportunities presented themselves or as he was able to create
them. Rideout confidently assured the committee he would cover
the district thoroughly, suggesting he be compensated in propor-
tion to the number of speeches he made. They set a figure for
each appearance.
“That's in addition to expenses, of course,” Rideout drove his
bargain.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is Styles Smith with
the eight o'clock news,” the commentator began his nightly broad-
cast. “With the primary election less than a week away, the politi-
cal scene in the 144th District, especially in the immediate
environs of Tirabuzon, presents greater personality contrasts and
clearer delineation of issues than have been evident in local cam-
paigns in this reporter's memory. The interest centers on the three-
way race for the seat in the state legislature from this district,
where the incumbent, the Honorable Rayburn Higgins, is being
challenged by two relatively new stars on the political horizon. As
I have reported to you during the past weeks, the campaign of
Oscar Rideout has degenerated into a mad, irrational fiasco. As
one voter expressed it today, ‘I don't think anyone is taking him
seriously any more. But a lot of us go on out to hear him, just like
we would go to a circus to see a flame-eater l’ The two serious
candidates who have emerged are, of course, Representative Hig-
gins and Ocee McRae. However, more and more voters are asking
themselves, ‘What is Higgins for, anyway?” In the face of Ocee
McRae's keen political sense, Higgins' double-talk on the water


110 Ocee McRae, Texas
and sewerage issues, and his reluctance to take a stand on the
matter of revising voter registration laws apparently have weak-
ened his support....” Grant turned the radio off.
“Yes sir,” he said to Brenda, “I’m mighty proud of Ocee!”
“Understandably, dear.” His wife smiled. “And his winning
so much popular favor reflects on your good judgment in taking
him in as your partner, you know. So you have a right to bask in
his glory! When Mother called today, she said Helen is following
Ocee's campaign with great interest, too. Grant, do you think he is
in love with Juanita?”
“I guess so, why?”
“Well, I was just thinking. Remember how we met?”
Grant nodded. “Vaguely ... No, not exactly.”
“Oh, Grant! You do too ! Don't you remember when you es-
corted that little girl from San Marcos with you to a Tri Delt
dance? You weren't much of a dancer, so you just stood on the
sidelines drinking punch and eating cookies. And was she furious!
So she told me to fill a pitcher with punch, and I took it to you.
Don't you remember?”
“Oh, sure! It was good punch.”
“Not that! Don't you remember that was when you first no-
ticed me—as a woman, that is?”
“I did? Well! So how does that have any connection with
Juanita or Helen... ?”
“Grant, you are teasing me! But I'll tell you what occurred to
me. If, after Ocee is elected, we could have a party and Helen
could be here, well, maybe...”
Grant put his arms around his wife, kissing her. “You match-
making women! Well, we'll see....”
The international telephone service was so efficient that Ocee
was able to reach Juanita from wherever his campaigning took him
as readily as if she had been in the United States. So, as the cam-
pain progressed, he found himself calling her frequently, not only
to report on his experiences, but to keep asking, “And have you
come to your senses about marrying me yet?”
Her replies were ever some variation of, “Ah, querido, I am


114 Ocee McRae, Texas
“I have to do what I believe is right,” she sobbed against his
chest, “I have to live with myself.... I love you, and will ever
love you. I want you to continue coming to me. But we can never
marry. We can never have children. We could not marry in the
Church....”
“We would not have to marry in the Church,” Ocee tried to
tell her. “We could be married, well, at home by a minister, or get
a license any where and be married by the alcalde....”
“No, no, no. You do not mean that l” she cried. “That I could
not do.” And she looked up at him with an expression akin to
horror at the very suggestion of marriage outside the Church.
Ocee was shocked at her vehemence. He stood up and held
Juanita upright. “We do not have to get married today, my dear
girl,” he said. “I’m not much of a churchgoing man, but I respect
your convictions. I know there is such a thing as getting a dispen-
sation or release from marriage, even within the Church. So will
you promise me that before I come back week after next, you will
go to your padre and tell him about what your husband did? I am
sure that no priest—no church—would want you to be punished
the rest of your life for what your husband has done. So will you
promise?”
“Yes, yes, querido mío, Juanita whispered, limply falling
back into his arms, her tears washing his shirt front.
He brought up the matter again on his next visit to see her.
“Juanita, you said you would see your priest about an annulment
or dispensation, or whatever it is. Did you?”
“I saw him,” she said, “but he merely tried to comfort me
with the thought that Raoul may someday see the error of his ways
and return to me. When I told him that I do not want him now
or ever, all he said was, ‘He is your husband, daughter.’”
“What can I do to talk sense into you! First one excuse, then
another!” Ocee gave vent to his exasperation. Her only answer was
a bucket full of tears.
At that Ocee let loose with a barrage of Swedish expletives
accompanied by gestures which shocked the tears from Juanita's
eyes. She could not help but let out a little peal of laughter as she


Water Politics 115
He relaxed, then smiled. “Picked it up from Olaf Swenson
from South Dakota, who was in my outfit. He was born in Swe-
den, but his parents migrated to the United States when he was
seven. We struck up quite a friendship during the two years we
were prisoners of war together. He taught me how to swear in
Swedish at the German guards. It's very handy, knowing how to
blow off steam without being understood ſ”
“Do it some more!” Juanita playfully urged.
“Okay, I will,” and he opened up with a fluent outburst, this
time in Japanese.
“And who taught you that?” she asked, amazed.
“Ningaso Yamashita. He was a civilian employee during the
occupation in Japan. And he and I used to talk for hours on end
about the Midwest, since he had attended the University of Min-
nesota for a short while, and had visited Iowa near the town where
I was reared.”
Juanita had moved into Ocee's arms as he stood talking of these
experiences. “Now say it in Spanish,” she teased.
“You wouldn't understand!” Ocee tweaked her cheek, and
they hugged one another, laughing, relieved.
“You see, my gringisimo, we can still be happy together—
just as we have been the last two years without being married.
And we can be for two more years and then two more, if you will
but come to me when you can. I shall always be waiting....”
“I need to know something about the law,” Ocee told Grant
soon after the excitement of his election subsided, “and I’ve been
thinking it would be a good idea for me to enroll in the night
classes of that law school in San Angelo, the Alamo Law School.
I've already looked into it, got the syllabus this morning. Their
classes meet Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights. I’d get my
degree in three years.”
“Law would be of immeasurable value to you, you're right. Oh,
you could do it easily. And San Angelo's only about 120 miles
away. You could fly that and be there in less than two hours, and
come back after your classes. That's a great idea!”
“Well, I hadn't really planned to use the plane....”


116 Ocee McRae, Texas
“Of course, take the plane. What do you think we have a plane
for, anyway? On those roads it would take you at least three hours
to drive it just one way!”
“That's true, too. All right, then, it's settled. And that way I
could spend a little more time in the office—until the legislative
session begins, at least. As you said when we made those promo-
tions in the office, the force is quite capable of handling the work
during my absences now.”
So Ocee enrolled in the fall term at the Alamo Law School,
where his advisers assured him he would be qualified to take the
bar examinations within thirty months.
“How are the law classes coming along?” Grant asked six
weeks later.
“Just fine. It's been some time since I had to do any serious
studying like this. In fact, I never did have to get down and do
the kind of studying I now have to do. But it is interesting. We
have been studying Agency, Contracts, Real and Personal Property,
Torts . . .”
“What’s this ‘tort’ P”
“Oh, a tort is simply a civil wrong, independent of and not
involving a contract....”
“Okay, attorney, never mind. You've even started talking like
a lawyer.” Grant laughed.
“It really isn't that bad. Law isn't as difficult as I thought it
was before I began reading it. Well, I'll revise that, and say it
isn't as difficult as I thought it was the first two or three weeks
of school. Now it is becoming quite clear. But you asked me about
the curriculum. Later we will take up Equity, Criminal Law, Evi-
dence, Pleading, Trial and Appelate Practice, Constitutional Law,
Trusts, Insurance, Wills, Titles, Taxation, and so on and so forth.”
“Whew Boy, you have your job cut out for you, haven't you?”
“I suppose so,” Ocee agreed, but added, “You are an engineer.
Law isn't as tough as engineering, you know that.”
“In a way, yes, engineering is tough. But in engineering we
deal with things we can actually see, measure, test, calculate. Law
requires a high level of abstract and verbal intelligence.”
“So does engineering,” Ocee argued. “Engineering does re-


Water Politics 117
quire a high degree of spatial and abstract intelligence. I admit
you engineers don't have to do as much talking as lawyers do, but
you have to think as hard, or harder, and, in my book, any kind
of thinking requires abstract intelligence and verbal intelligenceſ”
“All right, Ocee, have it your way. I ought to know better than
get in an argument with a lawyer l’” The two men laughed heartily
and shook hands, as men will do when they have enjoyed an argu-
ment that ends in a draw.
It was the fall of 1950. Grant's family had moved into their new
home the week before Thanksgiving, and Ocee moved right along
with them.
“Hello, Ocee. Won't you join us for a little while?” Brenda
greeted him a few days after they were all settled in the new home.
“Grant and I were just discussing the details of our combination
housewarming and family celebration Christmas Eve. We wanted
to be certain you will be here.”
“Oh, thank you, Brenda, but I promised Juanita I’d spend the
holidays with her. I’ve been trying to get down there for several
weeks now, but every time I think I have it all arranged, something
comes up to make me postpone it. I really don't want to disappoint
her again, especially since we've both been looking forward to
Christmas together so long.”
“My family is coming up from San Marcos,” Grant said.
“You won't miss me.”
“Oh, I don't know about that ſ” Grant interrupted. “My part-
ner is their main topic of conversaiton, and the family really wants
to meet you.” w
“You know I’d like to meet them too, and I’d like to see the
folks from Fort Worth again, but . . .”
Brenda did not attempt to prevail on Ocee to change his plans.
She did mention to Grant, however, that if Helen were to come
down a few days in advance of the party, she could probably con-
vince Ocee that he would enjoy the holidays more if he stayed. As
the day of Helen's arrival approached, a plan of action formed in
her sister’s mind.
“Ocee?” Helen asked, having been briefed by Brenda to set


Water Politics 119
“I will, sister dear.” Clearly Helen considered the warning
superfluous.
“Ocee is a nice man, Helen. Men like him, and the women are
crazy about him—that little Spanish Venus, for instance. It would
be perfect if you two could become interested in one another. You
are twenty-six, and ...”
“Twenty-five, if you don't mind! It will be two whole months
yet before I will be twenty-six,” Helen corrected her in mock
seriousness.
“Well, you know what I mean. Mama and Papa are worried
about you, Helen. We don't think you should marry a man you
don't like. But you have turned down so many fine young men.
We thought you and Doug ...”
“Oh, him 1 Always bragging about his many women and his
conquests. Just like an adolescent. Not for me, thanks!” Helen
scoffed.
“All right, so he was an adolescent, only thirty-seven years
old, but vice-president of an up-and-coming firm All right! All
right!” she gave in as Helen tried to interrupt. “Then there was
William Jennings Cameron the Third.”
“That's just what his trouble was,” Helen said.
“What was his trouble?” her sister inquired, curiously.
“The Third That's what!” Helen screwed up her face. “He
never could forget it. If he had been William Jennings Cameron
Zero, or better yet, just plain Bill Cameron, himself, things might
have been different. And I don't like a man who dresses the way
he does,” she finished.
“What's wrong with the way he dresses? Why, W. J. was a
very neatly dressed...”
“Too neat for my taste,” Helen retorted.
“Helen, you're absolutely impossible. Who ever heard of turn-
ing a man down because he is too neat!” Brenda threw her hands
up in exasperation at her younger sister. “Sometimes,” she con-
tinued, “I think you really...”
“... want to develop into an old maid!” Helen chorused with
Brenda, who had on so many occasions in the past uttered just
that complaint.


Water Politics 121
just where to find plenty of cedar. And I was thinking after you
called, Helen, that we may be lucky enough to run across some
mistletoe.”
“Oh, I can help you there! We used to gather it every Christ-
mas. If we can only find some red maple trees, we will be almost
certain to find mistletoe growing on them. But you will have to do
the climbing, Ocee. I haven't been up in a tree, not even looking
for mistletoe, for years I”
“Well, neither have I, when you come right down to it,” Ocee
teased. “In fact, it has been, now let me see. If I climbed a tree
last when I was eighteen, then it has been fourteen years. If you
can top that, I will climb all the maples for you!”
“I could win that bet, Ocee, if I were to say the last time I
climbed a tree was when I was ten—then it would be fifteen years
ago. Unfortunately, though, I was climbing trees well into my
teens. The family used to call me a tomboy.”
“I can believe it! That's how you developed that exquisite col-
oring and glowingly healthy complexion, by being a tomboy and
playing outdoors for all those years. Now didn't you?” Ocee
teased.
“To tell you the truth, yes, Ocee. It wasn't until I took this
job I have in Fort Worth as private secretary to the president of
the First National Bank that I have been virtually a hothouse
plant. And, oh, you can't imagine how I’ve looked forward to
getting back to the country ever since Brenda said I could gather
the greens for decorations.”
“We could buy them, you know—by the ton or carload Î"
“Oh, never! Half the pleasure is in the hunting and finding !
I hope you brought a hatchet, Ocee.”
He had, and they wielded it to advantage, filling the station
wagon to overflowing with cedar and mistletoe and a bit of holly
they found near an abandoned home. The following two evenings,
Ocee and Helen devoted to draping Christmasy sprays around the
columns at the front door, over the wide arch leading into the re-
ception room, and above the windows there. “What would you
think of hiding some mistletoe in the chandeliers, Helen?” Ocee
asked.


122 Ocee McRae, Texas
She nodded, pleased.
“Is it real?” He touched the playful dimple in her right cheek
while standing on the bottom rung of the ladder.
“Can't you tell? It might rub out easily.” She held her head
still as he gently tried to rub it out.
“I like your voice,” he told her irrelevantly as he mounted the
ladder to place the mistletoe. Her voice was gentle and low, “a very
excellent thing in woman,” according to Shakespeare, who knew
about such things, Ocee thought to himself.
“Brenda, you'll have to help me out,” Grant pleaded with
his wife at lunch. “I swore I wouldn't tell a soul. I told him I
would think about an appropriate present and let him know later.”
“Ocee?”
“Yes. He was completely at a loss, what with having to wire
Juanita flowers and apologies for canceling his holiday plans with
her.”
“Oh! Then he is staying!”
“Certainly . As though you and Helen didn't know ! You
women | He has been shopping. Bought presents for the children
this morning, and asked me what he should select for Helen, ex-
tracting a promise that I wouldn't tell you he had to seek my
advice. Well, I didn't know what to suggest—had to put him off,
saying I’d give it some thought. Now you've got to help me! What
do you think she would really like?”
“There's a lamé stole at the Petite Shop. I’ll call the clerk, and
have her on the alert. Just send him over there.”


CH A P T E R V II
Sophisticates Abroad
OCEE was kept extremely busy. The legislative session was in full
swing in Austin, adding new demands to his heavy schedule which
included the full program in law school, hours on the job in Tram-
co's office, getting around the country to see his constituents, at-
tending meetings, and the thousand and one things a legislator has
to attend to.
“How busy can a man bel” Helen petulantly asked her sister
as the spring progressed. “It seems that every time we plan a
weekend, and he knows I'm coming down, he dashes off on some
“business’l”
“Now, dear, I'm certain it isn't deliberate. He gets so genuinely
absorbed.”
“I know ! So absorbed he doesn’t even know I'm alive! I wish
I were another kind of girl—I'd tell him I love him!”
“Helen, this enthusiasm of his for the political life will surely
taper off into a more reasonable pace, a pace he can maintain.
Then . . .”
But Helen interrupted. “Oh, I know he is trying to do a good
job, and of course he is busy. But if he were interested, he would
find the time even to run up to Fort Worth to see me, or be in
town when he knows I'm coming to visit you. I'll bet he goes
down to Mexico any time he feels like it to see that Spanish siren
of his ſ”
“I don't think he has taken time for Juanita, either. In fact, I
have a feeling that things are cooling off down there in Monterrey.”
“I’ll bet!” Helen disagreed. “I have to do something ! He is so
nice...” And then, as a frown replaced her dreamy smile, she


124 Ocee McRae, Texas
added, “That's just the trouble! He's just nice to me, and that is
all ! I have decided to join the girls on that tour—that might make
him miss me. Then he'd see!”
“What’s all this?”
Helen told her sister about the sixty-day tour some of her for-
mer classmates from Texas Christian University were planning
for the summer. “Most of them are still single, too. So far, seven
have committed themselves to the trip, and they have been urging
me to join them.”
“Do you think it is a wise thing to do just now, Helen? After
all ...”
“I was thinking that if I were to leave for a few weeks, and
if I do mean anything to him, something might happen while I am
gone, and his feelings might crystallize by the time I return.”
“Now that I stop to think of it, dear, there may be a great deal
to what you say. Men do need to be shocked sometimes, to have
their eyes opened to what is right in front of them. You know,
Grant and I would like nothing more than to see you and Ocee
married. And it is about time you started your family if you are
going to have one, Helen.”
“Oh, Brenda! Please!” Helen laughed as she hugged her sister.
“One thing at a time!”
“Well, I'm certain we can prevail on Ocee to be here one week-
end before you leave. Then you can tell him you will write reg-
ularly....”
“I wondered about writing, Brenda. I thought I could write
him every week, but that might be too often. What do you think?”
“You write him as often as you can Tell him all about your
sightseeing, but keep it impersonal. You will see a lot of interest-
ing places, and I know he will be glad to have you share them with
him. Ocee was overseas with the Army, anyway, so he will prob-
ably have seen some of the very places you will be visiting. By
all means be sure to write! That's what I would do if I were in
your place. You want to be positive he doesn't forget you!”
Helen spent only one day in Tirabuzon before leaving on the
tour. Ocee and she sat up late, while he told her of some of the
places and things he had seen during the war. “However,” he


130 Ocee McRae, Texas
nouncement from a Chicago paper Big Ben included with Ocee's
invitation. He's packing now.”
And Brenda read:
Dr. and Mrs. Lester S. Crampton announce the engagement
of their daughter, Cynthia, to Benito Rojas Jackson of Texas
and Chicago. The bride-to-be attended Wendell Phillips High
School, took her Bachelor of Arts degree at Smith College,
Massachusetts, and is now a graduate student at the Uni-
versity of Chicago, where she will receive the Master of Sci-
ence degree in Social Welfare June 18. Mr. Jackson, a native
of Tirabuzon, Texas, graduated from the Hernando County
Training School there, and after a successful career as an oil
well driller in his home state came to Chicago to make his
home. Currently he is enrolled at the University of Chicago
School of Business Administration.
The wedding will take place in the Episcopal Church of
St. Michael and All Angels, June 24 at 4 o'clock, with the Rev-
erend C. Straton Demster officiating. After the church cere-
mony, a reception will be held at the home of the bride's
parents on Elmhurst Drive.
The father of the bride-to-be, a Fellow of the American
College of Surgeons and a Fellow of the International College
of Surgeons, took his medical degree at Howard University
27 years ago, has practiced in Chicago ever since, and is prom-
inent here in professional, civic, and social circles. The mother
of the bride is the former Delores Cunningham, daughter of
the late Bishop Cunningham of the African Methodist Epis-
copal Zion church; she graduated from Wellesley College and
taught in the Chicago public schools for several years. At
present she is president of the Chicago Federation of Wom-
en's Clubs, Inc., and like her daughter, is a member of the
Delta Sigma Theta Sorority.
When his wife had finished reading the clipping, Grant asked,
“Did the silver get off on time, dear?”
“Yes, I checked back with the jeweler's, and they assured me
the service would arrive well in advance of the wedding. I really
do hope they like the pattern....”
“If you selected it, I know they will!” Grant reassured Brenda.
“Chantilly, wasn't it?”
“Yes.”
Grant stood at the French door looking out over the garden.


132 Ocee McRae, Texas
eagerly waiting for them as they approached the house.
“You remember Mr. McRae, Madre. He and Mr. Travis came
to see me at home that time....”
His mother held out her hands, which Ocee clasped warmly.
“Of course I remember your mentor . How is Texas, Mr. McRae?”
With that as a starter, it took Ocee over an hour to bring them
up to date about happenings in Texas, especially in Tirabuzon.
“So you are our legislator now !” Big Ben congratulated Ocee.
“I was so glad when you wrote me about the election results. They
have really got a good man in you! I know the fireworks started
the day you took your seat!” And they went on to talk of Texas
politics.
After a while, however, when Big Ben's mother was serving
dinner to them, Ocee switched the conversation. “Tell me about
yourself; we’ve talked enough about Texas, interesting as Texas
is.” And Big Ben brought him up to date, telling him about his
studies at the University, of contacts he had made, the college
fraternity he hoped to make, and, of course, all about his bride-to-
be, whom he had called before picking Ocee up to tell her he would
bring him around for a few minutes that evening to meet her.
“Cynthia knows all about you, of course, because if it had not
been for you, who knows, I might never have met her ſ” Big Ben
told Ocee as they were finishing dinner. “I–we owe it all to you,
Ocee.”
“Nonsense! You took a chance and won; it was your money.
I just helped to invest it. That's all.”
“Say what you will, Ocee, but Madre, Cynthia, and I will be
eternally grateful to you, and to Mr. Travis, too. I know what you
did for me; but I won't embarrass you any more by dwelling on
it. Thanks again.” And he shook his friend's hand. “Come on, let's
show you the house and yard.”
Ocee followed as Big Ben proudly exhibited the beautiful home
he had purchased soon after arriving in Chicago. Ocee mentioned
that in general arrangement it reminded him somehow of Grant's
home in Tirabuzon. Big Ben pondered it a moment and agreed
that there was indeed a similarity. “One big difference, though,”
he pointed out. “Up here all the houses have full basements—
something I never saw before coming here.”


Sophisticates Abroad 135
oritas can set a man's blood on fire.” But she consoled herself
with the fact that she, too, was raven-haired and dark-eyed.
Brenda did write a letter Helen received before leaving Cairo.
She told Helen that Ocee had been bitterly disappointed at the
failure of his water and sewerage proposals to be accepted in the
legislature, and how Grant had urged him to attend Big Ben's
wedding if for no other reason than to get away for a few days.
On learning of Ocee's reason for not writing, Helen was torn with
ambivalent feelings about her tour. “Oh ſ” she cried to herself,
“if I were with him, and if he would only let me, I could stand
by him when things go wrong! But, no, here I am, and what do
I think of the moment he doesn't write? Oh....” She considered
whether she ought to follow Bessy Mae, the only one of their
party who had gone back. She had invented an excuse to fly home
after three weeks. Bessy's departure had been so precipitate that
no one really knew exactly what had developed. But Helen de-
cided against it. “I have a responsibility to the other girls, too,”
she rationalized. Although all of the girls but five were older than
Helen was, she had been tacitly chosen as second in charge to
Betty Eccleston, a motherly, robust blonde from San Antonio,
who was the accepted leader of the little group. “I just can't let
them down.” She remained.
The letter she wrote from Bombay was awaiting Ocee when
he returned to Tirabuzon. “The perfect welcome home,” he told
himself, as he enjoyed her conversational report which all but
transported him to the scenes she described.
... Egypt, the land of the Pharaohs How often I wondered
what the country was like. In Cairo we visited the Museum,
the Citadel, and inspected world-famous bazaars with silks
and spices from the Orient mingling with Chesterfield cigar-
ettes and Coca-Cola from America. Men walk along the
streets dressed in long robes of gray, white, and blue, and
most of them wear the fez, which is apparently the universal
Moslem headgear for men. I saw the Sphinx, the Pyramids,
the Nile, and took a short but epic ride over desert sand to
see them.
In Karachi, the capital of Pakistan, we were still in Mos-
lem territory. But here in Bombay, we are in mystic, teeming
India. Our four-hour launch cruise to the Island of Élephanta


Sophisticates Abroad 137
said. “He says in this letter, “I’ve been so lonely since you left,
Helen, please hurry home. I need you here, darling.’”
Helen's spirits soared, sustaining her through Singapore, Hong
Kong, and Tokyo. By the time she reached Hawaii, that romantic
island paradise which all Americans on the mainland someday
hope to visit, thoughts of Ocee crowded out serious attention to
sightseeing. Although she went along with the group to the many
points of interest about which the other girls raved—Bishop
Museum, the Aloha Tower, the pineapple fields and the mechan-
ized picking they saw being done, the hula dances staged for their
benefit, the Rainbow Falls, Waikiki Beach—all made little im-
pression on her. The Japanese Garden was pretty, and she took
pictures there, but she was impatient to return to the mainland
and to Ocee.
She wrote him from Honolulu, briefly touching on the usual
sights. He had been in Hawaii anyway himself, and she would
wait until she got home to exchange her impressions of Hawaii
with him vis-a-vis. She ended her letter: “... and I’ll be back in
Fort Worth nine days from today!” Before mailing the letter, how-
ever, she opened it to strike out “nine,” writing instead “eleven.”
She and three of the girls decided to spend a couple of days seeing
New York before returning to Texas. “Who knows,” she said
to Betty, “wedding bells may be ringing for me soon, and there
might be a few things I could pick up in New York that I couldn't
find in Fort Worth or Dallas.”
“Heresy” Betty chided. “No Texas girl would ever admit
such a thing—that is, to anyone but another Texas girl, of
course!” Helen giggled, and hummed Lohengrin to herself.
On arriving in International Airport in New York, Betty
called the Waldorf Astoria for rooms, while Helen called her
father in Fort Worth, asking him to wire her money to buy the
things she needed. Fortunately, the four girls were able to reserve
a suite of communicating rooms.
Helen devoted her first morning in New York to the shopping,
then joined the girls in sightseeing. After taking the Circle cruise
around Manhattan, they visited the Planetarium, rode through
Central Park in horse-drawn carriages, were awed by St. Pat-


Sophisticates Abroad 141
under the chair. The newspaper I’d been reading as I fell asleep
was on the floor beside the bed. But something was wrong ! I
looked at the radium dial of the clock on the dresser—5:10 A.M.
I looked over at the mirror on the dresser, got up to take a look.
Then it hit me—I’d stopped breathing ! That's ...”
“Oh, Ocee, you poor darling,” Helen clucked sympathetically.
“That was an awful dream, just simply terrib ... Ocee!” She sat
up straight to look at him. “How can you say such a thing? You
didn't really stop breathing, did you?”
It took him quite some time to reassure her that he was still
breathing. Then she asked him again, “Tell me about the business
—that's pleasant! And tell me about law school. Tell me all!”
Ocee shrank inside. Now was the time to tell her, he reasoned,
the story of his life before Texas. He began, “About my past,
Helen, there is something I ought to tell you. You see ...”
But she stopped him with a kiss. “Not now, sweetheart. Tell
me about the future, or even the present, but not the past. We'll
have lots of time after we're married to delve into your “wicked'
past! So let's talk about the future. I see a bright future for you
in politics—state senator next, and then governor...”
“I have no political ambitions, honey.”
“But if you should, darling, I’ll be with you all the way, even
though it will mean a lot of work—all that entertaining, and your
coming and going all the time...”
“Don’t worry, honey.” He tried to dismiss the subject. “Noth-
ing like that. I'm a businessman, remember?”
“Um hum. But what about the legislature?” she teased.
“Things are rolling along there, I think. Maybe during the
next session we'll find enough support to put through the water
and sewerage proposals. If not then, certainly by the next election
the franchise will have been extended to enough of the poor people
and Negroes and Mexicans who will help us to get some of the
things we want and need done to improve the state of Texas.
It takes votes at the polls to do things in the legislature,” Ocee ex-
plained.
“Apropos your political maneuvers, Ocee, it wasn't the thing
to write about, but it was really embarrassing abroad. People asked


142 Ocee McRae, Texas
me all kinds of questions about our race relations, about our colored
citizens. I must confess I found myself abysmally uninformed.
Darling, you have no idea how I felt, being put on the defensive
that way in a foreign country. It got to the point that I hesitated
to tell people I was from the South.”
“You are not a Southerner, Helen; you are a Texanl” Ocee
corrected.
“Thanks, darling. But you have no idea...”
“Yes, I do,” he interrupted. “I was overseas myself for a long
time, remember? Of course, it is true I was not reared in the
South, although I was born here in Texas. But I was an American,
and overseas they gave me the same treatment. Such things as,
‘What's the matter with you Americans treating your colored citi-
zens less than human?' or ‘Who do you Americans think you are,
trying to tell other nations what to do when you treat your own
citizens much worse than we do?’ and so forth and so on. Well,
honey, I'm no reformer. All I want are votes—everybody's vote.
It's strictly a matter of business with me, politics, if you wish. I'll
stay in the legislature until we get a few things done, like... but
what am I doing, talking politics the night I become engaged Why
did you let me?”
“Because I like to hear you talk, my dearest. Talk some more,”
Helen answered him, looking at him with devotion in her eyes.
“When do we get married?” he asked, drawing her near.
She thought rapidly. “What about a month from today? No.
make it six weeks; that would give me more time.”
“What do you need more time to do?”
Helen kissed him. “Just things, nosey!”
“All right, then six weeks it is. That makes it about September
20, right?”
“Just about. We'll check when we get home. And, Ocee, one
of the first things I would like to ask you to do is to give me a
list of your friends and relatives you want to invite. I’ll need it
this coming week, because I'll have to send the invitations out as
soon as we can have them printed. Oh! I have so many things to
do! I have to choose my bridesmaids. Mother will be just as ex-
cited as she was when Brenda married, years ago. Suppose you


144 Ocee McRae, Texas
As the wedding date approached, Ocee had to compete with
droves of Helen's girl friends for her time weekends when he went
to Fort Worth. “Be consoled, darling,” she reassured him. “We
will be alone together for the rest of our lives!”
“I’m not so sure,” he said. “There will be the children....”
“Now, Ocee, you aren't jealous of the poor little children....
Oh! What am I saying !” she ended in confusion, and ran off to
see what the messenger boy had brought.
Helen chose a ballerina-length gown of embroidered nylon tulle
over white duchess satin. Her fingertip veil of illusion was at-
tached to a dainty crown encrusted with seed pearls. With a single
white orchid, she carried the little white Bible her mother and
Brenda had used at their weddings. Her four bridesmaids wore
fragile lace in tones of pastel green graduated to highlight the
jewel-tone green gown worn by Betty Eccleston, Helen's maid of
honor.
Brenda, as the matron of honor, wore a waltz-length gown of
embroidered chiffon over blue taffeta, and Helen's mother chose a
rose silk crepe. Grant was Ocee's best man, and Helen was given
in marriage by her father.
After greeting the many dignitaries invited by her father,
Grant, and Ocee to the reception, Helen whispered to Ocee, “At
the first opportunity, dear, let's dash out.” They did.
The happy couple spent a week in Niagara Falls, mecca of
honeymooners, where Ocee signed the hotel register, “Mr. and
Mrs. Ocee McRae, Texas.” From Niagara, they went to New
York City, where Helen wanted to show Ocee some of the town
she had seen less than two months before. “And this time, you and
I will ride in a hansom cab through Central Park all alone!” she
promised. Following three days of sightseeing, Helen made a sug-
gestion which endeared her to Ocee forever. “Darling,” she said
quietly that afternoon, “why don't we spend a couple of days in
Chicago and go to see Big Ben and his wife before returning
home?”
Ocee was subdued in his gratitude. “Thank you, dear,” he
said to Helen, seriously. “I can't think of anything you could have


Sophisticates Abroad 147
whose husband is a United States senator? But I can't remember
whether that colored man was a senator or representative....”
“Representative,” Ocee filled in.
“And what was the army officer's name?”
“Colonel Barker.”
“There, that should do it! Mother will never believe it! We
just don't meet people like these in our neck of the woods !”
The next day, Helen and Ocee were genuinely sorry they had
to leave Big Ben and his wife, as Ocee said, “But the time has
come for us to return to Tirabuzon, and there to begin our life as
‘Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Cromwell McRae’l”
“It has been so good to have you with us, even for this short
time,” Cynthia said.
“You have no idea how happy, how terribly happy, I am that
we were able to come to visit with you,” Helen told her. “We are
very grateful to you for making these last few days of our wedding
trip so pleasant. I only wish ...” Helen could not say aloud what
was in her heart, that she wished she could do the same for the
Jacksons should they come to Texas.
“Don’t just wish, do come back soon and often l’” Cynthia tact-
fully supplied a happy thought to return the conversation to its
pleasant note.
“Thank you. ... We will.... Good-bye....” And they all
waved; the women threw kisses as Helen and Ocee boarded their
plane for Texas.


Housewarming 149
“Do you think we could preserve much of this natural beauty—
the oleanders, magnolias, dogwood?”
“I see no reason why not,” Ocee said, as they sat down on a
knoll from which they could see the confluence of the Pecos River
and its tributary. “It’s really an oasis, isn't it? Since I bought it
in 1949, I’ve seen a lot of land, but I can't think of another piece
I would rather have. I used to come here, all alone, and tramp up
and down all over the place, visualizing how someday I'd have a
road along the Pecos and the Tirabuzon sides, and extend it
along the property line in the back all the way down to the high-
way. I'd like to have some cattle. Do you think you would like a
saddle horse or two?”
“Oh, yes! My grandfather up in Dallas County still has a few,
including the old mare on which he taught me to ride!”
“Well, you can almost see where our land ends back there.”
Ocee helped Helen to her feet as he pointed to the west. “We
could have pastures from here to the line. I tell you what, dear.
Let's make a deal. If you will handle the plans for the house, I'll
be able to concentrate on improving the land. Okay?”
“Perfect! Next week is Thanksgiving, and then you know how
quickly the holidays are upon us, so we may not be able to accom-
plish very much until after the first of the year. But I’ll look
through my clippings, and maybe come up with a few ideas to take
to the architect.”
“... And, Ocee, after I had shown him all these clippings, and
told him the colors I wanted, and about the Spanish style combined
with modern, all he said was, “Now, Mrs. McRae, I must have a
clear idea of your needs—your living space needs !’” Helen re-
ported to her husband after her first conference with an architect
from Fort Worth recommended by her father. “Honey, you will
have to help me!”
“You see! You have forgotten our deal already!”
“No, I haven't, it's just...”
“Okay. Well, now let's see. Oh, I don't know, either. Living
space—well, we'll need bedrooms and living room and baths, and
a kitchen, I guess.”


Housewarming 151
then, too, we will have to have at least three men to handle the
farm and the grounds, maybe four. You see what Bancroft can
suggest.”
“There is one other question he asked: When can he see the
land, and inspect our home site. He said he is concerned about the
contour of the site and mentioned something that sounded like
‘solar orientation.’ When I asked him to explain, he said he would
try to situate the house so that the hot sun in the south and west
would not beat down through the windows. Sounds good, doesn't
it? But I told him I would have to consult you about getting out
to see the land.”
Ocee drew an outline of the land. “The contractor and I were
going over the ground again today, and back here along the Pecos
we found that there was once a road. It's all grown over now,
but he said he could follow the route, generally, working with the
old bed as a base for our road. And we located an area right in
here,” Ocee pointed to the drawing, “where there must have been
a dwelling at one time. Judging from the regularity with which
the trees are arranged, there were once citrus fruit and pecan
groves on the land. Before we begin clearing for the pastures, I
think I’ll have Ned Stokes—he's the County Agricultural Agent—
look at the trees.”
“Do you think that would be the best location for our house?”
Helen asked.
“No, it isn't as desirable as the general area we had originally
thought of over here.” Ocee indicated the corner of the plot near-
est the Hernando Highway. “The house could be so situated that
we would have a view of the Tirabuzon. There is a gentle slope
down to the river all along this south side, here, whereas the road
along the Pecos runs high above the water, and I'm afraid any-
where you might build a house over there, the water would be
obscured.”
“The people who lived over there must have chosen that loca-
tion to take advantage of something,” Helen said.
“Yes. The old road, undoubtedly. In those days, every decision
hinged on practical, utilitarian considerations.”
“Puſh! They just didn't have any souls” Helen laughed. “But


152 Ocee McRae, Texas
going back to the location of our dream house, darling, when do
you think Mr. Bancroft could inspect the site?”
“Well, this is the second week in November.... Perhaps it
would be wise for us to take him out there as soon as possible.
Then he could arrange with surveyors, or someone, to supply ad-
ditional information as he needs it, because I imagine with all of
these answers you have now, he could start drafting plans.”
The New Year saw contractors, surveyors, engineers, crafts-
men, and architect beating a path to the McRaes' door. They came
laden with samples, plans, questions. Whenever Ocee was free,
he went with Helen out to the land, or patiently consulted with
the workmen, but with each passing week she found herself thrown
more and more on her own as business and political demands took
an ever-increasing share of Ocee's time.
It was a ritual with them. No matter how late Ocee returned
from the legislature or from the field or from his law classes, Helen
was waiting, bursting with the details of her progress report.
“They hope to have the concrete poured on the High Road by
the end of the week,” she told him.
“And which is the “High Road'?” Ocee laughingly asked.
“Oh, you know ! It's along the Pecos—you described it your-
self. That's where I got the name, and it has taken with the work-
men, too. Today the contractor told me the graders and rollers
were putting the last work on the bed for the Low Road, too !”
Helen announced, placing her husband's dinner before him.
“You little minx" Ocee said, as he pulled Helen to sit on his
knee. “So what are you going to call the back road? The Middle
Road P”
“Now you are teasing ! No, as a matter of fact, we do have a
very good name for it, though—the Lake Road.” And, rising, she
kissed him lightly, saying, “If you'll eat before everything is cold,
I'll tell you about that, darling.”
“Okay, you tell me,” Ocee said good-naturedly.
“Well, you really inspired this name, too, dear, when you
facetiously told Mr. Stokes that we would dig a lake for the
cattle, remember? And he took you at your word, and has worked


Housewarming 155
end of the house, completely isolated, beyond the master bedrooms
and the children's rooms.”
“I can't understand a word you are saying, dear,” Ocee shouted
over the splashing of the shower.
She raised her voice, “Your study has sweeping north and east
exposures; in fact you might even be able to see the lake. Oh, but
I almost forgot to tell you, Mr. Bancroft has added a row of ribbon
windows directly above the passageway, so that the north side of
the dining room and of the living room will be well lighted. It's
easy to do, he said, because of the flat roof and the three levels of
the house. And he said the light will heighten the effect of the ivory
lattice against the turquoise background of the wall behind it. And
look, darling,” Helen pointed to the elevation on the blueprint
of the arches between the dining and living rooms as Ocee stepped
out of the shower. “Oops, water!”
“Here, it should wipe off. . . .” Ocee supplied a dry towel.
“These arches are a modification of the Spanish theme I wanted.
Mr. Bancroft replaced some of my latticework with the arches
here, and then he has added the lanai all . . . .”
“Hold it! Now what is that?”
“Okay, I'll show you just the way he showed me. Oh! I'll get
your clothes, first.”
Helen guided Ocee to the dining room, where she spread out
the blueprints on the table. “This is the living room, with the
twenty-foot side along the passageway on the north, and the thirty-
seven feet extending down toward the guest wing, just the way
we had it the last time. But you see this long area flanking the
patio from the living room past the dining room and over here
past the family room to the edge of the carport? Well, this is the
lanai, and all of these rooms open out into it through a series of
slender archways, and the wall on the patio side is my lattice with
glass on the exterior.”
“Oh, like a porch, only different!” Ocee said.
“Well ... maybe.... But don't you like the idea?”
“I’ll suspend judgment until I see it!”
“Oh, honey, what could we do if you don't like it then?” Helen
asked in alarm.


Housewarming 159
can take the Lake Road to the High Road and then back down
to the Low Road to the house. It's about five miles, according to
the contractor.” As he drove slowly along the newly completed
roads, Ocee said, “I look forward to our taking this drive many,
many times over the years, Helen.” And looking approvingly at
each palm he had had transplanted between those few originally
among the cyprus, post oak, and willow originally there, he added,
“We will see those palms grow tall and strong....”
“Like you, Ocee,” Helen said, snuggling up closer.
As they approached the activity of the building, Ocee said,
“I’m afraid we can't take time to stop. I’ll drop you back home and
drive right on to Mendota.” Glancing into the back seat, he said,
“Oh, I will have to stop to pick up my helmet, though. I thought
it was in the car.”
“That oily old helmet? Oh, Ocee! Why not wear the hat you
have on P”
“That's my symbol | Oh, I forgot. You weren't down here
during the last campaign. My old helmet and I were never parted;
it brought me luck then in the election just as it had in business, so
it's my private and public symbol of success. Besides, I like it!”
Ocee airily informed his wife.
“You remind me of my father!”
“Every man should be attached to his helmet, that's what I
say!”
“No, silly! Daddy held on to his old bedraggled slippers with
a fervor none of us could understand. But Mother solved the
problem by occasionally throwing them out and replacing them
with new ones at Christmas time or on his birthday.”
“Now, you wouldn't do a thing like that!”
As she jumped out of the car to run get his old helmet she
said, “Not until after the election, at least !” And promptly re-
turning, she told him as she waved good-bye, “I’ll listen to your
speech on the radio, darling.”
“Don’t wait up for me, dear. You need your rest.”
“You were wonderful!” Helen told Ocee in the morning when
she took his breakfast to him.
“Oh, I'll bet you didn't even listen! How could you be up so


160 Ocee McRae, Texas
bright and early if you had?” he teased, rolling over to take another
forty winks.
“Ocee! Don't go back to sleep! Your eggs will be cold. And
if you open your eyes, I'll tell you what you said; for instance,
“We need to be concerned about our water supply. It is true that
we have a water purification plant, but it is not designed to remove
the oily smell and taste from the river water we must use to sup-
plement the usual sources during dry periods. What happened up
in Dallas could very well happen here. Up there drinking water
sold at twenty cents a quart following a drought. We don't want
that to happen here.” Ocee was now propped up on one elbow,
smiling, as Helen continued reciting his speech almost verbatim.
“‘When the fresh water sources failed in Dallas, water from the
Red River was used. But the Red River water is six times as salty
as it ought to be to taste good, and the Dallas Water Purification
plant is not designed to remove the salt from water. Ergo, the city
water was unpalatably salty, and the residents were driven to buy-
ing drinking water at premium prices. Now, our situation in Hern-
ando County is similar. Our river water tastes and smells of oil,
even after it has gone through our present water purification plant.
As a result, during periods of drought, when we must rely on river
water . . .’”
“Bravo!” Ocee interrupted.
“You mean you will vote for me?”
“No. I mean you did listen!”
“You seem to forget that I typed at least four drafts of the
outline for that speech.”
“Oh, then you didn't listen!”
“Yes, seriously, Ocee, I did. I was wishing all the time I were
with you, and I was so proud of you....”
“That's the spirit ! Now let's see what we have to eat!”
Ocee's campaign for re-election to the legislature included a
series of radio programs in which he was interviewed by members
of the committee of supporters as he informally outlined his sewer-
age disposal project and introduced the idea of the innovation in
water purification he had tested and found practicable even on a


Housewarming 161
small scale. Subsequently, he appeared on television, mapping the
details of the county-wide sewerage project. Then he made personal
appearances in each of the communities included in his proposal,
concentrating much of his attention on groups, including the newly
enfranchised minorities. In another series of television broadcasts,
he invited leading citizens to appear with him, tasting river water
after it had been processed by the small purification plant at his
unfinished home. Later, the engineers who had devised the process
and equipment discussed with Ocee on radio and television the
installation costs and processing costs. As the date for the primary
approached, Ocee, on the advice of his strategists, arranged a final
series of television and radio broadcasts, to which he invited cit-
izens who had, first, been benefited by the measures he had initiated
extending the franchise, and, second, who were vitally concerned
about the water and sewerage situation.
Mrs. James Crompton, white, the wife of a “roughneck,” as the
unskilled laborers in the oil fields were called, was the first to ap-
pear with Ocee on the program. In answer to his questions, she
replied, “My name is Mary Crompton. I have seven children.”
“How old are they, Mrs. Crompton?”
“Ten, nine, seven, five, three, two, and the baby is six months.
It was the two-year-old that had the stomach trouble from the
water that time.”
“How do you know it was the water that made the baby ill?”
Ocee queried.
“The doctors and nurses at the Health Department and hospital
said so. And thank you very much, Mr. McRae, for what you-all
done for the baby. My husband and me wants to thank you-all very
kindly, sir.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Crompton. You are quite welcome. It was
not I, but the good people of Tirabuzon who came to the rescue
of our citizens, old and young, who were victims of that terrible
epidemic a year and a half ago. By the way, Mrs. Crompton, do you
and your husband vote?”
“No, sir, we never did have the money to catch up on our back
poll tax, but since you all fixed it so we don't have to pay no back
taxes, me and my husband are fixing to vote this time, and my


Housewarming 165
where, at the psychological moment, they could announce to you
their long-range plans.”
“Oh, Helen, I can't believe it! What with the conviviality of
the occasion and the good liquor they had, I thought the boys were
just carried away with enthusiasm. It will subside tomorrow....”
“No. Not tomorrow, nor next week, nor next year. You will
see. It's only a little over a year before the campaign will get under
way.”
Ocee paused before the mirrored door in their bedroom. “You,
Governor? Why, that is ridiculous!” he told his reflection. He
was graying slightly at the temples, which Helen insisted made him
look distinguished. He had filled out since coming to Texas, and
his former lanky six-foot frame was now substantial, impressive.
And the semitropical climate of southwest Texas had added to
his deep suntan. Ocee patted his hard, lean belly as he looked at
himself. He now wore his favorite belt extended only one notch—
less than an inch—beyond its length when he bought it in 1949.
He felt fit. He looked the part of the athlete he was on the base-
ball field, where all year around he played with a group of young
businessmen of the Chamber of Commerce. Their team, Los Toros,
never lacked opponents from other cities nor spectators whom Ocee
kept on their feet hoarsely yelling encouragement with his spe-
cialty, pitching. He smiled at his reflection as he thought of the
many women who had called him handsome. His one-sided grin
through his thick, well-kept mustache imparted an air of “villain-
ous virility,” as one of his admiring girl friends had put it. Then
he sobered, frowning at himself, and said aloud, “Okay, so I'm not
bad looking, so what? It takes more than good looks to be Gov-
ernor of Texas I”
“At the risk of breaking the spell, darling,” Helen said, “I
quote, ‘You’re good looking, and, believe me, son, that is an asset,
and nothing to be ashamed of. You talk well. You're a naturall’
Or don't you remember when Daddy told you that?” she teased.
“Sure. But I'll bet devoted fathers-in-law will say the same
thing to the present lieutenant governor, the attorney general, and
the senators who will be in the running ! And they all have more
influence ... more...”


166 Ocee McRae, Texas
“Nonsense!” Helen cooed, as she pulled Ocee down beside
her on the chaise longue.
“You will see l’”
“All I see is Oliver Cromwell McRae, Junior, son of the next
Governor of Texas 1”


CH A P T E R IX
His Excellency, the Governor
OCEE's nucleus of political supporters in Tirabuzon quietly ex-
panded their range of contacts far and wide, beyond the limits of
his district into the corners of all Texas. The idea of “A Man of
the People for Governor” attracted supporters in Dallas, Austin,
Fort Worth, Houston, San Antonio, El Paso, as well as in myriads
of small communities unknown even to the map-makers. “I’m cer-
tain Randall and Fletcher and Shaughnessy and the rest of the
committee have nothing but the best intentions, Grant,” Ocee
told his partner, “but their efforts are arousing hopes I see no
prospect of being able to fulfill.”
“What brought that to your mind?” Grant asked, as the two
men strolled along the Low Road an early spring evening, in-
specting the transplanted palms, as Ocee so often did.
“The Councilman from Custer City who came into the office
today. He's about the fiftieth person who has dropped in to dis-
cuss the support he could muster for me as a liberal candidate in
his region. And he, just as the others, cites the hopes and aspira-
tions of hundreds, thousands, of politically inarticulate citizens.
I’m disturbed . . . .”
“Disturbed about what? Your success in this district stems
from your working in the interests of all of the people here. So
what could there be disturbing about broadening the base to com-
prehend the entire state instead of just this one little district?”
“Grant, you know as well as I do that if, as the committee
now thinks, the lieutenant governor emerges as the machine candi-
date, no one will have a ghost of a chance of winning against him.
So what is the sense of encouraging these people who appeal to


168 Ocee McRae, Texas
me as they offer support for causes I cannot realistically promise
to further? For instance, Councilman Sands said today that for
thirty years he has tried to get compulsory school attendance laws
enforced in his community in east Texas, where more than half
of the citizens are colored. But, he says, the school board closes its
eyes in inaction, preferring to have the colored children grow up
in ignorance, rather than build additional school facilities for them.
The point has been reached now where 70 percent of the adult
Negro population is illiterate | Or take the case of the harbor em-
ployees down in Gulfside. Their spokesman told me last week that
they have been attempting to organize unions down there for
years, but that they have been consistently defeated in their ef-
forts by local legislation banning labor unions. Grant, these things
worry me. I think of how meaningless democracy must seem to
those illiterates, to those overworked and underpaid longshoremen,
to those struggling farmers bogged down in the mud of the unim-
proved roads of west Texas, and to all of the other disadvantaged
groups I’ve heard from. In my more idealistic moments, I want
to dig right in and fight a winning battle to bring them some of
the benefits they, as citizens, should share. But when I contem-
plate the obstacles—the vested interests of inaction at best, not
to mention active opposition to change—I feel I would be doing
these humble people a disservice were I to tell them, as I would
be in essence, in accepting their support for my candidacy as their
leader and spokesman, ‘Come on, let's all knock our heads against
this stone wall of government-for-the-few; with your help I will
break it down and we will rebuild on a new foundation: govern-
ment-for-the-many.’”
“I don't see how you can think you'd be doing them a disserv-
ice,” Grant said. “It seems to me that to champion the needs and
hopes of those you call the ‘humble people' would be to render an
inestimable service to them and to the state.”
“Not when I am foredoomed to failure, as I surely would be
in challenging the political machine in power.”
“You have less faith in the democratic processes than these
‘humble people' you are talking about, it appears. They haven't
despaired of improving their situation. And they have sufficient


His Excellency, the Governor 1 173
“Ridiculous!” Porter snapped. “How could I argue against
something like this....” And across the table he threw a clipping
from the Houston newspaper which carried Ocee's latest speech.
“Read that!” he yelled. McMannus read aloud:
... Not all Texans share equally in the prosperity of the State.
Pockets of need and want and unemployment exist. They must
be rooted out by extending employment opportunities, so that
every citizen of Texas, irrespective of race or national origin
who is willing and able to work, will find job opportunities
according to his skills....
“All right, then, so you can't come right out and approve of
discrimination. At least you could put the argument back on the
old racial issue,” Pinderhughes said to Porter.
McMannus interrupted. “McRae was up against that old line in
his first campaign for the legislature, and he was able to rise above
it.”
“That was in Hernando County l’” Porter said, as he started
pacing around the conference table. “Now he's in the big time,
and the competition is rougher. He won't get away with it on the
state level ! I'll see to that,” and he switched on the intercom. “Give
me his file, Miss Buchannan. ... Yes, McMannus !”
“Boss, there hasn't been a gubernatorial election won in the
state of Texas in the last fifty years by a racebaiter,” McMannus
reminded them.
“I know that. And the Governor instructed me not to bring
race out in the open this time, either. But I didn't promise not to
attack McRae personally,” Porter said, as he opened the file his
headquarters kept of all the literature circulated by Ocee's sup-
porters. “Here, help me look through this stuff for a lead....”
“... Scrutinize the motives behind the suppression of labor
unions, the discriminatory employment practices, the unequal wage
scales maintained by entirely too many of our large employers,”
Ocee advised his state-wide audience in a speech broadcast from
his Tirabuzon headquarters ten days before the election. “Scrutinize
the motives, and these practices, and you will see that they are all
operating to create a large reservoir of cheap labor consisting in


His Excellency, the Governorſ 175
name just a few, knew of my changing my name. They helped
me with the legal arrangements. If we had only thought of it,
we could have beaten Porter to the draw ....”
“How could anyone have anticipated such a development! But
if we work fast, we may be able to turn this to our own advantage,”
Randall said, responding with vigor to the new challenge. “Come
on, let's go over to the headquarters, and get the rest of the com-
mittee together.”
Within twenty-four hours, Ocee's supporters throughout the
state had photostats of the legal records and old newspaper an-
nouncements of Ocee's changing his name; they had pictures of
Ocee with the Judge who handled the matter; they had photostats
telephotoed from Washington, revealing the brilliant war record
Ocee had made for himself as Michael Gulbranson. Ocee had his
fingerprints checked against those on his war record. Everything
clicked. And the story of Ocee's seeking a new life in Texas after
returning from the war to find his wife married to another man
hit the front page of every major paper in Texas. Ocee himself
broadcast his reply to Porter, simply, sincerely, saying, “In order
to create a new life for myself, I came to Texas, the great, rich,
wide, and friendly land of Texas, where opportunity is limited
only by the sky. Texas has been good to me. And now, under the
name I have been legally given the right to use, I seek to demon-
strate my gratitude to Texas and the people of Texas. As your
next Governor, I will strive to extend to every citizen of Texas
full access to the opportunities I have found here.
“In this campaign I do not intend to indulge in personalities
or in mud-slinging. I am much more interested in having the citi-
zens of Texas understand the positive aspects of the program I will
bring you as your next Governor than in telling you of the negative
aspects of the situation at present. What we stand for in this
campaign is much more important than what we stand against
Thank you.”
“If they have distributed one, they have sent out half a mil-
lion!” McMannus stormed, as Porter's executive council tried to
assess the damage done to their efforts at a smear campaign by


His Excellency, the Governorſ 177
cans too. We would hate to have anything happen to that fine
baby boy you got. But something will if McRae §:quit!
XX
Ocee immediately telephoned the police, who sent out two
deputy sheriffs to guard the house twenty-four hours a day. Then
he called a hasty meeting of his advisory staff there at home to
decide what should be done about this development.
“That's the work of a crank I’” Randall bellowed.
“We'll get that Mexican and squeeze the truth out of him if
we have to beat his brains out !” Fletcher blazed.
“They would like to have us do something like that,” Randall
pointed out. “If we do anything rash now, we would be playing
right into their hands and hurting our own campaign. I still say
it's the work of a crank, and we should keep it quiet, while guard-
ing the house and searching for the Mexican.”
“We must not let them hurt the baby,” Ocee repeated.
“The baby will be as safe as if he were in church, Mr.
McRae,” the sheriff who arrived with the deputies promised. “I
guarantee you that. My men, two of the best, are on the job and
will be relieved by two other good men in the morning. Yes, sir,
your baby is absolutely safe!”
Early the next morning the sheriff returned to McRae Farms
with the Mexican in tow. “Here he is, Mr. McRae! I told you we
would get him in no time at all.” And they proceeded to question
the thoroughly frightened Mexican. It developed, however, that
he knew nothing except that a tall white man had given him a
dollar to deliver the letter, driving him in a light truck to within
fifty yards of the entrance to McRae Farms.
“Did you get the license number of his truck?” asked Ocee of
the man.
“No, Señor, I don't think. The truck, she is like many others.
More than this I do not know.”
“Would you recognize the man again if you saw him?”
“Si, Señor, yes. I think. But maybe no.”
“Oh! What's the use! This boy doesn't know anything,” the
sheriff grunted, turning to Ocee. “Maybe someone saw the man
bringing him out here. We'll ask around, and let you hear from