My First Colorado Driver's License Had A Motel Address

In September 1983, Beard Oil Company offered me the position of District Drilling Superintendent of the Western Division. My responsibilities were oversight of all drilling, completion, and production field operations. During the nearly five years I held that position, I worked in New Mexico, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, Utah, Oklahoma Panhandle, Texas Panhandle, Western Kansas, and Western Nebraska. Also Michigan, but that is a story for another time. The same month I accepted the promotion I checked into the Starlite Motel in Springfield, Colorado. I was to drill and complete a half dozen wells, maybe more south of Campo, Colorado. Campo is a small town a little over twenty miles south of Springfield.

Dean and Neva Hull were the owners and operators of the motel. They were both in their sixties. Generally, Neva opened the motel and Dean took over the desk duties around two in the afternoon. Dean was a former Wildlife Commissioner for the State of Colorado. He was also an alcoholic. One of those happy drunks that loved people and a great storyteller. Now, anyone that knows me well, knows I have a problem being around drunks. Since I arrived to check into the motel in the late evening, Dean checked me in. He was obviously drunk and my first thoughts were to see if I could find another motel. But, after working until early afternoon then driving nearly six hours from Kingfisher, and since Dean was drunk but not obnoxious, I decided to stay. At least for the night.

The next morning I showered and went down to the lobby at five to see if whoever was behind the desk could point me to a good place for breakfast. Neva was behind the desk. She introduced herself to me and offered coffee. I took a cup and hung out for about an hour visiting with her. When I told her I would be there for a couple years or so, she suggested moving me to room 25. It was on the second floor at the end opposite the office. That way I could come and go without worrying about disturbing other guests.

I got to know Neva and Dean quite well over the next two years. They never had children and they treated me like family. Often, in the evenings, Dean and I would share a beer or two sitting on the second floor balcony that overlooked main street. In the picture, the balcony has been replaced with an extension built on the room above the office. Which is a shame because that balcony was a great place to sit in the shade in the evenings on hot summer days.

Toward the end of my two year stay, Neva and Dean had a death in the family. Neva told me about it over coffee. Coffee together had become our morning routine while I waited for the Main Cafe to open at six. She was distraught about not being able to make the funeral in Lamar (about fifty miles to the north). I offered to watch the desk so she and Dean could go to the funeral together. To my surprise, she took me up on the offer. It made me feel good to know she trusted me with her motel. I also felt good about being able to help out a friend.

After I completed the first well, I hired Fred Tanner to take care of the producing well plus any subsequent wells I put on production in that field. Fred was a third generation rancher who leased the land from the Federal Bureau for Land Management for cattle grazing where the wells were being drilled. He had no oilfield pumper experience, so I taught him how to take care of (pump) the wells. He was tall, lean, leathery, in his seventies, and quite the character. He had his own landing strip for his single engine Cessna and every year, he and his two sons flew to a cabin in the southern mountains of Colorado to hunt Elk. He also hunted mule deer and antelope. Anytime I came back in the area (I finished drilling and completion operations in September of 1985), he would load me up with a couple boxes of frozen venison that he had butchered in his custom built butcher shop there on his ranch. He had a building adjacent to his ranch house that housed hunting trophies from all over the world. There was nearly every big game animal stuffed and posed in the building I could think of. Everything from a lion to gazelle. He was very proud of his collection from various hunting expeditions. Me, I don't condone hunting for trophies. If I shot an animal, it was to put food on the plate. He told me he no longer hunted for trophies. So, I bit my tongue on the subject.

After I left Springfield, I went to Evergreen, Colorado and rented a third floor walk-up apartment. Once moved in, I went to McCook Nebraska. Beard Oil had purchased a small oil company and I was to train the former owner on the way we did things. He had agreed to stay on and run operations in that area.

About six months later, I returned to Springfield to do some work on one of the wells I had in the Campo Field. It was a short notice issue. I called Neva and asked her if she had a room for me for the next day. She said of course. I checked in with Dean that next evening. The following morning, I had coffee with Neva. I was standing on one side of the front desk, she was behind it when a man came in to check out. He heard her call me Ron.

"You're Ron?" He asked.

"Yes, I am. Why?" I asked.

"Well, yesterday morning when I came down for coffee, Neva told me I would need to move out of room 25 into another because Ron was coming and 25 is his room," he said.

I was floored. I told Neva that wasn't necessary. I didn't mind staying in a different room. She said that that room was home for me for two years. And, it always feels more like home if you stay in the same room on return trips.

A couple days later, Fred Tanner and I were hanging out at the first well I drilled and completed on his land. We were standing outside his pickup discussing all six wells. He spotted several antelope about a hundred and fifty yards away. He took his lever action Winchester model 1895 30-06 down from the gun rack in the back window of his pickup. He leaned on the side of the pickup, aimed, and dropped one of the antelope. That shot was impressive, especially considering the rifle had no scope and it had originally belonged to his dad. He bled the antelope, then we took it back to his ranch where he butchered it. A few days later when I told him I was finished and would be heading home, he gave me a couple boxes packed with dry ice containing frozen elk and mule deer steaks, as well as the antelope he had shot that day with me.

Anytime I needed to go back to that area to work, I stayed at the Starlite Motel. Neva always had room 25 reserved for me. She and Dean were like family to me. Every Christmas, after a promotion brought me out of the field and into Beard Oil's corporate office, I would write a letter to Neva and Dean and tuck it in a Christmas card to them. Neva would do the same. I occasionally would call as well. A few years later Dean passed away. After his death, Neva sold the motel and retired. Once, after Dean's death, while I was passing through the area on my way to our Denver office, I dropped by Neva's house and we had a nice visit. That was in the summer. When Christmas rolled around, I did not receive a Christmas card and letter from Neva. I tried to call her, but her number was no longer a working number. Sometime late in January, or maybe February, I received a letter from Neva's niece informing me Neva had passed away. The niece got my card and letter to Neva because after Neva's passing, the niece had Neva's mail forwarded to her. I spent nearly five years covering operations in the Western States. Neva and Dean were the only people I kept up with following my move to Oklahoma City. I miss those letters from Neva. And, our occasional phone conversations.

Now, about that first Colorado Drivers License. Early in that two years in Springfield, I got to know Gary Clouber who was a year or two older than me and from Shawnee, Oklahoma. He had been staying at the Starlite Motel for a year before I got there. He was an Independent Oilfield Landman under contract with Shell Oil and tasked with leasing as many acres in the area as possible for future oil and gas exploration. During his time prior to me checking into the motel, he had become acquainted with the Police Chief, also named Gary, and a Colorado State Trooper living in Springfield named Ron.

Gary told me he met those two on most Saturdays for breakfast and invited me to join them. When I walked in to the Cafe, Gary waved me over to the table where they were seated. He introduced me to Police Chief Gary and State Trooper Ron. After that Gary, Gary, Ron, and Ron met on Saturdays regularly for breakfast. Fast forward six months. We were sitting drinking coffee and waiting on our breakfasts to be brought out. Trooper Ron asked me if I had gotten my Colorado Driver's License yet. I told him no. I worked out of Oklahoma City and didn't need one. He said it did not matter. If I was staying and working in Colorado for more than 90 days I was considered a Colorado resident and I needed to get a Colorado Driver's License within thirty days after establishing residency. He already knew I had more than another year's worth of work left in the area so getting a Colorado Driver's License became a necessity.

I thought why not. I am going to find a place to live in the Denver area when I finish here, I might as well go ahead and get the license now. I got my Colorado Driver's License and for my address, I used the Starlite Motel's address - 681 Main Street, Springfield, Colorado 81073.

I hope you enjoyed my recap of how I ended up working and living in Colorado. I will share more of my life next Friday. You may be curious as to how telling my life adventures ties to my writing fiction novels. I believe all fiction needs elements of the truth to be believable. And, the broader a person's life experiences range, the more there is to draw upon while writing. So, until next time...