My Least Favorite Subject To Talk About: Me

I thought with this post I would change gears away from writing topics and techniques to one of my least favorite subjects: me. Most of you that know me, only know a little bit about me, just small segments of my nearly 70 years. Hell, there are segments of my life that I know very little about. My memory has always lost blocks of time - minutes, hours, days, even years - creating a vacuum in those spaces instead of tangible memories. Back in 1985 when I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder with Generalized Anxiety, the Psychologist explained that loss of memory was a very common side effect. Periods of time in my life are so blank that I liken it to driving through some of my life on auto-pilot. I got from point A to B without being cognizant of the journey. I was told a while back I should consider writing an autobiography. I have considered it. But here is my dilemma: I have no idea where to start. I remember a good portion of my life but there are gaps that create a chasm too wide to jump without using a certain amount of creative liberty. And, in all honesty, I have no desire to make things up to make the story of my life flow for the reader. Hence, I have no idea where to begin. I have lead a very event filled life, rich in diversity and life experiences. I believe that I will start sharing anecdotes with you my reader. In the true nature of "Ramblings From A Writer" they will be in no particular order. I hope you find them interesting enough to continue coming back to my posts to see where my shotgun memory will take you next. Now, where to begin...

I think I will start by dropping in the part of my Author bio that has my work history mentioned in it.

"Ronnie has worked as a farm/ranch hand, at a full-service gas station, as a convenience store clerk, as an electrician, as a construction laborer, as a crane operator, as a fireman and EMT, spent 22 years in Oil & Gas operations starting as a roughneck and working his way up the ladder to overseeing operations in fourteen states, worked as a bouncer in the largest Gentleman's club in Oklahoma, drove an 18 wheeler, worked in Information Technology for 29 years, and is currently retired. He received his BSB; MIS from Oklahoma City University in 1993 - graduating magna cum laude."

You are probably looking at my list of jobs over the years and thinking, this guy can't hold a job for long. The reality is my work history spans fifty-two years. While in Oil and Gas, I worked for Beard Oil Company or one of its subsidiaries for twenty-two years, beginning on one of their drilling rigs a week after my high school graduation. I spent nineteen years as an Information Technology Specialist with Omegacare before retiring in 2018. Some of the occupational experience I had came as second jobs or fill-in jobs while waiting for the drilling rig I worked on to be retooled for drilling deeper wells. All of this I will write about in subsequent posts. Because, like most old men, I enjoy telling a story. I can easily get lost in what memories I do have and ramble on an on. Let's see, I believe I will start somewhere near the beginning and tell you about the first job I had working for someone besides family.

Ronnie L Richards 1967

At the age of eleven, I was hired by John Ahlden, a farmer/rancher who owned the old farm house we had moved to a week earlier. The house was located four miles south and two miles east of Kingfisher, Oklahoma. John put me to work just ahead of my twelfth birthday (my birthday is on June 14). He was a great guy to work for, and at the time he owned approximately 12 quarters of farmland and 12 quarters of pasture. A quarter refers to a quarter of a square mile, 160 acres. He was one of those guys who would point out what needed to be done then drive off and leave you to it.

He lived about five miles from his house we rented. He provided me with an old Ford pickup, three speed on the column, to drive. When I was not working on the two hundred thirteen acres where I lived, he wanted me to drive to his house every morning for breakfast. Over breakfast, he would explain where I needed to be and what I needed to do that day. Then the two of us would either work together or I would go do one project, such as plow or mend fence, while he went about his day. At the end of each day, I would drive back to his house for supper. His wife Mabel was an excellent cook. Her cooking was a great way to start and end each day. We worked from sunup to sundown. He paid me a dollar an hour which, in 1967 for a young dirt poor oldest of five kid, was quite a bit of money. I could write a book about the four years I worked for John. I have included a lot of about those days on the farm in my Shadow Comfort novel. Although, since it is a novel, I took some liberties with the truth. Here, I will be telling of events in my life the way they happened. To the best of what my sketchy memory recalls.

For this post, I believe I will tell you about an incident that shows how easy going John was.

Most of my first day working for John was spent familiarizing me with the pickup he provided for me to drive. He also showed me how to drive the John Deere 830 with a three-bottom moldboard plow. To do this, we plowed along the length of our dirt driveway to the county road, which was a little over half mile, then back down the other side. He ran the tractor while I stood next to him on the deck of the tractor, observing what he was doing to operate the tractor and the plow.

On the second day, John came over to help me get the old tractor started. After only one day, I was still unsure of how to start the little gas engine that then must be engaged with the diesel engine until the diesel engine ran on its own. Once it was running on its own, the gas starter engine was shut off by turning off the fuel line to its carburetor. After I had greased the tractor and plow, I filled the tractor's fuel tank with diesel. The diesel had to be hand pumped from the tank in the back of the pickup John loaned me. There was a lot of work involved when it came to pulling the diesel pump's lever back and forth in order to draw diesel out of the tank and pump it into the tractor's fuel tank. John watched me fill the tractor's diesel tank by pumping about fifty gallons of diesel into the tractor without stopping. I did switch from arm to arm in order to keep going, but I did it on my own. After the tank was full, John patted me on the back.

"I'm impressed," John said. "I've had newly hired grown men who would not put forth the effort needed to fill the tank without taking breaks."

"Thank you," I said. And, with a sheepish grin, admitted to him, "I did not know I could take a break while filling the tank."

Once the tractor was greased, fueled, and started, John told me to plow the acreage around where I lived. He instructed me to plow counter clockwise around the large field so I did not leave a trench along the fenceline. I started along the east fence. It was a half mile along the fence to the north edge of the field. Everything was going well until I needed to make that first hard turn to the left up near the north fenceline. I slowed down the tractor and stepped on the left wheel brake while turning the steering wheel hard left. The tractor continued to go straight. In a near panic, I raised the plow. The tractor continued straight. It was as if the left wheel brake was not engaging. I pulled the throttle all the way back to bring the tractor to an idle as I pulled on the clutch lever with all I had. I had my feet up in the dash, legs straddling the clutch lever which was a large hand lever that rose from the floor of the tractor. Finally, I got the clutch to disengage and the tractor to stop. When I did, I found myself in the middle of the county dirt road. Four strands of barbed wire clung to the moldboard plow.

I was off the tractor looking at the fence tangled in the plow when John drove up. He walked over to me, looked at the mess I created of the fence, and shook his head.

"Looks like you have some fence to repair after you get it untangled from the plow and the tractor out of the road," he calmly said. "Once you start plowing again, lift the plow and idle back on the throttle before you make the next turn." Then, he drove off.

With the plow still in the bar ditch, I backed the tractor up slowly until it was in the ditch and the plow back up on the edge of the field. This took all of the tension out of the barbed wire so I could get it untangled from the plow. Once that was done, took about an hour later, I drove the tractor and plow onto the county road. It was about a quarter mile to the cattle guard that marked the drive that led to the house. I crossed the cattle guard then drove over to the corner I had failed to negotiate. I backed the tractor along the north fenceline to the corner, dropped the plow and continued my day of plowing. Fortunately, the cattle were being pastured so there was no need to repair the fence that day.

I have always been very independent. John was the perfect person for someone like me to learn the ropes around a farm. He told me what needed to be done, then for the most part, left it up to me to figure out how to get it done. He was however, very good at pinching a penny. It took me about half the summer to get him to get an umbrella for the tractor I drove. Then when I asked him for a radio, fender mounted tractor radios in those days ran about fourteen dollars, he said, "You don't need a radio, you can sing like I do."

"No, I can't," I replied. "I don't know Choctaw."

John was half Choctaw Indian and you could hear him above the sound of his tractor singing in Choctaw. Eventually, I got the radio. Which was a good thing because I worked for him, including driving that tractor, for four more years. I did all the things a farm/ranch hand does. Worked cattle, hauled hay (in those days I worked with rectangular bales of prairie, alfalfa, and wheat straw . I got paid a penny a bale to haul hay. Half a cent to load and stack on a truck bed getting the hay up out of the field. And another half a penny a bale to unload and stack the hay in a barn.

I did the math one day that summer and figured out I could sit on a tractor all day and make fourteen dollars a day. Or, on a good, long day of hauling hay, I could do eight hundred bales of hay, earning eight dollars. I brought that up to John.

"John, I can make at most eight dollars a day hauling hay and fourteen dollars a day sitting on a tractor. What does that tell you?" I asked him, hoping to get an increase in what he paid to haul hay.

"It tells me I pay you too much to sit on a tractor."

Oops, that didn't work.

As I mentioned, he was good at pinching pennies. That left brake that did not work I mentioned earlier and the overly tight hand clutch. Those were two examples of pinching pennies. John told me he had loosened both brakes to where they would work just enough to help you stop from an idle if you pressed both all the way down. This was done to extend the life of the brake pads. The clutch for the tractor he had tightened to the point I could barely get it to engage and disengage so there would be no slippage causing wear on the clutch plate pads.

I hope you have enjoyed reading about a small portion of my life. I plan to post similar anecdotes every Friday morning. Who knows, by the time I get all things Ron posted, I may know where to start that autobiography. So, until next Friday, have a great week. Also, make notes about your life. I would like to read them.

Ron