Retired Newsman Recalls Oil Boom Contributed by Ralph Parrott rrparrott2@juno.com -------------------------------- USGENWEB NOTICE: In keeping with our policy of providing free information on the Internet, data may be used by non-commercial entities, as long as this message remains on all copied material. These electronic pages may NOT be reproduced in any format for profit or for presentation by other persons or organizations. The submitter has given permission to the USGenWeb Archives to store the file permanently for free access. Persons or organizations desiring to use this material for purposes other than stated above must obtain the written consent of the file contributor. ---------------------------------------------------- Retired Newsman Recalls Oil Boom The Seminole Producer-Sunday, November 14, 1982 Retired Terre Haute, Ind. newspaperman C.B. Buchanan, who as a young reporter spent about two months in Seminole during the hectic oilfield boom of the late 1920's, recently recalled those days at the invitation of the Oklahoma Department of Libraries. Buchanan came to Seminole while working for the old Dallas Journal in August, 1928, and recalled Seminole as a town where "twenty-thousand people lived in tents on hastily made streets and wooden planks for sidewalks." "There were four dance halls in town," Buchanan recalled, "where you could buy a drink for twenty-five cents and receive a chip which allowed you to dance with a girl." Buchanan retired from the Terre Haute Herald Tribune several years ago after a career in journalism that found hin on the road much of the time, visiting places like Seminole. "It was fun," he said. Buchanan, in an inquiry to the state Department of Libraries concerning another bit of Oklahoma history not related to the Seminole oilfield, mentioned that he had visited Seminole to cover the oil boom. A state Department of Libraries research librarian encouraged Buchanan to write about his recollections and experiences in Oklahoma, and particularly in Seminole. Following is Buchanan's account of what Seminole was like during the oil boom: By C.B. Buchanan It was mid-August, 1926 when I left Dallas to go to the oil- boom town of Borger, Texas. At that particular time, Borger was a wide-open town and wilder than a one-armed man with the seven-year itch. It was getting more adverse publicity the the 18th Amendment. I left Dallas by Model "T" Ford, and with mud roads, fixing flat tires, and getting lost, I arrived in Borger, Texas two days later. I located a room, went to bed and awakened the next morning to discover that the Texas Rangers had closed up the town quicker that you could jam a cork in a bottle of bootleg whiskey. The gambling had been closed down, the bootleg joints had been closed, and all prostitutes had been given walking notices to leave town within twenty-four hours. The Chief of Police of Borger was locked in a cell, a prisoner in his own jail. The Rangers had cleaned up Borger, Texas. Having the inquisitive mind of a newspaperman, I asked the desk clerk where everyone was going. He said, "Seminole, Oklahoma. That's the hottest spot in the southwest right now." I packed my belongings, loaded up, and for Seminole, Oklahoma. The traffic on the road leading out of Borger was unbelievable. In addition to the line-up of cars, each side of the dirt road was lined with walkers trying to hitch a ride. Some men were in overalls with knapsacks on their shoulders, some men were will dressed carrying expensive looking suitcases, and prostitutes, wearing heavy make- up, carrying small suitcases, were still trying to ply their trade while on the road. I'm not quite sure what I expected of Seminole, Oklahoma, but when I arrived, I was totally unprepared for what I found. I had to pull to one side of the road to make room for a team of four horses, struggling through mud, pulling a flat-bed wagon loaded with oil- drilling equipment. Swarms of people were milling about the one main street like ants on an anthill. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry to get nowhere in particular. You could see oil drilling rigs in every direction, and the open fields on each side of town were filled with pitched tents. The town of Seminole consisted on one main street, about eight blocks long. The blocks were not separated by other streets, but by roads that crossed the main street and then meandered in ever direction. The main street itself was one massive mud puddle. A car was bogged down in the middle of the street with mud up to the hubcaps and cars were driving around it. No one seemed to know or care where the driver was. Small wood shaqcks and wood-frame buildings lined each side of the street. Large wood planks hd been laid down to serve as sidewalks. The wali-boards would wobble or slide in the mud, which made them not only a challenge to pedestrians, but an impossible obstacle course for the drunks. There were only three two-story buildings in town, and one of them was the hotel. No name-just a hand painted sign that said "Hotel." The hotel lobby was a small eight-by-eight cubbyhole with a small hand-made desk, a registration book, and a tap bell. I was told I was lucky they had a vacancy. The vacancy meant I shared a room with another man. My shared room boasted of two canvas cots, a washstand with bowl and a pitcher of water. It had bare-boarded walls with cracks wide enough that you could look into the next room. For your convenience the hotel had an outside toilet and faucer with which you could replenish your water supply. The cost? Six dollars a day. In those days you could stay at the Morrison Hotel in Chicago for two dollars and fifty cents. All towns have a dividing line, sometimes referred to as "the other side of the tracks." Seminole in its infancy also had its dividing line. The first six blocks of Seminole was called "high-town." The other two blocks were called "Shanker Valley." The high-town section boasted of a Burlesque theater with cushioned seats, that seated almost three hundred people and put on three shows a day. The Valley had a very small Burlesque theater with dirt floor and wood benches, with five shows daily. Seminole also boasted of two Forty-Nine Camps. (The Forty-Nine Camp name was adopted from the Gold Rush days.) The two Forty-Nine Camps were large barn-like buildings. Inside was a bar, a small orchestra platform and a small dance floor surrounded by a wood railing, with gates at each of its four sides. The dance music was furnished by a five-piece orchestra that blasted from five o'clock in the afternoon until three o'clock in the morning. There was no intermission-the musicians would take turns leaving the orchestra platform to grab a sandwich, get a drink, or go to the out- side restroom. Inside the dance floor railings, dance hall girls walked constantly, letting the patrons look them over. A man could fo to the bar, buy a drink and receive a chip. He could then give his chip to the girl of his choice, and dance with her to sixty-four bars of music. The girls kept the chips and cashed them in at the end of the evening. Hence, the dance hall girls were called "Chippies." The dance hall employed a man called "the walker," He walked around in the middle of the dance floor. His job was to govern the length ot the dance, keep order, and see that the dance hall girls kept moving around the rail. When the music stopped, he would yell, "Up to the bar, boys!" If business was good and the "walker" felt like it, he would yell, "Give the boys a free one." The orchestra would then play another thirty-two bars of music.