Oil Field Trash

The stories in this book chronicle my eight year career working as a roughneck in the Michigan oil fields. I broke out in the boom year of 1981, when 4,500 drilling rigs were roaring and boring across this Great Nation. Nearly everyone (and their parrots) chanted "This boom is here to stay," or "It's different this time." Or both. I have to admit that I bit on that bait, although sage veterans warned me to sock away some of that cash. "What the hell do they know?" I muttered as I handed a clerk $800 for a pair of Justin full quill ostrich cowboy boots. But that glorious boom evaporated when crude plummeted in 1986. Iron got stacked, wages were cut, and those goofy old vets had sure wizened up in five years.

Below is an except from my book:
"Rig 4 shipped off to Hartland in October 1984 to drill a well for a poor boy operation. Nobody had heard of the company; five letters followed by LLC. It was on the outskirts of town, a quarter mile east of the Big Boy restaurant.
We had no sooner picked up the kelly and started boring the rat hole when a dozen cars pulled onto the location. A mob flocked towards the rig floor, flash bulbs popping. I sprinted to the bottom doghouse and grabbed my 12 gauge double barrel from my locker. I plugged two number four birdshot into the chambers and filled my pockets with a dozen more. I snapped the action shut with one hand, hustling up the rig floor stairs.
"I knew it... Just a matter of time," I shouted to Spider, as I reached the floor. "It's the Green Peace freaks! They're finally gonna try and pull something. Hang a banner on the derrick or deface it... Not on my watch. I just got through painting it!"
Charlie stormed out of the top doghouse. "Hold your fire man! They're investors."
I released the side-by-side hammers and lowered the coach gun to my waist. "Investors...?"

There are some really great books regarding oil drilling but I couldn't find anything that broke down the real roughneck aspect of the trade. So I figured that it was high time that our story was told. Twenty-five years after my last tour, here they are: nine unvarnished, foot on the gas stories, detailing the dry holes, the wild wells, and the wilder nights!