Margaret Gilleland and I got into double harness in the autumn of 1950.  She was an Irish lass of fifteen while I was a discharged reservist of U.S. Army experience.  We obtained signed documents from our respective parent figures as Harry S. Truman elected my recall, to the colors.  We were having a heated spat with the Koreans and he needed a few good men, and a few of my caliber.  I couldn’t turn his offer down.

In the fall of 1952 I was once again put out to pasture, but there was not much feed in the pasture around De Leon, and Margaret was destined to increase the population, with me as a co-conspirator.

Like Horace Greeley advised, we migrated westerly.  At Odessa I managed to sign on with the light company, and draw wages from them for thirty-three years.  I evolved into “Land Bandit” classification and plied the trade of buying land that was not for sale from owners who mostly agreed that we didn’t pay near enough money.

Our hearts were young and gay and as the wolf broke the habit of knocking on our door we became frivolous in our conduct.  Mother Nature and Father Time allowed our behavior as recognition of our youth.  We hummed Reddy Kilowatt jingles and added a daughter to our collection in 1960.

At the same time the American Right of Way Association organized on the west coast, crept east and crossed the Rio Grande at El Paso.  They were inducting right of way buyers in hopes of gaining a tad of respect for the trade.  The oil patch was booming and the number of negotiators was legion.  I was dubbed a senior and assigned 233 as my I.D.  The plot thickened.

When the pep rally abated that Friday night, a friend and I exited the Cortez and found our way to the Santa Fe Bridge, crossed over and gained admission to the Follies.  There was a party going on and several more fledgling members of the American ROW ranks were there—maybe to hone their negotiating skills.  ¿Quien Sabe?  I went simply to listen to the music, of course.  From that day forward I was a loyal attendee at the monthly meetings.

Of course, I reported the entire proceedings to young Margaret when I got back to Odessa that Saturday afternoon.  She quickly made a decision to accompany me to the next meeting.

We were loyal to the cause and did not miss a single meeting for the next three years.

We struck up a friendship with the emcee Juna Barrientes AKA Johnny Dollar and he always saw to a stage side table reservation for us.  He bestowed an appropriate ID for young Margaret.  She was known as Sunshine over south of the border.  Johnny made her feel special and charmed her like a bird from the bush.

The expense account parties ended when a branch arm of Chapter 35 was formed at the airport betwixt Midland and Odessa—and membership increased.  Attendance howsomever waned considerably.  Young Margaret and I still made frequent sashays to El Paso, and Johnny Dollar saw to our good times when we crossed the bridge.

Time passed, birds sang and water passed under the bridge.  We were transferred to the Throne Room in Fort Worth around the end of the sixties and Johnny Dollar also went on to greener pastures.

Most of you know that I lost Sunshine on March 2^nd of this year and that she returned to the earth on March 5^th.  You may not recall, but the sky was overcast, a drizzle fell and the temperature was cool on the 4^th.  It was a repeat pattern on the 6^th, but the 5^th was bright and warm.

Once the service ended I went back home and sat on the porch in a slight breeze as I mused on how I’d manage my life under the new conditions.

I sat and looked to my right at Ol’ Margaret’s chair and smiled my first of the day at what I saw. There was sunshine—in her chair.

She’s there most afternoons—and so too am I.

Let me hear from you.

My phone number is 254-893-5063.

My postal address is 333 W. Ayers, De Leon TX 76444.

You can e-mail me at Charles@CharlesChupp.com.

By Charles Chupp, Copyright ©2008 Charles Chupp