A Roughneck is Born

By E.T. Ross

Experience the story of a young man's life working in the Alberta and Saskatchewan oil patch. The work can be unforgiving, and oftentimes survival is the only priority. A Roughneck is Born is an honest account of a life that very few have experienced.

Author ET Ross uses personal experience growing up in the oil patch to tell this compelling story of adversity and triumph. This story emphasizes the importance of maintaining strength when facing the adversity that comes from life working on the oil rigs of Canada.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098367824

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A Roughneck Is Born

E.T. Ross

ISBN (Print Edition): 978-1-09836-781-7

ISBN (eBook Edition): 978-1-09836-782-4

© 2021. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is dedicated to all the oilfield workers who never ‘hearted’ oil and gas, but were just trying to make a living given the options at hand, and paid the ultimate price for it.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

Coming from a town of around 6000 people, many of whom were either working in the oil and gas industry or were profiting from providing services to the people working in the industry, was both a curse and a blessing. There was good money to be made for any guy with no training or formal education who was willing to do hard work. On the other hand, for someone who wanted clean, easy work with big city amenities around, then it was a gulag. The advertised population didn’t take into account the transient labor force, which could boost the number of people by 20,000 during the winter drilling periods.

While Brian was a longtime resident, he had never felt the pull to get into the big money that could be made by any guy smart enough to pound sand. What companies required wasn’t someone with any real technical skill or formal education. The ideal candidate was a farm boy. Someone who could keep machinery running using whatever happened to be handy, was used to hard work and harsh conditions and pretty much certain to stay local.

He was too smart for grunt work, yet not smart enough to have shown any real desire for more cerebral occupations. In a high school math class, being shown the difference between combinations and permutations, the teacher was showing the importance of order in the numbers. For the purpose of demonstration, and to goad Brian into taking more interest in the subject, he got a good laugh from everyone in class.

Take for instance, BRIAN, the instructor exhorted. If we change these two letters around, we get BRAIN, which are two entirely different things! Cue classroom laughter.

He didn’t mind. It was just nice to have that sense of camaraderie. Normally he was a kind of outsider, in that he wasn’t really popular but not someone who was there to be picked on. His best venue was in athletics where he could easily rise to the top, but then again he would be just as likely to coast rather than put in the extra effort to be one of the stars.

Still, he graduated, and the future beckoned. While his school compatriots left for places of higher learning or started their careers, Brian felt he had all the time in the world. He would just hang for a while and enjoy the pleasures of no responsibility with the misfits; sleep late, get drunk, take whatever drugs were available (mostly pot) and party whenever they had a quorum. Since he was still living with his parents, things like rent, bills, food and clothing were taken care of, so all he had to do was scrape up enough money to support his fun. His parents weren’t quite ready to force him to shape up, so they still give him money to get out and hopefully find something useful to do. When a big enough party was in the air, the fact that he had a car meant that he would have lots of extra passengers, unless he could make a quick enough get away with just the few he really wanted.

As most of his motley crowd had no abodes of their own, or homes to go where they could get shitfaced and generally try to maintain a good high, a private location where the RCMP didn’t prowl was down the common lease road. These were built and maintained by the oil companies, so entrance was restricted to authorized personnel only. Not that any sign stating this stopped anyone, but a locked gate at some entrances gave pause. These were the sites of oil or gas wells, and for the most part, a pump jack that rocked like a bird sipping water from a cup.

Brian cruised down to the local pool hall called ‘The Rig’ to meet up with Jeff who could always be counted on to get things going. He parked in the mostly empty lot and made for the front door enjoying the still, warm July air while thinking that a cold beer was definitely in order. Walking in through the doors he could see the old regulars at the snooker table near the back, playing their nonchalant and seemingly endless game. Two of the girls he normally partied with waited for someone to come in and get something going. Up ahead, standing at the row of video and pinball machines, was his festivity felicitator.

He almost came to a stop at the girls’ table, but they didn’t acknowledge him and seemed to scorn his presence. Feeling a little put off, he carried on to where Jeff was trying to get the highest score at ‘Space Invaders’. Brian hadn’t spent the time to get very good at this game but could appreciate the skill it took to earn a spot amongst the best.

Hey there, Brain! What’s up man? I’ve just about beat J.M. That must be Jim Maclean. Bastard! Jeff said while bouncing and shifting his weight from side to side along with the action on the screen. I talked to Doug just a while ago. He was looking for Swede. When he gets back we can go for a hoot with him. Jeff just assumed that Brian was looking to get stoned. It was a safe bet.

After a few games of foosball, Doug sauntered through the door with two other guys ready to smoke the wealth. By now the girls, Kathy and Anna, had long since finished their private conversation and were ready to roll. With the core group assembled, everyone piled into the vehicles and headed for the beer store. Having a car with a respectable stereo was almost as good as having permission to help oneself to any booze at a bush party, but Brian wanted to have a little ammunition in case anyone accused him of being a parasite. He kicked in for a dozen himself, especially since Doug was buying two cases after having already procured the pot. Running into a few other customers gave them information on what other gatherings where happening. A little party down at ‘The Place’, an out of the way spot known to most people, about ten miles west of town, sounded perfect. It was a nice sandy area by a river, over usually muddy roads and accessed off of a lease road; a private venue where you could let it all hang out.

Buoyed by expectations of a big gathering, people piled into the cars and headed out. The only rule was that nobody opened up any bottles or even rolled a joint until they were well off the pavement. As soon as the tires hit gravel they all made a thorough look behind and proceeded to dig in to the goodies. The evening was cool with all the rain lately, but a bonfire would take care of that. The thin layer of mud wasn’t too bad, it could be a lot worse and by the river it was quite park-like. All in all, Brian felt that life couldn’t get much better that it was right now. With a cold brew between his legs, pretty girls and good friends along for the ride, great tunes with a toke and driving off into the sunset; what more could you ask for? These were the riches that men fought for!

After five miles the road came to a tee and the directions from here were landmarks and things like ‘turn at the rubber boot on the fence post’. Rolling slowly down the well-beaten tracks into the darkening woods, firelight and a few headlights appeared ahead. Parking on the outskirts of the group of vehicles, Brian paused to get a look at who was here while most jumped out with their drinks in hand ready to make some memories. He couldn’t see many people that he knew well and although he recognized everyone he could see, none of them were guys he ever really hung around with at all. The reason for that was that he didn’t like to get in fights unless it was unavoidable. Five of the faces he could make out liked just the opposite.

One saving grace about this particular place and time was that almost nobody went around armed, and if a guy did happen to have a knife it was taboo to use it in common combat. That is unless you wanted to get everyone set against you. There were stories of cowards who had pulled a blade out only to have themselves tackled and beaten to a bloody pulp.

There was no way to leave unless everyone he brought all wanted to go, and who knows? It might be fun. The others were laughing and smoking around the outskirts of the fire, starting to mingle and lighten up what had started to look like a gathering of troglodytes preparing for some dark ritual. Besides that, the slightly paranoid feeling from the pot was being over-ridden by his second beer, and the high was intensifying.

Getting out of the car with a case of beer in hand for fortification and as possible peace offering, Brian ambled over to where a small cluster of fellow tentative revelers stood well back from the fire, but not too far, as darkness and a chill was settling in. The group greeted him joyously and the drinking and toking began in earnest. He hardly even thought about anyone else outside the little alliance as their laughter got louder, more constant, and the conversation goofier every minute.

We’re all sitting around and he’s there on the floor by the door, just loaded, with his head hanging down and he’s saying ‘I’m a dolphin! I’m a dolphin!’ Onlookers tittered and roared with laughter at the buffoonery of one of their own. And then Jeff starts piling cans on him when he’s passed out. We just left him there! Brian had found himself an appreciative audience and his glow was definitely on. After five beers and two joints the light from the fire cast the scene in a dusky rosiness and became as comfy as his own room. His gestures more grandiose, his voice louder, and the way he moved as if on a ships’ deck in rough seas, all put him on center stage, at least as far as he could see, which wasn’t far at the moment. While the other partyers outside his sphere weren’t as amused, they let him be the innocuous sideshow to their more serious deliberations.

He hardly noticed who he called over to, waving a joint in invitation. Hey, Tim! Big Boy! Come on over for a hoot! Tim, at six foot three and 280 pounds, all muscle and out of jail once again, grinned and moved to take Brian up on his offer. Turning back to his conversation, Brian said something that he could never afterward be sure of.

From this moment the music and the aura of sublime euphoria evaporated as reality became suspended in this bubble where he found himself singled out of the crowd by some kind of nonsensical and impulsive power. In a blur he felt himself suddenly spun around by an irresistible force, and in the midst of saying Holy shit! realized that Tim had him by the front of his jacket and was looking extremely angry.

Brian’s next awareness was of faces looking down at him with expressions of wonder and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Was it fear, or sorrow? He knew he should get up from this position of pity; he was not dead!

That was when he noticed Tim’s cocked ham-sized fist up by his twisted, ranting face, and he tried to focus on his words. It’s little fucks like you that deserve this! He wasn’t sure what he deserved, but knew that Tim’s weight was holding him to the ground by his hair with one fist while the other was aimed at his head. Brian recognized his total helplessness. Nobody would, or could help him now. If Tim didn’t kill him in his rage, the least he could expect would be to have his face permanently rearranged with a little brain damage for dessert.

YOU HEAR ME? Tim shouted with an abrupt snap of Brian’s head against the turf. This was actually just what he needed as his eyes had been starting to roll in an ostrich-like attempt at escape. He returned his focus to the train wreck dominating his view.

Summoning up every ounce of persuasion that was in him while keeping his voice level and free of any trace of anger, sarcasm, humor, hurt or weakness; in short, bringing out all the power there was in communication, he responded, Yes. I hear you.

Tim stared down at Brian for a moment, then let him go and stood up. Still pumped up from his lesson to ‘little shits’, he glared at the onlookers and yelled, There! Look at the big man! berating them and himself at the same time; spectators looked at their feet while taking a half step back.

Brian got shakily to his feet as Tim stalked off into the dark. His audience hung back as he wobbled where he stood, trying to regain a little dignity first by getting his appearance back to somewhat normal. He couldn’t bring himself to meet anyone’s eyes so he looked around at the ground as if he had just dropped a quarter for his one phone call from jail. Tentatively, the friend he had been talking to about a hundred years ago approached him slightly slouched over so that he brought his face into Brian’s field of vision and asked what he had said to Tim.

I didn’t say anything Brian responded feebly with barely a glance at his friend.

Yeah. You didn’t say anything. Come on, man. Let’s go smoke a joint over here, by ourselves. Fuck everyone else.

The two of them walked further away from the fire, Brian submissively trailing along, to a quieter spot closer to the vehicles. This was fine by him. He would just as soon have jumped straight into his car and driven until he forgot how helpless he had felt.

Off by themselves for the moment, the friend started talking about a few times when he was humiliated, which drove home the point that Brian had just been lowered to the status of a dog that has been swatted with a newspaper for peeing on the floor. Then the friend had to find the ‘medicinal’ joint, so left quickly to collar a likely donor. Brian stood on the outskirts and looked in at the throng around the burning brush and assorted garbage, seeing with a new clarity what this event actually was.

Those closest to the fire, all big guys, had on expressions of intense concentration and looked about now and then as if responding to a voice from out of the flames. All were regarded as very tough customers you wouldn’t want to mess with. One of them seemed to see likely prey as he strode purposefully toward a guy who was committing the crime of looking like a wimp. Grabbing the victims’ long hair, the attacker yanked viciously, bringing fist to meet face, and then bringing the guy’s head down to meet a rising knee. The attacker lost his grip on his victims’ hair with this last maneuver and the poor sap recoiled away from the other fist that went through the space that his skull just occupied. Black Sabbath provided the theme music to the party, singing about the universes engines whining and it being the end of time while life burns low and everything is misery and woe.

The punching bag used the opportunity to widen the distance as he hit the ground and rolled, scrambling quickly away, yelling for help. His attacker just stood where he was, staring at the retreating figure with the look of a man working out a particularly nasty and complicated problem, then walked casually back to the fire while wiping his hand on his pants to get rid of an unwanted trophy; the wimps’ hair.

Brian flashed on a vision of chimpanzees proving their dominance, and then wondered if this was what a good time was supposed to be like. Maybe. Maybe maximum fun would be if everyone gathered together in a pitch-dark room with heavy metal music blasting louder than explosives and proceeded to beat the shit out of anybody within arm’s reach. He could see two more skirmishes boiling up. Something clicked in him then, as if the thoughts chewing through his mind suddenly bit down on a penny. He couldn’t stay in this place anymore. He knew that now.

With a coppery taste in his mouth, he resolved to leave this brutal, red-necked, hole in the wall town and find his fame and fortune. He would get some respect! At least he could associate with people with a little more sophistication.

He was still alone when he walked over to his car, looked around to see if anyone was watching, then got in and sat behind the wheel in the dark. The others would just have to catch another ride. Starting it up got little attention and he backed up to turn around. As he put the car into drive, he glanced back and saw a few of his friends silhouetted against the light of the fire. They seemed to be staring at him in shock. He couldn’t have cared less.

As he drove away all he felt was relief, which turned to a satisfied numbness, and after a few more miles he felt nothing except a dim kind of desperation. Somehow he would get out. Not by himself, though. There had to be someone else who wanted to leave as badly as he did. We’ll partner up and share rent and bills, at least until we get a few paychecks ahead.

For the first time in his life, Brian started to honestly think about the future.

CHAPTER TWO

The old pickups’ box was piled high with their belongings, such as they were, with a lot of things thrown into green garbage bags, carefully, because plates and glasses break easy. Anyone would have thought the pair was taking a load to the dump instead of moving 600 miles away with everything they owned.

Brian hadn’t exactly tried to persuade his friend Mike to pack up and move, he just crashed at his place after they had gone out to the bar. Talking at first about what everyone else was doing these days, they each came clean with their own situations, and as Mike was working only sporadically as the oil patch had come into a slowdown due to a low price per barrel of oil, he was getting antsy. With his roommate having just moved out, all that he needed was the spur that Brian provided, which