Having fallen into bankruptcy at the end of the last oil boom, Anne and I traveled to cities all over the United States, looking for a bank to lend us the money to bail us out of the situation.  We didn't find a bank.  Like many oil companies, they were also going out of business right and left.  There were so many houses foreclosed in Oklahoma City that the FDIC had to open an office here.  Soon, they had a thousand employees working in the city.

We weren't the only Oklahoma oil company in trouble.  Everyone was in trouble!  Our banking leads exhausted, we began looking for a "white knight" investor, someone that would inject some much needed capitol into the company.  Harold knew such a person in New Orleans so we headed south to make our pitch.

Harold got us booked at the Monteleone Hotel, a wonderful place on Royal, just a block from Bourbon Street.  He'd invited his new girlfriend as his latest marriage was already in the dumpster.  Harold wasn't good with relationships.  The next day after checking in, we took a taxi down Bourbon Street.

Mr. X lived in a million dollar shotgun house on the end of Bourbon Street.  A shotgun house, built in the 1700s, is so named because if you unloaded a shotgun at the front door, the load would exit the back door.  There isn't much to a shotgun house but because of their locations, they are worth millions of dollars - yes, even after Katrina.

Harold introduced us to Mr. X, a friendly man with dark Cajun hair and eyes and a long black moustache.  He had a man servant that I will call Hay-sus.  Hay-sus couldn't speak English but he knew how to mix drinks.  Mr. X started talking and we all began drinking, pretty much all day long.  Mr. X had apparently been ruined by a one-time banker friend (surprise, surprise!) and they were now bitter enemies.

We never really got a chance to state our case but Mr. X did take us back to the Monteleone for dinner.  He was allergic to seafood and didn't like steak so we had enchiladas at the restaurant's Mexican restaurant.  There was a troupe of singers and Mr. X paid them probably a thousand dollars, at a hundred dollars a pop, to sing various Mexican songs.

Harold's girlfriend left sometime during the night (he was hell on relationships!) so we met at the Carousel Bar the next day for drinks before flying back to OKC.  Hey, just like my freshman year in college, I got so drunk and disoriented that I could hardly walk out of the place.  Anne and I never found a “white knight” and the bankruptcy stood, our hopes and dreams struck down like so many tin soldiers.  We did, however, have an experience that others can only dream about.  It’s now but a memory and I'm passing it on.

http://www.ericwilder.com