Several years ago, I serialized a story called Chicken Fries. It is a semi-fictional account of my experiences during a well I sat (watched) in the late seventies in Grant County, Oklahoma.  While fictionalized, the reality of the story is almost as strange as make believe.

If you can imagine the wild days of the California or Alaska gold rushes, then you can picture how wild Oklahoma was during the late seventies, mid-eighties. The state abounded with wild men, wild women and wildcatters.

People poured into Oklahoma from all parts of the U.S., and the world to cash in on the boom. Former used car salesmen began reaping the windfall profits encompassing the State, many selling multi-million dollar drilling deals that they couldn’t comprehend themselves.  Soon, there were shady promoters driving Ferraris and flying to Vegas in their own jet planes. Everyone in the State was getting rich and people all over the world wanted to get in on the action.

As a deal-generating geologist during this time, I sold a viable drilling prospect to a legitimate oil and gas company. Part of my agreement was that I would sit (monitor) the well from start to finish.  Anne, my deceased wife, and I rented a recreational vehicle to accomplish the task.  According to the man from whom we rented the RV, Wanda Jackson, Oklahoma rockabilly superstar, once owned it. Not only was Jackson a star in her own right, she dated Elvis Presley during his early years.

The RV was large, almost too large for the narrow Grant County roads, and well appointed.  A close friend Ray, also in the oil and gas business at the time, accompanied us on the trip north of Oklahoma City.  We parked the behemoth at the site of the drilling wildcat, soon learning there was no place close to get a meal. The nearest restaurant, the Curb Café, was twenty miles east.

The sheriff of Grant County owned the café and he was somewhat of a celebrity.  During the last real oil boom, crop circles and cattle mutilations dominated the news on many a day. No one really knew what caused the anomalies but much of the population suspected Satanists or extra-terrestrials.  The sheriff of Grant County was an expert on both and the person news agencies called whenever there was an incident.  During the late seventies and early eighties, there were incidents almost every week.

A well site geologist studies sample cuttings washed up from the borehole of the well.  This well had enough positive indications of success that everyone was prematurely counting their money. Despite the positive indications, the well ended as a dry hole, just one of the many strange occurrences during the ten days Anne and I “sat” the well.

Chicken Fries is a fictionalized account of our adventures in Grant County that summer. Truth, as they say, is often stranger than fiction. As I recall stopping on the country road, wondering about the flashing lights and the troopers in the adjacent field, gazing at a dead, mutilated cow, I understand the reality of that statement.

Eric’sWeb