Chapter 5

In May of 1902, I visited mom and dad in Fredericksburg. Upon my return I stopped at a steam exhibition in San Antonio. I had operated a steam powered rotary platform while working as a roustabout in Ohio years ago. With the cash I received from my latest stock dividend checks, I felt like I could splurge a bit. ‘‘What stock dividend?’’ You Ask.

Well ... that part of my life seemed almost like a dream. I had worked for a wildcat driller who was always short of cash to pay his labourers. Maybe every third month I got paid; but it was enough to get along since I didn’t need much for myself and my horse. It was during one of those dearth periods that I was offered shares in the well drilling in lieu of pay. Unlike most of the men working there, I accepted those shares and was eventually promoted to steam boss.

For a while there, it looked like my decision was going to turn out really foolishly. I even considered just walking away, leaving everything I owned; since the hole I was drilling appeared to be ‘dry’. I guess the work routine saved me; for a few weeks later, the driller reported an oil ‘skim’ was on the detention pond. A few days after that, he punched through the cap rock and the well became a producer. Finally coming to my senses, I sold half of my ‘earnings’ immediately to one of several eager buyers. Thus, I had a substantial ‘grubstake’ and promptly left the oilfields.

Really, my work there was operating and maintaining a steam engine mounted on skids and positioned near the drill shed. A belt connected it to the rotary drilling platform. Since I fed coal into it every day, oiled all the lubricating fittings, and provided all the ‘TLC’ it demanded; I figured that I could operate one if I could find an older model that could be restored.

Enough for my ‘wool gathering’. Life was too short to spend much time reliving the past. The exhibition Asking around at the exhibition, I discovered a salvage operation located near the rail freight yards that might have some scrapped engines available. Sure enough, the next day found me wandering through the scrap yard looking at what was available.

It wasn’t too long before the yard manager approached me.

“What can I do for you?” He asked as he walked up to me.

“Hello, I’m Matthew Schmidt. I’ve got a farm a couple of hundred miles south of here and was considering how I might upgrade pumping and threshing with steam power.”

“Well, I’m John McDowell, the yard foreman around here, but I’m afraid that all I can offer is some scrapped engines, gears and various wheels or pulleys. As you can see, nothing here works.”

“I didn’t expect I could afford anything that was working, Mr. McDowell. I used to be a roustabout in an oilfield a few years ago and think that I can get one to work; if it didn’t cost a whole lot.” I replied.

“Most of this equipment was bought at auction from businesses that had shut down operations. Even the few engines that I have in working condition are going to need a lot of maintenance to keep them going. That’s why I got them for scrap value. Let me show you one that is still on a flat car in the rail yard.”

We walked across the scrap yard to a rail siding just outside the scrapyard fence. Once we arrived at the rolling stock, he explained. My agent bought everything you see on both of these flat cars from a power plant near Houston. They were upgrading to a more powerful engine and just wanted this stuff to be hauled off. It was working till the day my men arrived, and they even helped by loading it on this railroad freight car that was in their yard. Make me an offer and I might just let you have it all, as is. That would save me unloading it all and moving it to my scrap area.”

With that I climbed onto the rail car and started going through everything. There was a lot of spare parts and some of them looked practically new. There were even some worn belts, wheels, tools, and angle iron, beams, and posts. It looked like whatever had once been connected to the engine was piled onto the railcar and tied down.

I was getting excited about the prospect of owning this, but knowing that any excitement would just increase its value in the eyes of the scrapyard manager, I downplayed my interest, pointing out damaged parts, the worn condition of the equipment and the general rusted appearance of the bare metal.

Finally, Mr. McDowell admitted, “Look Matthew. I’ve got about a hundred dollars in salary and freight tied up in this junk. That’s all it is to me. If I have to unload it, it’ll cost me at least that much in labour to carry it to my yard and arrange it according to salvage parts and scrap metal. Give me a hundred and fifty, and all that you see will be yours. Heck, I’ll even get KATY to move it to their marshalling yard.”

“KATY?”

“Oh, sorry. That’s what we used to call the Missouri, Kansas, and Texas Railway. I guess now days it’s just the Missouri Pacific, but the old habits are hard to break.” He explained.

I was sure that I could sell the scrap iron for that much in the ‘Valley’, as I had taken to call the area where I farmed. Maybe even more if I found the right connection. I had enough money on hand to take the risk, so I smiled and offered my hand to seal the deal. “You just talked me into it, Mr. McDowell.”

“Hmm. It sort of feels like I have been negotiating with myself. But that’s all right. Come over to my office and we’ll finish the paperwork.” He said while shaking my hand.

Two days later I stood beside the flat car trying to figure out how to load the material onto my wagon. The angle iron, beams, and pipe were easy to figure out and had already been delivered to my barn. I had sold several of the wheels and pulleys to a machinist who recognized the parts as valuable for his shop. I had made almost as much as it cost me to buy the whole lot. This wagon load would hold all the spare parts I figured that I might need, leaving just the skid mounted engine to deal with. That alone was going to be quite a challenge due to its weight and size.