We all have memories of events, places, and conversations that still resonate years after they happen. Along with all the ordinary items that float through our minds, some vividly stand out. There is something about those special places, scenes, and conversations, whether they happened a few years ago or 25 years ago.
Some may involve a scenic setting such as looking across Lake Louise in the Canadian Rockies at a glacier flanked by an ice-blue lake, as Vertis and I did a few years back. Others are a lot closer to home. I vividly remember my first walk into Hidden Valley in the Ozarks, and on a cold early November day walking through the brilliant maples in Fayetteville's Confederate cemetery.
Some are as simple as a nurse handing me my new daughter, which is still fresh in my mind after 52 years.
Some of my special memories are scattered across the South, and others are as remote as seeing the B-26 Lady Be Good that landed deep in the Libyan desert during World War II. One of the more haunting places in my memory bank is just across the Mississippi River where only the massive columns of Windsor Plantation still stand.
I remember our fifth wedding anniversary trip to Athens. The hotel manager told us if we really wanted to get an overall look at the Acropolis and the Parthenon, we should go across the valley and stand on a hill about a half-mile away and look back. We did, and after a bit of effort we were standing on the hill looking across the valley. It was a cloudy day, and everything was gray including the Parthenon, which was gray-white. We were about to leave when there was a break in the clouds, and we gasped.
''My gosh, Vertis; look!' I exclaimed. The clouds had parted right over the Acropolis, and for a few minutes the rays of the sun lit up the Parthenon. I quickly snapped a picture, which captured that gorgeous scene.
I can still visualize those huge cypress trees that I paddled around on Champanolle Creek while fishing for bream, and a swimming hole deep in Flat Creek Swamp still has a fond place in my thoughts.
That last-second field goal to beat Texas and Scotty's game-winning basket are etched in my memory.
Vertis and I have plenty of memories that we share, but a couple stand out. We were married at First Baptist Church in Smackover, and as we left the church my brother and others hammered us with rice. They didn't just toss rice, the pelted us with more rice than you can imagine. We were going to New Orleans for our honeymoon, but our first night was in Ruston, La., at Magnolia Courts. Our car was covered in "just married" scrawls, along with a raft of tin cans tied to the back bumper. I had gotten rid of the tin cans, but the car was still covered with all the just-married stuff when I pulled into the motel parking lot. I parked far enough away from the check-in building where it couldn't be seen, and tried to act casual as I walked up to the front desk.
"I'm Richard Mason, and I have a reservation."
A rather elderly lady reached under the counter and pulled out the reservation book, and in a few minutes she had spotted the reservation.
"Yes, here it is. Just sign this, and I will get your key."
I took the pen and leaned over the counter to sign, and that triggered one of those unforgettable memories. I had the popular haircut of the day, a flattop, and when I leaned over to sign, the rice that I had been hammered with rained down on the signing book. I jumped like I'd been shot, and more rice fell out. Well, the lady kinda giggled, and then she just lost it. Maybe not my most embarrassing memory, but definitely in the top five.
I remember a trip to Brazil with a mission team to build a church deep in the Amazon jungle at a gold mining town. Our teams from First Baptist El Dorado and Three Creeks Baptist were novices when it came to building a tile-block church, but after almost two weeks we were all laying tile and the walls were going up.
The last night we were there the new church had walls and benches, but no roof. The leader of our group, our pastor from First Baptist, wanted to have the first service in the new church, and he asked me to preach. I have been a Sunday school teacher for years, and had preached a sermon in several south Arkansas churches on blind Bartimaeus who was healed by Jesus. I never had any response. Not even a rededication.
When the word got out that we were going to have a service in the new church, a crowd showed up and filled every seat. Folks were sitting on window sills. I had an interpreter, which made for a very uneven sermon delivery, but I continued on to the invitation.
When I opened my arms and said, "Who will come?" I honestly didn't expect anyone. But almost immediately a woman who looked like a native Indian carrying a very small baby came walking down the aisle. Well, oh ye of little faith, that brought a whole raft of men, women, and children until the front of the new little church was almost full. It's a memory I really treasure.
The handshake with the Exxon Exploration manager when I accepted my first out-of-college job offer still brings a smile. Being an oil and gas exploration geologist brings numerous memories, and most of them are bad, because geology is not an exact science.
One of the most vivid occurred when my partner and I managed to acquire mineral rights between two productive gas wells. We were elated, and instead of taking in partners to share the risk, we kept almost all the interest in the new well. It was a lead pipe cinch. We drilled the well, and as the logging company handed me the well log which delineates oil, gas, or saltwater, I took one glance and knew the sand carried saltwater. It was like you had won the lottery, and then someone had taken the money away. I've got a tough skin, but that one really stung.
There's an old Texas song about the oil business that says, "All I Need is One Good Well" and a few months later a step-out well from a small producer was that one good well. I danced in a Mississippi cotton field when I looked at the well log.
Email Richard Mason at richard@gibraltarenergy.com.
Editorial on 10/13/2019