The Rest Of The Story

It doesn't rain or snow in the oilfield, it just gets muddy.

I've tripped pipe during ice storms, icicles showering the floor when the pipe hit the slips.

We did not stop.

Rigged down, moved and rigged up in blinding rainstorms.

We did not stop.

Watched lightning strike the derrick three times while rebuilding a tail pump.

We did not stop.

Dug ditches around the rig in 110 degree sweltering heat.

We did not stop.

Tripped 47 times trying to fish out wayward collars.

We did not stop.

And yet every day, a little after noon, the oilfield came to a halt.

It was time for Paul Harvey.

We lost him on Saturday.

A doff of the hardhat to you, good sir.

No joy in the oilfields today.