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company, likely owned by John D. Rockefeller himself, was bringing in equipment to drill for oil at Rock Hill, nine miles south of town. For the next two years, that activity was the major topic of conversation throughout the Florida Panhandle. It also created hope for economic improvement in an area of small towns hard hit by the Great Depression.
The prospect of discovering oil gave Larkin Cleveland, editor of one of the two local weeklies, The Herald, continuous headline opportunities:
February 12, 1931: DRILLING WILL START AT EARLY DATE
February 19, 1931: OIL WELL READY FOR SPUD IN: MACHINERY IN PLACE
March 26, 1931: REACHED 200 FEET
May 21, 1931: HIT GAS AGAIN AT 1100 FEET
July 30, 1931: SPLENDID SHOW OF OIL WITH TRACES OF GAS. DRILL CONTINUES IN HARD ROCK
My father was one of the principal advocates of optimism and a source of information regarding the oil venture. Our family, once prosperous landowners with my grandfather Morrison owning sawmills and a founder of the local bank, had been adversely affected by a succession of tragedies exacerbated by the Depression. My father's business, real estate and life insurance, was practically at a standstill. He had great hopes that discovery of oil would reverse this.
In the first summer of the oil well, Daddy drove my mother, my sister Chris, and me out to Rock Hill every afternoon to check on the well's progress.
The tall wooden derrick (123 feet high) reminded me of a tinker toy tower. The sound of the machinery and the pounding of rock (spudding) produced a steady thump as the long metal drill went down, down into the earth.
Mamma, Chris and I stayed in the car, about a quarter of a mile from the oil well drilling, as Daddy walked over close to the fenced off derrick to shout questions to the man in charge. The foreman, or manager, always wore a metal hat and heavy gloves. We could see him welcome Daddy as they speculated on the likelihood of finding oil.
In the beginning my father walked jauntily back to the car reporting, "Joe feels sure they will eventually find oil," or "They had a geologist check the charts again and he feels certain there is oil down there." "Had some trouble today with the bit, but they got it fixed and are still going down. They may go down 5,000 feet before this is over."
Y Then Daddy started up the motor of our car and drove happily home, coasting down the long hill out of Rock Hill to save gas, and give us a thrill.
After supper, the family sat on the front porch facing the lake—around which the original homes of the town had been built—to enjoy the cool air of the summer evening. Many people came past our house in customary walks around the lake and stopped to share with Daddy news of the oil well. Flora Douglass McLean was a particularly lively conversationalist. She and my father exchanged stories and concluded on the high note of expectation of wealth for the area.
"Malcolm, how will you spend all the money you'll be making on land sales?”
“Well, Flora Douglass, first thing I'll do is buy a new car. This thing I'm driving is never dependable. I go out on a cold morning to take Marjorie, the Page boy, and a couple of the Miles children to school and the blasted thing won't start. It's pretty aggravating to crank this Model T over and over and finally have to call on P. W, Miles or John Page, when it's my turn to take them. What'll you do with your money?"
"With no family to worry about, I've got everything I need. I would jike a little money for Gillis Chapel and the other missionary churches out in the county, and maybe to buy food for some of the people who're suffering most."
“That's noble of you, Flora Douglass. But what we need is a new administration in Washington. This agony of the Depression is not going to be ended until we get new people in office who care about all the people, not just the ‘fat cats.’ But that's another year away." Flora Douglass nodded without comment. Daddy continued.
“Meanwhile, what I think you need, Flora Douglass, is a hired waver. Your arm must be worn out waving and speaking to everyone you pass as you drive through town and out in the country. Makes us all feel good, but I worry about that arm." That caused Flora Douglass to laugh and launch into a new joke.
Down at the town's main meeting places, a bench across from The Service Drug Store at the business intersection, and on the court house steps, Daddy held forth giving and gaining additional news of the oil well. Sometimes, my sister and I tagged along. Mr. Emery Campbell greeted my father with, "We're all here, Malcolm, waiting for you. Nobody has work to go to, so we might as well hold court." Daddy usually opened with a joke.
“Times are so hard I just saw a woodpecker working on a tin roof,” he'd say with a straight face, getting a big laugh.
Even with such stressful economic times, however, most of the townspeople kept up familiar patterns of life.“ suppose that's how they coped. The ladies continued their card games of Rook; the Methodist, Baptist and Presbyterian churches kept their schedules of services, youth activities, and special programs. “The summer of 1931, the Methodist Church held a big picnic at Ponce de Leon Springs, about twelve miles from De Funiak Springs. I'd not seen such an abundance and variety of food in a long time. Fried chicken, baked hams, salads, sandwiches of all kinds and oh, the cakes: chocolate, coconut and caramel. It was hard to choose. Best of all was the Slice of ice cold watermelon. Upon arrival at the Springs, the watermelons were thrown into the cold, cold water, where they bobbed about among the swimmers until fished out for the final act of the picnic.
Dr. McDonald, the County Health officer, talked with people at the picnic about the lack of a balanced diet that children, particularly out in the county, were getting. He spoke of the need for vegetables and fruit. "I just wish some of the children I see could be enjoying these lovely salads and fruit. They eat side meat and biscuits and gravy, but not enough milk and vegetables."
“Why don't they plant gardens like the rest of us?" someone asked.
"For one thing," Dr. McDonald replied, "most of them don't own the land they're on and for another, it takes money to buy seeds and fertilizer. They don't have any. We'll have a generation of sickly people and children whose mental capacities have not fully developed because their bodies are jjjnourished.”
It was hard to enjoy all that good food thinking about hungry children. Daddy had talked of this too, but to hear Dr. McDonald give personal instances made it more real. I stopped eating until I heard Daddy say, “Well, if they strike oil, everybody in the County should benefit.” That somehow made it all right to go ahead and enjoy the special feast.
Even though very pinched for money himself, my father kept up his custom of dress. He wore high starched collars, which had to be sent to Pensacola, eighty miles away, for laundering. He also maintained his daily ritual, except on Sunday, of going to the barber shop for a shave.
One day I heard Mamma, who was never critical, gently suggest they might save a little money if Daddy would learn to shave himself or let her do it, but he refused.
“A man has to have some pride. I don't throw away money on bets and never touch a drop of liquor. My only vice is pipe tobacco. So, I think I'm entitled to a few manly customs, like a shave and haircut and a good appearance. Besides,” he added, “we have to keep circulating what little money there is. I could also shine my own shoes, but then what would old Zack at the barber shop do? He's pretty desperate for customers."
"I suppose you're right,” Mamma said.
My father went out the door whistling, feeling satisfied, 1 think, that he peean't feel guilty about going to the barber shop. “Your Daddy's the best dresser in town,” Mr. Buddy Cawthon said as sister and I swung around a lamppost while he and my father discussed ible expansion of Western Union if oil should be found. I then took 3 good jook at Daddy. He didn't have a new suit, but he was always perfectly med. Only when resting at home did he remove his coat, tie and collar. ~ The day in February, 1932, that John D. Rockefeller's granddaughter came to town and dropped a new dime into the well brought euphoric hopemr. Cleveland's headline read, "INTEREST IN THE WELL TAKES JUMP"
This, however, was followed by alternately encouraging and discouraging neadlines.
"DRILLERS STILL GOING DOWN: ALL INDICATIONS GOOD"
“NO OIL NEWS THIS WEEK: WELL TEMPORARILY SHUT DOWN" "NEW CABLE ARRIVES"
“MANAGER TAKES TRIPS TO PALM BEACH & NEW YORK TO CONFER WITH OIL MEN"
"OIL NEWS THIS WEEK IS AS SCARCE AS FROG'S FEATHERS"
In April the drilling had advanced to 4,640 feet and in May, Mr. Cleveland's headline read, "HOW LONG, O LORD, HOW LONG!"
Everyone's spirits were raised with the appearance of an East Texas expert who predicted that oil was indeed at Rock Hill, and that earth formations were identical with oil-producing formations in the East Texas field. However, this gentleman also raised questions about whether our tranquil community realized what to expect if the well should "come in." Mr. Cleveland wrote that this expert warned, "Pandemonium will break loose if a new oil field is discovered. Furthermore, people will come from everywhere...all sorts of people in every conceivable sort of conveyance. Some in airplanes, some in automobiles, some on passenger trains, some on freight trains, and some a-foot; rich people, people in moderate arcumstances, people so poor that a square meal and a bath will be epochs in their lives. There will be people of high moral standards and people soaked m vice *
After supper, the family sat on the front porch facing the lake—around which the original homes of the town had been built—to enjoy the cool air of the summer evening. Many people came past our house in customary walks around the lake and stopped to share with Daddy news of the oil well. Flora Douglass McLean was a particularly lively conversationalist. She and my father exchanged stories and concluded on the high note of expectation of wealth for the area.
"Malcolm, how will you spend all the money you'll be making on land sales?”
"Well, Flora Douglass, first thing I'll do is buy a new car. This thing I'm driving is never dependable. I go out on a cold morning to take Marjorie, the Page boy, and a couple of the Miles children to school and the blasted thing won't start. It's pretty aggravating to crank this Model T over and over and finally have to call on P. W, Miles or John Page, when it's my turn to take and cables. They formed a kind of funeral cortege moving up the Freeport Road, through town down Live Oak Avenue and onto Highway 90, headed pack to Texas.
That Christmas my mother persuaded my very reluctant father to be a Jast minute substitute as a shepherd in the Christmas pageant she was directing. “Please, Malcolm, I have no one else to turn to. All you have to do is put on this striped bathrobe and headress, carry a shepherd's staff and walk down the aisle to the manger scene."
‘Td as soon walk on nails," Daddy grumbled. "For grown men to show up in bathrobes in public is beneath my dignity."
"Malcolm," my mother said quietly, "this is a reenactment of the most important event in history. You've been a leading spokesman of hope over the last two years, and this is about hope and faith.
"I fail to see the connection between an amateur play and an oil well,” he argued. “But maybe this is some kind of penance I have to perform for dreaming of getting rich. Be assured, however, that's not why 1 do it. I just hate to see you upset over not having the appointed number of shepherds. Lord knows I will dread every minute of the whole thing."
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