The world is infinitely small.
Summer 1969. I work for KWKH The Friendly Giant Home of the Louisiana Hayride. Once Cradle of the Stares now a distant second to the music that changed us forever. Director of Continuity. I meet a woman there who comes in to record spots and promos. She is 10 years older. We clicked. We clicked.
Her pop Old Man Abney was a locally famous wildcatter. When she was little they lived in the other half of the duplex my parents owned. We clicked. We clicked.
It was the times. They were so different from what came before. We clicked. We clicked.
Her husband was now the family wildcatter.
One night late a phone call. A well was coming in.
The Christmas lights. The sound. The smell. The absolute energy of the earth out of control. Spilling its guts into the once clean night air. A well comes in.
Yes, the world is small. In the Fifties, my grandmother and I listened to KWKH on a Philco Safari radio. The “once clean night air” seems so far away now. So dim.