My thanks to Tommy James and the Shondells for
inspiring the title of this account. After you peruse this anecdote, you will
no doubt wonder why I didn’t call this “I Walk the Line”, vice “Draggin’
the Line”. The reason is that although the former is much more germane (as you
will see), I just can’t bring myself to mention a Country Western song. I love
the country and love western, but I absolutely despise County Western music! I
certainly hold no animosity for those of you that do; it’s just not my “gig”.
If I REALLY wanted to offend you country western music lovers out there, I
would state what I call that type of music, but naaah, I won’t since it’s a
free country (unless another “Dum”acrat ever gets elected as President.) Today, while on my way back to the house
during a break in cleaning stalls and listening to Rush Limbaugh in the barn, (ahhhh,
one of the continuing joys of retirement), I saw something I haven’t seen since
I was in High School! I saw a gas line walker! We used to see them all the time
when we were kids after they installed a 36 inches gas line that they
said was supposed to run from Texas to “somewhere around here”. The original
line was a 24 inches line that I believe was installed in 1943. The new line
was installed right next to the original 24 inches line. Famous
sidetrack: You may have noticed that I referred to the lines as 24 inches
and 36 inches. Well, I
have had a years-long argument with my former-working associates in the County
Engineering Department concerning this semantic epistemological point with
metaphysical contentions. Here’s my
rationale: If something is more than one, then it’s plural, Correct? (This is a
rhetorical question, the answer is obviously yes). If something measurers 1
inch in diameter, then it’s 1 inch inclusive, Correct? (Yes). If
something is MORE than 1 inch, then it’s plural and therefore inches, Correct?
(Yes). Ergo, if something measures 3 inches in diameter, then it’s 3
inches, Correct (Yes). Therefore, the gas line measures 36 inches
(plural) in diameter SO it’s a 36 INCHES (in diameter) pipeline! The same goes
for “foot” versus “feet”. You have one right FOOT and one left FOOT (unless you
are an amputee or an animal), therefore you have 2 FEET! If a pipe is more than
1 FOOT in diameter, then it’s a 2 (or more) FEET pipe! Got that! Alright, now
that that’s settled, I shall continue… The present 36 inches gas line
was installed circa 1954. Tim and I remember all the green steel pipe
stacked up in big piles at the corner of our front west field. We used to crawl
through the insides of the pipes. It’s a good thing we did this when the
contractors weren’t around because they may have laid a pipe with us still in
it!! WOW, talk about a “gas” problem!!!!! We always “heard” that since the line
went right through our property, that we could “tap in” and use all the free
gas we wanted! As a winter hating, cold blooded, always cold kid (and adult) I
was excitedly dreaming of FINALLY being warm during the winter! The
problem is that we never did “tap in”! No doubt the information was either
bogus to begin with, (likely) or our parents never took to initiative to do it
(MOST likely)! The gas line walker would walk along the gas line across our
fields probably around 2 times a month or so as I can best recall some 40 plus
years later. In later years, when we were in High School, they flew the line
about once a month or so in a Cessna that was white with a big orange stripe
along the bottom third of it. If we were out in the field we would wave at it
and the pilot would “dip his wings” for us! That really added to our kid egos
by commanding such control over an airplane from the ground! This was second
only to the up and down motion we did with our right arms to get semis to honk
their air horn while going past us while we were standing along the side of the
highway. (All of we “Baby boomers” did this when we were kids). I wonder if
truck drivers would do this now days? Hmmm, maybe on the way back to the barn
I’ll try it. I have to wonder, though, with all these “Gen-X” drivers these
days, the driver will probably get on his CB (after turning down the volume of
his radio blaring out Country Western music) and say, “Hey Cowboy, like, got
an eyeball at that, like, dude with the, like boots, suspenders, and jeans,
like, scratching his ear beside the road. What a flake! 10-4?” “Yeah Big Q,
that’s, like, really bodacious, like, 10-4!” “SOB, Cowboy, where’s all
the beavers…” My modular house is sitting next to the gas line right of way
through the front west field. Since there were no gas line walkers by that time
that I could stop and ask, I had to go out to the edge of the road and get the faded
800 number on the gas line marker post to call the gas company to tell me how far
off the right-of-way I could “place” my humble, simple modular house. After
getting a rather voluminous horror story about the dangers of building too
close to the extremely high-pressure lines, the guy than said over the phone, “Just
try to keep as far away from it as you can”! I kept asking about meeting
someone from the engineering and/or right-of-way department on site to suggest
a safe site. The guy said they don’t have anyone to meet with me so I should
just use my own judgment! Sheeeesh, if I ever got fried from a major transcendental
high-pressure gas line explosion I am really going to be “burned up” at the gas
company! Errr, make that by the gas company. I guess now that they
appear to have gas line walkers again, he’ll just stumble across my totally
blacked charred body and think, “Huh! What a strange place to throw away of
bunch of burned marshmallows”!
