Claytie: The Roller-Coaster Life of a Texas Wildcatter

3. "They said about the Panthers:They're small, but boy are they slow."

They said about the Panthers: They’re small, but boy are they slow.” 3 The most detailed account of Claytie’s childhood emerged from the least likely of places—a momentous 1997 African hunting trip with Modesta, son Jeff, and daughter Chim. Freed from his frenzied work pace, Claytie slowed down long enough to record in a daily journal his recollections, experiences, and lessons from what he described as a “typical” West Texas boyhood. “I had such an active high school life,” he explained. “I was president of Thespians, acted in all of the plays, loved the dances, the football, the girls and the partying, loved my ranch work and summer activities.” So this is how, while hunting big game in Botswana, he remembered that childhood—his youthful reflections perhaps mellowed by the taking of a magnificent trophy elephant just hours earlier. Well, that and a generous number of rum and Cokes required to celebrate his jungle trophy—one with a hefty seventy-two-pound tusk. I came from pioneer stock, both sides of my family being the third generation from the settlers. I believe my life was typical, a small boy growing up in a small town during the Depression. Memories of Pioneer Club picnics, ice cream socials with lots of aunts and uncles and cousins coming and going because both sides were extremely family-oriented. We were always going to visit kinfolks in the closest town or next door. “ A T H O M E I N W E S T T E X A S 41 Our home was across the old fort grounds from the guard house where the Boy Scouts had their weekly meetings. At the age of seven or eight, I remember intensely yearning to “one day” be a Boy Scout. I envied their activity, their games, and their achievements , and from that early start, achievement has been the most important word in my vocabulary. . . . I was an overly aggressive young man and worked very hard to achieve all the merit badges for my Eagle Scout rank. I did so but somehow displeased the Scout Master [an Aggie, no less] and he denied his signature for me to get the rank of Eagle. It angered me and it hurt me, and it could have crushed my spirit. After he left, the next Scout Master granted it to me, but by then I was a sophomore, active in football, dating girls, and the badge meant less to me than it would have two years earlier when I earned it. The lesson was that disappointments come, and you take them and go forward. I dearly loved Scouting and was probably overly enthusiastic in pursuit of my goals. A second lesson: when someone has worked hard to accomplish a set goal and has earned it, recognize him now; don’t wait! Timely praise is warranted and does more to boost a person toward further achievement than if he doesn’t get the praise when he earned it. The Fort Stockton schools were filled with loving teachers such as Laura Walker and Rhoda Kelly, and I remember the rhythm band and lots of good friends, both boys and girls. I remember being selected high school “King,” president of Thespians, and president of the senior class. I lettered in football three years. In a small community, we were all very close-knit. Working sheep and cattle and irrigating the farm in the summers started at age seven or eight, and work was always as important to me as play. At that age, the “work hard/play hard” attitude seemed to make sense to me. When I was twelve or thirteen, my dad had a herd of 1,500 goats. They sheared them, and then came a very bad cold and 42 P A R T O N E rainy spell, and all the goats that were sheared died. The kid goats did not die because they still had their hair, so I went out and got some of my buddies and we captured all of them by hand. Then I took them to the house and bottle-fed them. I recall we were able to rescue about 250. I grew them out, sold them, and made my first money—$1,500, which was a nice hunk of change for a thirteenyear -old kid in the mid-’40s. I benefited from my dad’s misfortune...