Fri P.M.
Dear Gerry,
We have a while this afternoon before train time so I shall respond to your interesting letter. I can’t imagine where you ever heard that I was going into the ministry. I have never even thought about the cloth—only a tablecloth or a loincloth. Seriously I would be curious to know where you heard about it.
Right now I am bewildered to say the least. My mind is in a turmoil. I want to do something of value and yet I have to and want to make money—after Georgie goes through 3 squares every day, one’s wallet becomes thin and worn. I have thought of teaching, but right now it seems to me that it would be confining and not challenging enough. Besides teaching would require further study almost immediately, and I am not prepared to study textbooks right now—perhaps later but not now.
So where does that leave me—no cloth, no books, perhaps a briefcase. I could work for Herby Walker2 in St. Louis—GH Walker & Co. investments etc. Some are fascinated, and genuinely so, by such a business. Perhaps I would be. Right now I do not know. It’s not a basic business and yet it is important as long as we are living under a relatively free economic system. I am uncertain—I want to know and understand people, but the people I’d be doing business with in the investment business, I know to some degree now. I am not sure I want to capitalize completely on the benefits I received at birth—that is on the benefits of my social position. Such qualities as industriousness, integrity, etc. which I have or at least hope I have had inculcated into me by my parents, at least to some degree, (I hope) I do want to use, but doing well merely because I have had the opportunity to attend the same debut parties as some of my customers, does not appeal to me.
This may sound frightfully confused. Don’t get me wrong. I am not preaching redistribution of wealth etc.; rather I am saying that I would hate to get caught in what could be a social and somewhat unproductive eddy. Perhaps I shall go with Walkers. If I go I shall work hard and long. Financially it would be fine—good starting pay, and fairly nice sledding ahead; but once again I just don’t know.
Lastly I have this chance to go with Neil Mallon’s3 Dresser Industries—perhaps to Texas. They make equipment for the oil and gas industries. They are basic. Texas would be new and exciting for a while—hard on Bar perhaps—and heavens knows many girls would bitch like blazes about such a proposed move—Bar’s different though, Gerry. She lives quite frankly for Georgie and myself. She is wholly unselfish, beautifully tolerant of my weaknesses and idiosyncrasies, and ready to faithfully follow any course I chose. . . . I haven’t had a chance to make many shrewd moves in my young life, but when I married Bar I hit the proverbial jackpot. Her devotion overcomes me and I must often stop in my mad whirl around college etc. to see if I am considering her at all. . . .
Anyway—the Dresser job at the moment has great appeal. I would be seeing new people, learning something of basic importance. What stands in the way of my flying headlong into it, is first—(I have to see Neil this month in Cleveland about pay and other not so minor details) and secondly the old question of is business what I want?
Well from all the above you can see that I don’t know what I am going to do. Graduation is on Monday—then we go to Kalamazoo Michigan for the college world series in baseball. Down here at W. Salem we have just won the Eastern Championship . . . We were thrilled to win—It was all night baseball quite a change from day, but we played our best ball of the year and came through. . . .
your clerical maybe
but not clergical
friend—
Pop
I accepted the job from Neil Mallon and drove our 1947 Studebaker (a graduation gift from my parents) to Odessa, Texas, to start my career at one of Dresser Industries’ subsidiaries, IDECO (short for the International Derrick and Equipment Company). I started at the very bottom of the corporate ladder, as an equipment clerk. Barbara and George W. joined me as soon as I found us a place to live—a tiny two-room duplex. There was only one bathroom, which we shared with our neighbors: a woman and her daughter, both of whom seemed to make their living by questionable means. Let’s just say they had a lot of male visitors at all hours of the day and mostly night. Many a night they locked us out of the bathroom. Anyway, I wrote Gerry Bemiss:
August 28th
Dear Gerry,
As I sit here writing this letter in our store the wind is whistling around outside and I am seeing my first real powerful West Texas sand storm.
. . . Speaking of Golf—they have a course here. The other day Bar and I were driving by and we saw four players seated on a small jeep-like vehicle with an umbrella raised over it. They were driving between shots, and when they arrived beside one’s ball the player claiming the pellet would climb down, take a shot, and then remount the vehicle. It was so damned hot that they really couldn’t have made it around without this car. We laughed over the looks of the damn thing but had to secretly admire the ingenuity of the gents. The course is beautifully adapted to such a machine, since the only hills on it are those made by cows or ants.
My job is progressing O.K. I am doing nothing which requires any brainwork, but I am learning a bit about the oil business, so far principally the supply end of it. I understand that in a while I shall be going into the fields more to see our equipment in action. I am eagerly awaiting this phase of my training. I have been to the fields on several occasions but not as much as I should like. The store gives one a sound basis though and I certainly have a lot to learn here. In my spare minutes I find plenty of oil journals etc. to look at. It is surprising how much you can learn merely by reading the ads in these papers. You begin to recognize equipment that you have seen lying around the store, and gradually the whole thing takes on some central theme. . . .
You should see Georgie now, nothing like bragging about one’s own kid. He is really cute, I feel. Whenever I come home he greets me and talks a blue streak, sentences disjointed of course but enthusiasm and spirit boundless. He is a real blond and pot-bellied. He tries to say everything and the results are often hilarious. How he would love to be there at K’port. The great thing is that he seems to be very happy wherever he is and he is very good about amusing himself in the small yard we have here. . . .
We miss you Beam—
as ever,
Pop
October 20—Wed.
Dear Mum,
As I wrote you last weekend poor little Googen felt punk, had a fever etc. Well right now he is still sick and not feeling much better. Yesterday we got tired of the old doctor. He told us nothing, took no interest in what we at least thought was a real problem, and generally disturbed me. . . . Mrs. Miller across the street recommended this new doctor and we threw medical etiquette or ethics out the window and called Dr. Thornton. . . . he diagnosed Georgie’s case as inflamed tonsils and a chest congestion. The fever was nothing to worry about and it was quite normal for it to jump around. He gave us a prescription for penicillin pills and also for cod liver oil. We had stopped giving Georgie cod liver oil, foolishly, and he now is in need of it badly—slight case of rickets said frank Dr. Thornton. . . . We gave it to Georgie and he went off to sleep. Three hours or less later he awoke and vomited absolutely everything. He had done same a couple of times during the day. Then all during the nite he vomited. Today his fever was still 104. The doctor came again this time armed with a long needle destined to be shot into Georgie. The doctor felt he should have penicillin and since the pills didn’t work the needle would do it. Well today Georgie stayed in all day long. He hardly moved, just lying in my bed, falling asleep off and on and then listening to his records, played faithfully by Bar. . . .
He has been such a good little fellow in his sickness. When he vomited he looked up pathetically one time and said “Sorry, Mum, sorry”. His little face is bright red and he is so hot to the touch. He just lies in bed next to us and sort of dozes off. Tonight I was playing his records for him, (the girl next door is wonderfully generous with her vic,) He sort of had his eyes half clos
ed and then he looked up at me and said “No man hurt Georgie, No Man!” Referring of course to the needle. . . . He is so wonderful, Mum, so cute and bright. Oh he has his mischievous and naughty spells, but I just can’t picture what we would do without him.
Bar is still not quite up to par. She gets little rest now with Georgie sick, but she is feeling better, and I think the worst of her troubles are over. I think that physically the last few days have been rough on her, and I know that her disappointment over this miscarriage was large. As I told you before we both are sort of hoping that we will have another child before too long. Bar thinks about it a lot, and foolishly worries too much. I don’t like to have her upset. She is something, Mum, the way she never ever complains or even suggests that she would prefer to be elsewhere. She is happy, I know, but anyone would like to be around her own friends, be able to take at least a passing interest in clothes, parties etc. She gets absolutely none of this. It is different for me, I have my job all day long with new things happening, but she is here in this small apt. with people whose interests cannot be at all similar to Bar’s because they have never had any similar experiences. I continue to be amazed at her unselfishness, her ability to get along with absolutely anyone, and her wonderful way with Georgie. She never becomes cross or irritable at him, and never complains in any way about anything that we don’t have, don’t get to enjoy right now. It is one thing for her to be far from her home and friends, but it is still another and greater thing to be able to live happily with people from such different backgrounds. I am so very lucky, Mum; I am grateful and I must always work to make Bar happy. She has made my life full and complete; she has given so much and never asked a [sic] return. How lucky I am! . . .
Monday night I went out for the whole night again. This time I went with Horn and Pewitt our two servicemen up to Jal, New Mexico. They were changing clutches and brakes on the Sabine Drilling Co.’s Clark rig. I worked on the clutch for two hours till midnight and then watched for three hours. I slept in the front seat of the car till 4:45. Then watched, then slept another hour, then headed for home at 6:30, arriving at about 9. . . . These all night trips give me some idea of some of the problems faced on a rig floor. I have seen many techniques etc., but only by staying with a rig for hours on a row can one grasp the overall picture of certain phases of drilling. These night trips poop me out, though, and I shan’t do it too much. . . .
Mum, about Xmas. I don’t get Saturdays off as it is anyway. I work every Saturday except one in three I get the afternoon off. Therefore, saving Saturdays will do no good . . . I just couldn’t ask to get off. None of the other people in the store get anytime off at all Xmas, and I wouldn’t feel right asking. If directed to go, then it would be different. Perhaps between Odessa and our next move they will give us a week. Can we save our Xmas present for such a chance? This we’d love.
We three send our love, and allow as how we’d love to be cruising up the Grove Lane4 drive in our Study, eagerly craning for a glimpse of the boysies, and awaiting the old who-hoo call. We do miss you both so much, and though we don’t know when it’ll be we always plan and talk about our next trip home.
Much Love
Pop
This next series of letters to Gerry Bemiss documents a lot of changes in our life—moves, babies, and unfortunately, a death.
Jan. 11, 1949
Dear Gerry,
Thanks so much for your kind letter. . . . We did have a nice Xmas—very quiet and too far from any family or friends, but nevertheless a happy one. Our “take” was far too large for three people who have so much, but we didn’t let it bother us to the extent of turning anything back. My prize was an electric blanket—a marvelous invention which I love. . . . Georgie was the center of attraction for us of course. This was his first year of understanding and he really was excited. Modesty does not prevent my enclosing a Xmas day snap of Georgie and yours truly taken in front of our tree.
The big excitement now is that Mum and Dad are coming down here in a week or so. Dad is on a Dresser inspection trip and Mum is hitching a ride with him in the company plane. We are counting the days till they get here. We know very few people here and there won’t be any great activity but it will be fun having them here. Dad will only stay a day or two whereas Mum will be with us for 5 or 6 days we are hoping.
. . . The job continues in an interesting fashion, although I am selling or supposed to be, and am frankly very sad at it. I drive around to rigs and small company offices, and so far have sold nothing. In this business to sell you have to be able to supply pipe to your customers. Up till now we haven’t been able to get enough pipe at all. Many of our competitors have their own pipe mills etc., so they get a lot. . . .
This West Texas is a fabulous place, Gerry. Fortunes can be made in the land end of the oil business, and of course can be lost. Commissions paid to land brokers are tremendous, prices asked for proven land are equally as high. If a man could go in and get just a few acres of land which later turned out to be good he would be fixed for life. I might say that the supply business while a bit more stable is not the field to be in if you expect to make some money. . . .
How are you getting along Bemo. How about starting a third party and running for office next election. I have in the back of my mind a desire to be in politics, or at least the desire to do something of service to this country. Think it over and let me know what to run for. . . . In the meantime I shall continue peddling pig iron here in the oil fields and trying to absorb not only facts pertinent to the oil industry, but helpful hints on human nature and life in general. . . .
Yours truly,
Pop
April 3, 1949
Dear Bemo,
. . . Bemiss, I leave here Wednesday for California. We are going to work for Security Engineering Co. out there, another Dresser subsidiary, manufacturers of rock bits, packers, etc. They are a smaller outfit than IDECO, but a good company. I will be in the plant for about five months in Whittier Calif. outside L.A.,5 then home for two weeks I hope, and then back to West Texas somewhere for more field experience. They are moving me a lot, but each is worthwhile, of that I am sure, and the field experience is invaluable. One trip to our Dallas office convinced me of that. At times I wish I had a little responsibility of a little thinking to do, but maybe that will come later. In any case we are excited over the move. We plan to drive our Studebaker out there, and store our furniture here, seeking a furnished place on the coast. . . .
Love to all the family.
Poppy
Oct. 21, ’49
Dear Gerry,
Just a line to let you know we’re still alive. I was sorry to have missed you at K’port, but did have a great time with the Senator and wife.6 What a refreshing feeling to catch that all too fleeting glimpse of them—marvelous really marvelous.
We’re living at the above address, working for Pacific Pumps, a Dresser company, at Huntington Park, Cal. I am a laborer, assemblyman to be exact and a dues paying CIO steelworker. The work is long and at times tedious but the experience is marvelous. Last week we worked 7 days—same this week. This part I don’t like. The union meetings are most interesting. The problems of labor, the basic problems of insecurity lay-offs etc. Economics teach one thing but the welfare of a man and his peace of mind often cannot exist at the right level if the rudiments of economics are strictly adhered to. In other words I feel sorry as hell for men getting laid off, not knowing from one week to the next whether they’ll be at work and yet business cannot survive if labor is considered more than a “cost”. Working in the plant gives one much food for thought.
Bar and GWB are well and the big excitement, new baby, arrives in a couple of months.
Did you know Bar’s mother was killed in an auto accident 3 weeks ago while driving Mr. Pierce to the station?
Our life here is socially non-existent but we are happy, very much so.
Best to you and drop me a line—
Pop
Nov. 9, 1949
Dear Mr. O’Connor,7
Since our conversation last August I have been a member of the Testing, Assembly, and Hydrostatic Testing departments in the Pacific Pumps East Plant. At present I am working in the Production Control department learning some of the “flow” procedure. I believe that I was moved into this department temporarily because there has been a slack period in the shop. Mr. Prust, the plant superintendent, is sort of letting me map out my own program but he has suggested a short stay in the cost department, in order to follow through the paper work originated in the plant. I realize that this is not actual plant work, but it might prove of value. I definitely want to return to my status of laborer, and especially I want to get some machine experience which has been okayed by Prust, but since work is slack right now this other move has immediate attraction. I would appreciate your advising me if you do not want me to spend time in the cost department.
My work in the plant has proved very interesting in many ways, not the least of which has been my membership in the CIO steelworkers. I elected to join the union even though we have an open shop and I have not been disappointed in this decision. Now that I am in production control, even though I work in the plant, I cannot remain in the union, but upon my return to actual floor work I will be readmitted.
Very Sincerely,
George H. W. Bush
In April 1950, I was transferred back to IDECO, this time to Midland, Texas, which was just down the road from Odessa. Three of us moved to California; four of us moved back to Texas: Pauline Robinson Bush had been born December 20, 1949. We called her Robin. A few months after moving back to Texas, I received a job offer from Brown Brothers Harriman, my father’s Wall Street firm. The letter came from Mr. Tom McCance, who assured me in his letter, “This suggestion did not originate with your father and, in fact, he has nothing to do with it. . . . Others of us here [feel] this would be an excellent move for us and are most hopeful that you will react favorably to the suggestion.” My reply:
All the Best, George Bush: My Life in Letters and Other Writings Page 7
