John Shimon & Julie Lindemann

Spring 2021
The East Texas Oil Field is said to have enabled America and its allies to win World War II. The field was discovered by Columbus “Dad” Joiner, when on the brink of suicide, its location came to him in a dream. America was on the verge of economic depression when Joiner’s gusher came in on September 5, 1928, at 8:58pm. Businesses located with the 200+ square mile swath of the oil field boomed. Wild catters, roustabouts, roughnecks, and moguls descended. Drilling went on madly, haphazardly. A glut of oil followed, and oil prices plummeted as a result. Then came World War II and the demand for oil escalated. Fifty-gallon barrels of 100 octane gasoline for bombers, DDT, TNT, Molotov cocktails, rayon parachutes, and rubber tires were all products of oil consumed by the war effort. The field was so significant that the Farm Security Administration and the US Office of War Information sent photographers Russell Lee (April 1939) and John Vachon (April 1943) to capture the gleaming derricks and heirs workers in Kilgore and other towns located within the field. The Great Depression faded. Hitler was brought down. An era of oil-fuels American prosperity began. The open road, big cars, better living through chemistry, modern synthetic fibers, and futuristic plastics became symbols of America’s don’t-look-back-optimism.

Much of the money generated by the field migrated to Dallas and other urban areas where it supported glitzy lifestyles, extravagant buildings, and posh opera productions. In contrast, towns such as Kilgore, White Oak, New London, and Gladwater, located within the forty-three by five-mile field, remained utilitarian outposts. The towns are still recognizable today by the remaining fireproof 1930s and 1940s era vernacular buildings that had sprung up during “the boom” to service the oil industry. Preserved by benign neglect, the mild climate, and low property taxes, these corrugated tin sheds remain as decaying relics of an era. “The end of an oil field is never very pretty,” said Terry Stembridge, one of Kilgore’s most ardent oil history boosters.

Seventy-five years later and the field is seven to ten years from total extinction according to Mary Barrett, a geologist from Centenary College of nearby Shreveport, Louisiana. Independent oil man Denny Smith simply shrugged off this idea saying, “they’ve been saying that for decades.” The stripper wells working the field are outfitted with squealing pump jacks that strain to extract the last remaining drops of crude from deep within the earth. They pump more salt water than oil. Workers in white diesel pick-ups scurry to maintain aging fixtures. 

We were Rea Fox Visiting Professors at Centenary College (February 17 through March 21, 2003) and spent days photographing in the oil field. We made a series of photographs of vernacular architecture inspired by Russell Lee and John Vachon’s pictures. Roadside scenes, shot from the window of our Chevy Blazer with a 35mm camera as we drove the field, provide context for our architectural studies. While we were working on this project, President George W. Bush, Jr. sent America to war in Iraq. The war was over within a month and Texas companies - said to be an expert at such things - went to Iraq to stabilize the oil fields and restore democracy. 

In Kilgore, the more than 700 metal derricks that once sparkled as symbols of modernity, prosperity, and progress are mostly gone. When the field was fading in the 1970s the derricks came down. Today, sixty derricks Ade standing. They were restored and replaced by a historical foundation to commemorate oil tycoons and the block that was once known as the World’s Richest Acre. There is an oil history museum and miniature derrick sculptures and derrick banners dotting the streets. The memorial derricks are topped with stars and lit during the holidays. The neon of two art deco movie theaters has also been restored and several other historic structures have been stabilized. Yet the utility buildings that serviced the oil industry have been left to decay along Highway 42. The once freshly painted drill parts and shiny metal pipes are now rusting heaps. A few have been converted into tanning spas and video rental shops. 

Like many small towns used up by a boom, the landscape reveals the ongoing struggle. At the edge of Kilgore, franchises such as Burger King, McDonald’s, and Brookshire’s have sprouted up beneath the resurrected derricks. On a typical Sunday night, downtown Kilgore is a virtual ghost town while the Wal-Mart near the highway is jam-packed.