Ace Borger's Dream
by Sophia Meyer, special contributor to Rocky Mountain Empire Magazine

Borger, the prodigal son of Texas, has come of age. At 21, this oil-boom town is demonstrating that its newly acquired respectability is going to be permanent; that its wild brawling youth is of the past. Boom towns have come and gone, and for most cities the twenty-first anniversary of their founding would occasion little excitement. But Borger is no ordinary city. From its beginning until it was at least four years old, Borger bled the hearts of the citizens of Texas.

     Even its birth was violent. On March 8, 1926, a wildcat well ripped out of the wastes of the Texas panhandle in a great burst of gas and oil. It geysered skyward and Borger was born. That was the beginning of a town that was to become a byword throughout the nation, synonymous with quick fortunes, violence and vice.

     Cradled in the lap of one of the world’s greatest gas fields, with the income of oil and many other by-products filling banks to bursting, Borger became the Mecca for thugs and outlaws and the dregs of many surrounding states.

     If Texas mothered this boomer, then A. C. (Ace) Borger was the stepfather. Ace was in Carthage, Mo., when he heard that some Alaskan prospectors were testing for oil in the Texas panhandle.

     Ace perked up. He was king of promoters and an artist in his line. He sensed unlimited potentialities.

Visions an Empire

     Ace investigated. He rode on horseback to Antelope peak, that cone-shaped mound which by its height enabled many a wanderer to get his bearings, and he could see a derrick in the distance. Poised on his pony. He visioned a new empire and the city of his dreams, though later its name was to be written in blood.

     Ace Borger soon found out that the tests were showing oil and gas. Within twenty-four hours he became the owner in fee of 224 acres as close to the well as he could get. By the time he had his land platted and laid off into lots, the well gushed in.

     Garish advertising brought an influx of more than 10,000 persons the first day. Borger’s small shack of an office came near being pushed over as the excited throng bargained. Money changed hands like playing cards and Ace’s first day netted him $60,000. Food and water were at a premium and that night the mass of humanity slept in cars, wagons, trucks, or lay on the hard prairie wrapped in blankets. There were no roads so it was useless to turn back in the dark unless one had a compass.

     The next morning a man and his wife attempted to drive to Pampa, a town thirty miles away, to buy as much bread and sandwich meat for the crowd as they could get. At nightfall they saw the glimmer of lights and sped to the town. At the first filling station the man asked the name of the town.

      “Cheyenne, Okla.” The operator answered.      One of the well drillers at Borger filled a barrel with fresh water and drove over to the thirsty crowd selling it for 10 cents a glass.

     Tin shacks, tents and tiny frame buildings thrown up hurriedly soon made the town a mushroom monstrosity. Borger became a main street two and one-half miles long of cafes, drugstores and rooming houses, the last consisting of a one-room frontage and three or four built directly behind each other.

     By the end of the first week Ace Borger had cleared $150,000. Thirty thousand persons were massed in a heap of humanity, milling like cattle, trading, bargaining, weaving the warp and woof of a boom oil town that was destined to be called such names as the New Gomorrah and the most wicked city in the world.

     Fifteen hundred drillings, scattered in and around the town kept promotion fever at white heat.

     Thousands of trucks came rolling in, digging deep ruts as they brought lumber, tin, casing, oil well equipment, household goods, groceries and water. The sound of hammers filled the air.

Robberies were committed on the main road into Borger by men who lay in wait for speculators driving to the town with large sums of money.

     Thirty-six hours after the first lots were sold a wooden jail 14 by 30 feet was ready for forty culprits. Two poles in the center with iron chains attached held the prisoners. A small window with wooden bars crisscrossed gave ventilation. At times as many as ninety men and women were packed into it like stock being shipped to market.

     Forty-eight dance halls rose and 2,000 dance hall girls were imported to Dixon street, which intersected Main street. In time this became a section dangerous even during the day as the lawless element took over.

     Gambling dens operated without fear. Liquor rings flourished and competed for the trade. Killings were so frequent that the more orderly citizens were afraid to raise a voice against Borger’s crime rings.

     But Borger’s evil day had to come to an end. Rangers were ordered in by Gov. Dan Moody and a curfew was established. The authorities drove 2,000 be-slippered, silk-robed prostitutes out of town. Truck drivers gave some of them a lift as they limped along the mutilated roads. Gangs dealing in liquor, stolen cars, dope and women all controlled by the underworld, were given twenty-four hours to leave.

     The fight was on, but before it was over the man who had visioned the dawn of a new day for the panhandle was to die.

Ace Shot and Killed

     Ace Borger had entered the post office. He was standing at the window when Arthur Huey walked up to him. The two men had words. Shots were fired. Borger fell with several bullets in his body and soon died.

     Huey was unhurt and walking to the door with a smoking gun in his hand, he said, “Call the sheriff.”

     Ace was the president of the defunct Borger State-bank. Huey, tax assessor and collector for Hutchinson county, reportedly said the failure of the bank had caused him embarrassment. Huey was acquitted after a trial.

     Once the underworld was driven out the city of Borger went on to become an important industrial center.

     Borger claims the largest payroll of any town of its size in the United States. With a population of 35,000 within a five mile radius the city stretches over prairies lush with the abundant rains of last spring.

     Unlike many boom towns that became ghost, Borger has drawn many of America’s greatest commercial institutions. In their laboratories science is finding many new ways for oil and gas to serve mankind.

     The B. F. Goodrich Chemical company’s rubber plant at Borger produces 50,000 long tons of crude rubber annually. The company houses its employees in the beautifully landscaped suburb of Buena Vista.

     Also at Buena Vista is the Plains Butadiene plant, operated by the Phillips Petroleum company. It is now producing approximately 60,000 long tons of butadiene annually.

     In and adjacent to Borger are six carbon companies operating twenty plants. The plants are rushing huge outputs to supply rubber factories and plants manufacturing printing ink, paints, phonograph records, shoe polish, rubber heels, garden hose and telephones. This carbon is also used to thaw ice, color concrete and, when combined with liquid oxygen, makes a powerful explosive.

Send Gas to Chicago

     Texhoma Natural Gas company’s compressor station, one of the largest such installations in the world, also is at Borger. Fifteen 1,300-horsepower compressors pump 200 million cubic feet of natural gas each day, sending it through pipelines to the Chicago area.

     Borger is putting forth every effort to lay a solid foundation for its future citizens. Since the close of the school term the doors have been kept open for pupils to keep them off the streets. They attend classes daily in craft work, recreation, singing and games.

     Borger is now spending three-quarters of a million dollars on a new high school and junior college. These facilities are expected to be ready by fall. And significantly pointing out the source of much of the revenue for these projects is an old oil well still pumping away at the rear of the main building.

     In the suburb of Phillips the independent school district has launched a $450,000 improvement project. The floors of all new buildings are to be surfaced with tile of light color to improve lighting.

     Three municipal parks also are under construction, while the American Legion has purchased five acres on the edge of town for a recreation center and clubhouse site.

     Last year Borger cleared up a one-million-dollar bond issue. But no sooner does the city get out of debt than it hurries back into a larger one to further some new project.

     Nearly every church in Borger is expanding. Thousands of dollars worth of new paving and new and handsome homes are under construction. An intensive cleanup and paint up campaign together with the untiring work of garden clubs and civic workers, combine to make the town of Borger a pleasant place in which to live.

Tin Shacks Gone

     Substantial residences and store buildings have taken the place of the unsightly tin shacks.

     On Saturday, March 8, this year, Borger celebrated its coming of age. Adjoining towns entered into the merrymaking. Bands from seven cities marched in the parade, which was led by J. Gordon Burch, a wealthy oil operator who also led the first celebration parade.

     High schools opened their cafeterias and the students acted as hosts. Everyone who was just turned 21 was a special guest of the city.

     One hundred and seventy original Borgans who had remained to help build a better Borger were driven in gaily decorated cars down Main street.

     Borger today stands as an example of progress. Borger is rich, prosperous, and happy.