A Trip to Borgerby John R. Bennett

From The Kansas City Journal-Post, August 22, 1926:

Borger, Tex. August 21 – Reports that from 200 to 300 women at Borger, Tex., were arrested and were being held, locked to a log chain, reached the world and caused a hurried trip to this famous or rather infamous place. Once here I found the report a pure fabrication, but some women had been arrested and held for a while in the room adjoining the one where prisoners are held, by the simple means of locking a trace chain around their ankle, the other being fastened to a log chain that runs the length of the building.

     Hutchinson County, Texas, in which the new oil town of Borger is located, has no jail, or other suitable means of detaining a person until his case can be disposed of. Every night a bunch of drunks were rounded up so the expedient of “the trout line” was hit upon and worked admirably well. The criminal element soon learned to fear this means of detention much more than they do an ordinary jail. The building is open so that anyone can walk up and look the occupants over and strange to say, this fact worries the prisoners more than the fact that they are under arrest. About twenty men, several of them Negroes, were there when I visited the bastile. Their main desire appeared to be for more cigarets and matches.

     Excepting one woman, who was crazed from drugs, I was told no women had even been put on the chain. This one would not have been but she was so wild it took three men to hold her and they had something else to do.

     I was warned before arriving at Borger to keep my identity secret as newspaper folk are not esteemed very highly in Borger and there has been talk, so they say, of handling them roughly. I took the hint but now do not believe it was necessary.

     Before I arrived I talked to a woman on the stage line who was waiting at a wayside station and she gave me an earful. Among other things she said she had been ordered to leave because she would not contribute $1 a day of her earnings to the local officers and she among others had been ordered to leave. I had no way of either proving or disproving these statements.

     As near as I could get at the facts they are about as follows: The town was rotten and corrupt to the core. Something like 1000 women were plying the oldest profession in the world there and about 500 liquor joints were running wide open. The county grand jury was called in special session and after looking into the situation called on Governor “Ma” Ferguson for Texas Rangers to help clear things up. Word of their coming preceded their arrival and the local officers seemed to get busy, feeling no doubt, their jobs were in peril. They rounded up twenty-six of the worst characters among the women and ordered them to leave town.

Health Service Takes A Hand
     Representatives of the public health service also arrived about the time and after making an examination ordered about fifty women to the isolation camp for venereal diseases. About 200 others, according to reports were placed under a physician’s care. This fact very likely was the cause of the wild reports going out that the women were being held on the chain.

     Nighttime came before I negotiated the full journey to Borger and I had some apprehension about finding my way there. The Canadian River lies just to the north of town and I had some difficulty crossing. There was not much water, but the sand was deep and heavy and the car stalled several times. Then I had to climb a high hill that appeared to have no top this side of the moon. The heavy traffic had worn deep gullies and holes in it.

     A constant stream of cars and trucks kept the air full of dust and the headlights of cars could not be distinguished thirty yards ahead. I finally came into a town and was told it was the Phillips camp, the end of the new Santa Fe railroad. Going on I came to another and was told it was Whittenburg, named after the landowner, whom the discovery of oil made rich. Proceeding on my journey I was soon in another burg and this one was Dixon Creek and the next one was Borger.

     However they all join and are all included when Borger is spoken of. I committed an unpardonable sin according to oil field lore by picking up two fellows and giving them a ride into town. They aided me in finding the road and got out at their destination leaving me with my car, money and hide, so I guess they were not hijackers.

     Parking the car in a garage, I sought a hotel to try and obtain a room, which are said to be hard to find but I had no trouble. After paying my $2 for a 2X4 room, but with a good bed, I asked the landlady about a bath. She led me to the bath room explaining the water pressure was not sufficient for the regular baths, but they had plenty of wash tubs. Six tubs filled with water were standing around so I locked the door and selected the largest one for I didn’t think anything smaller would hold the accumulation of dirt I carried. Here again I committed a social blunder, I presume. People kept coming and trying the door and some shook it violently. Not until I was through did I realize that perhaps this was community property and those other five tubs were not put there for my own especial use. Why does a man burn the midnight oil studying and then the first time he gets out of his accustomed sphere be guilty of a social blunder?

First Impressions
     After a late supper I started on my rounds of investigation and found people very close mouthed about what was going on. But I finally succeeded in getting a line on developments. The joints were all closed. The reputation of the rangers had already done the work without them actually making the rounds. Here before I forget it I desire to add a word of commendation to the praises of the Texas Ranger service. They are uncorruptable men and nobody knows it better than the law breakers. When they say “scat” they mean “scat” as the story goes.

     About the first open door I came to held two women of a certain type. They did not speak to me until I went in, then they were very friendly. I was dressed as an oil field worker and they took me for a driller and asked me what lease I was working on. After an exchange of pleasantries I offered to buy the beer but they shook their heads and said nothing doing. Then they told me about the rangers being in town and everything being air-tight.

     I insisted they could at least find me one bottle to keep me from famishing and one of them said she would go out and see what she could do, but soon returned and shook her head sadly. I found this to be the general condition everywhere I went. One surprising thing about the women, I might mention is that instead of being among the down and out class of outcast women, they appeared to be exactly the contrary. They were neatly but not flashily dressed, and were well groomed, and not wearing much paint. They appeared to be from good homes and carried a certain amount of culture. One of them wore nose glasses and had the look of a college woman. Nothing in their looks of talk would give one an idea of their profession. I mention this because practically all of this class of women I saw and I saw many of them, appeared to be of the better raised class of women. One of them told me she was out for the money, but did not think it necessary to go to the dogs to get it. The jewelry she was wearing proclaimed the fact that she was undoubtedly getting the money.

Dance Hall Thrills
     Going down the street I came to the Santa Fe dance hall and was prepared to harvest a crop of thrills, but was disappointed. A crowd of men were standing around with their hats in their hands and men and women were seated around the sides of the building. Perhaps a dozen couples were dancing and doing it very nicely. No wild, rough stuff was permitted, I was told and the behavior of those present gave evidence of the truth of this statement. The girls stood up straight and moved over the floor gracefully; There was no wiggling and convulsions of the hips, like one often sees at private dances.

     This style of dancing was not tolerated at any of the three dance halls I visited, they told me and I believe they told me the facts, for I got the same statement from different ones. These dance halls are supposed to be conducted for the benefit of “tired oil men,” but none appeared to be present. At two of them the crowd of men were about the same as one sees at any other dance, but at the other the men present did not show up so well. They were slick haired, furtive eyed, shallow and dissipated looking, and the women there matched them fairly well. I tried to engage one of the most homely ones in conversation but did not have any luck; the better looking ones were busy dancing.

     After each dance they would walk along before the men saying ‘Dance, Dance” and sometimes snapping their fingers to attract attention, but would not try to pull anybody out on the floor. It cost 25 cents to dance a very short time. The management, I was told got 15 cents of this money and the girl the other 10 cents. The dame I tried to talk to got up and walked over to the manager and seemed to be telling him something about me, for they both looked at me as they were talking. I was preparing for the bouncer, but he failed to show up. I might have spent more time there and learned something interesting, but hardly felt it was doing the other places justice to allow them to monopolize all my time, so I soon left.

Open Air Dance Halls
     The next place I visited had both sides of the building open and it was much cooler there. A happy care free crowd was dancing and a large crowd standing around, all the men with their hats off. Here I saw the only evidence of liquor I ran into that night. One young fellow was carrying quite a jag and having a good time; mostly by himself. He was not in the least disorderly, but was ripe for picking and a girl was busy at the job. She never let go of him at any time although he tried to get away several times, telling her “He was off of her like a dirty shirt,” but didn’t succeed in shaking her. One time they were doing a fancy dance that called for breaking holds and each turning around. As he turned another girl stepped in and he, not noticing the difference started dancing with her. The first girl caught him from behind and tried to pull him away, but the other held on, so they both danced with him until the music stopped, but both were laughing all the while.

     Returning to the Santa Fe I arrived just in time to see a fist fight start, but an officer stopped it at once. After diligent inquiry I found out it started over one refusing to pay the other for work, which he claimed was unsatisfactory. Both of the men were allowed to go about their business and no arrests were made.

     After the fracas which created about as much confusion as such matters do anywhere else, I engaged a nice appearing little woman in conversation and got most of my intimate information from her. She was not feeling well and had been sick in bed for several days, she said, so wanted to talk instead of dance.

     She told me she did not “date” but perhaps half the girls did; she had opportunities every night, but was wearing “a ball and chain on her finger,” meaning she was married. I found that these “entertainers” were proud or at least took pride in their profession and each tried to be a better dancer than the other. She pointed out some different ones to me, making remarks about their dancing. One girl she said “should pay that man something for dragging her around over the floor. Another she said would never make a successful entertainer for she “had weak feet.”

     Her pay averaged about $9 a night, but sometimes after payday she made as high as $20. Occasionally she received handsome tips, but they were not included. The best dancers get the best tips, she said.

     None of the girls here had that hard eyed look and thin lines about their mouths were absent. They have to register with the management and if they are absent, or incapacitated for any length of time are fired. I offered to buy her a drink, but she told me she never tasted liquor, as it interfered with her work. Said nobody but a fool would think of drinking that stuff and do their work satisfactory.

Floor Manager a Czar
     The floor manager seemed to have a stand in with all the girls, as most of them would cuddle up to him and some danced with both arms around his neck. I judged from his looks and actions that he was somewhat of a czar and his word was law. No one else seemed to receive this favored treatment. The lady I talked to, and I cannot help but think she was a lady, said she often had to call someone down for getting too familiar and trying to put both arms around her, but admitted it was all in the day’s work.

     Most of these women can take care of themselves under most any circumstances and any sympathy is wasted on them, but one cannot help but wonder why attractive girls, like they are do not try to get into a higher profession. A girl passed out the door before us with tears in her eyes. I asked what was wrong and my friend told me, she thought it was because her sweetie had neglected her all evening and devoted his time to another.

     When I arose to leave I thanked her for her company and she assured me the pleasure was all hers as she had greatly enjoyed talking to me. She asked me back and hoped she would be feeling better and thus be able to be a better entertainer. I hadn’t spent a cent on her, so asked her to take a cold drink. She ordered lemonade and said one glass would be enough for both of us, as she only wanted a sip. I paid the sum of 5 cents for the drink so really did not feel that was too extravagant. Also I judge from that, the girls do not get a percentage of the drinks sold.

     Borger and Dixon Creek each have one main street, or “drag” as they call it, and each is perhaps two miles long. There are no street lights and after the stores were closed one went stumbling along like a blind horse. Vacant places between the buildings were used for traffic and deep ditches resulted, that one would fall down in crossing. By midnight, everything, including the dance halls, were closed, although some eating houses remained open all night. I continued to hunt for something interesting but failed to find it. Trucks and cars were going back and forth and occasionally one heard loud laughing in the cars but no rowdyism could be discovered.

     No women were on the streets, and I was informed they had orders to stay in or leave town. No hijackers or other suspicious characters were to be seen, but only a short time ago they were reported numerous. However, from the best information I could obtain, I don’t believe there was ever the rough stuff pulled that was reported. Low and immoral characters were there by the thousands, but the real criminals from the cities seem to have been conspicuous by their absence. The worst trouble they have had there seems to have been caused by rival bootlegging gangs, or from some cause connected with the liquor traffic. Reports are that if a joint keeper did not buy his stuff from the right parties he was liable to have his joint “kicked in.” There is also reports of a large dope ring here, but so far as I could learn there have been no arrests by government officers.

Wholesale Hijacking
     Oil derricks are in and all around the town. They have a string of lights reaching to the top of them and make a pretty night scene. Some time ago a bunch of hijackers visited twenty-four wells one night and about that many the next. They marched the two men on duty at each rig along with them and kept adding to the crowd until they had about fifty men. Then they made them lie down and ordered them up, one at a time, relieving them of their money and valuable. They didn’t get much of value from the crowd, but caused the companies considerable expense. Tools were left in the fire and valuable bits ruined. Drilling tools were left in the hole and were got out with difficulty. A sore bunch of drillers resulted and after the second round, the men at the rigs prepared for them, but were not further molested.

     A forest of derricks can be seen in every direction from the town. There are about five hundred wells, all producing oil, within a radius of a few miles and more going down every day. The oil workers I found were not the hard class of people they are reported to be. They look dirty and greasy and talk gruff sometimes, but never failed to give me what information they could. In this connection I am reminded of the statement of the clergyman who said, “any a ragged pair of trousers covers an honest heart.” These men have an honest look and I believe they have an odium put on them they do not deserve.

     At breakfast the next morning after turning in about 2 o’clock in the morning, a little girl kept coming around my table. I spoke to her and then she said, “Mister, are you a ranger?” I answered no and asked why she thought I was. That no doubt was a compliment, but I would rather people at the time would not have thought me one. I engaged her mother in conversation and found out she was a driller’s wife, said she had been in the oil fields twelve years. Had always been satisfied, but must now move to a city where the children could have the benefit of a high school. She appeared to be an intelligent woman and well posted on current events. She told me of a fight a short time ago, she and her husband witnessed.

     A woman got drunk and came out on the street swearing and cursing. A man was passing and she started abusing him. He walked on, but she followed and drew a knife from her clothes. He turned around as she came up and seeing the knife struck her with his fist, knocking her down. Another man jumped on him and then a free-for-all started. Several drew guns and it looked for some time as though somebody would be guilty of disturbing the peace, but the affair was settled with no killing to record.

Booze Line from K. C.
     Some of the finest cars I ever saw were being driven up and down the street by well dressed women with hard eyes. Some of them were fine looking and some even beautiful, but all “ladies of leisure.” I was told one had a line of booze cars operating out of Kansas City, bringing in alcohol. My informant, who seemed to know, said they paid $10 a gallon for it there and diluted it and sold it here for $50. When the joints were open corn liquor sold for 50 cents for a small glass and beer and choc 50 cents a bottle. Beer bottles are hard to get and command a premium. A short time ago the sheriff captured a carload of empty bottles that were being carried in for home brew purposes.

     I saw a street fakir asleep under his truck with the broiling sun shining on his head. Last night I watched him operate awhile. He was selling silverware and giving every buyer the option of either taking the stuff or a new $10 bill. The bids were around $4 when I got tired and left. Can’t help but think he lost money if he sold it at that price.

     Saw a man call the whole crowd up to a bar in a cold drink place and treat them all. I was included but something else attracted my attention and I left. Wonder what his great graft was?

     The businessmen of the town, taken as a whole are not prepossessing from a standpoint of looks, but there are some exceptions. Most of the loafers have the looks of bootleggers and worse. They would slant their eyes at one and after passing would turn around and look at you. When I turned to take a quick look myself they would quickly turn their head or walk away. I imagine this is the class that give the oil field towns such a bad name.

     On the whole my visit to Borger was a disappointment from a standpoint of scandal. No women on the “troutline” or none on the street soliciting. Booze palaces closed and let us hope spiders weaving their webs across the doors. Dance halls conducted decently and compared to some places, on a high plane; hijackers either gone or in jail. No evidence of dope being sold and the bark of the six shooter stilled. I have seen much wilder places in Kansas City, with nothing said about it.