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Coots; 2001




This is Coots at his ranch in Maverick County when he was 78. He was a hoot to be around, always, and it wasn't unusual to have your face hurt after awhile from smiling and laughing out loud. Just when you thought you'd heard everything, he'd come up with something new.


Everybody in the oilfield, almost, gets caught up in the golf stuff; salesmen, service providers, company men, CEO's, everybody is always asking you to go play golf with them. There are fundraisers, get togethers and big anniversaires of unknown events all based on golf and barrels of cold beer.


A few of the guys at the shop played golf to stay in touch with big customers always having well control issues. Like Chesapeake. They couldn't keep anything in the hole one year and we did ten jobs for them. We had golf balls at Boots and Coots with our logo on them, tees, towels, shirts, caps, hard hat stickers, bumper stickers and plastic cups to drink whiskey from; we were forever passing that stuff out like candy at Halloween.


When big corporate jefes would ask Coots to play golf with them, Coots' standard reply was to say he wasn't old enough to play golf yet and had better things to do.


If you asked Coots how old you actually had to be to play golf, he'd say...'well pods, if when you are taking a bath and you look down and you see your balls floatin', that's a pretty good sign your old enough to play golf.



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