Growing up in the 1950’s and 60’s is certainly a story all its own. This reflection took place during those years. This is a simple reflection on growing up in an El Paso Natural Gas Plant Camp. Some who read this will remember Sealy Smith, some will be asking, what is Sealy Smith, and where is it? So, for those who ask, Sealy Smith was simply the name of the El Paso plant and camp. It was, and what’s left of it, located in Monahans, Texas. Yes, Texas. The Lone Star State, Dallas Cowboy Country, oil wells, rattlesnakes, tumbleweeds, and sand, lots of sand! This is West Texas, folks.

Now the smell of a fully operating natural gas plant is something you will not soon forget. For me, pleasant memories. For some, a memory you hope to forget, and most certainly hope to never experience again. You really had to be there. Despite the daily bombardment of nasal congestion and odors that cannot be described, life in camp was exciting. We were about five or six miles out of town as I recall. We rode the school bus to and from school every day. Seemed like such a long ride back then. We all had friends who lived in town, but our FRIENDS, companions, and playmates were all residents of the camp. You know, the kind of people you could trust. Good decent kids and their parents. Looking back, I’d say there were about 25 families or so in “my camp”. That’s what they were, families, yes, two parents. I know it is hard to believe, isn’t it? We all lived in a nice modest company owned house, green St. Augustine grass, trees, and even a few dogs and cats. The kids had a playground at one end of the camp. This was “THE SPOT”. It contained all the necessary amenities. A see-saw, swings, merry go round, and the ever present and (probably) now, banned rocking horse. For those who remember, the rocking horse needs no explanation, and the rest of you will have to trust me when I tell you the rocking horse was to be feared. Only the bravest among humanity would try and conquer it. I was one of the brave ones who did conquer it, but I did fall from it once and received a broken arm. But it was such fun. More pleasure and fun than a kid should be allowed to have, was had in this little playground. We had other activities as well. Football, baseball, hide and seek, snipe hunts, and my favorite, kick the can. Are you beginning to get the picture yet? You will. Now the grown ups would socialize with each other, too, in the form of barbecues, card and domino games, volley ball, and even a little tennis. Simple things, but effective. When one of us kids got hurt while playing, it seemed that someone’s parent was there to put the band aid on (without fear of being sued). Of course we had our fights and disagreements, but they never lasted too long, and we were right back to playing and being friends again.

The “closeness” the camp almost seemed to demand from parents and children alike is surely something that is lost, I am sorry to say. But not forgotten.

Our Daddies, or Fathers, for some of you, worked extremely hard. Many long hours, including the dreaded graveyard shift. Now, from my point of view back then, Daddy working the graveyard shift was nothing less than a prison sentence.

A M waking hours was the time life was meant to be lived to its fullest. If your Daddy had worked the graveyard shift, he arrived home when you were just getting out of bed, and he was going to go to bed. So, QUIET was the rule of the day. Now, for a kid, this was not an easy thing to deal with, but we went by the rules, (most of the time). And today? I wouldn’t change a thing. It simply taught respect. Something I don’t see much of in the youth of today. Respect for your parents should be as American as Apple Pie. By the way, Mothers and wives worked hard as well. If not at a job in town, certainly it was enough raising kids, keeping them out of trouble, keeping the house up, seeing that we got to the bus stop every day, on time. We always had clean ironed clothes, and a good breakfast, not from a microwave. Oh, yes, the Mothers worked as hard as any one.

The many wonderful years I spent growing up the camp is something I cherish. It was the best. The values instilled in me by my parents is priceless. I could never thank them enough. I do thank them and love them dearly. Some of the morals and integrity I hope I have, came my way because I was fortunate enough to have grown up in an El Paso Camp. Now you may say this is just a testament to this writers parents. OK, maybe it is. If so, they deserve it. But thank God for El Paso AND THE CAMPS OF OLD. It saddens me a great deal to know that they are a thing of the past.

I am with out a doubt, positive, in fact, that if the kids of today could grow up “camp”, they would have respect, morals, religious beliefs, honesty, integrity, and know the value of hard work. All the things my parents and the camp gave me. Of course it didn’t hurt that all this growing up took place in Texas.

In closing, I have a suggestion or two. If you grew up in an El Paso Camp, tell your kids about it, and tell your Grand kids about it. They will thank you and love you for it. If you didn’t, then get to know your neighbors, have a cook out with them, invite several families over. Take your kids to Church, and vacation Bible school. It won’t kill them. Just do a few simple things occasionally and teach them that hard work pays off, and that honesty, morals, and education are all to be valued.

The results will be decent, hard working, honest up standing citizens, who know right form wrong and who will always strive to do the right thing. That will only make this country a better place for us all. Thanks Mother and Daddy, and thank you El Paso Natural Gas Company.

Randy V. Sturman is a sales account manager living in Cottonwood, AZ, with his wife, Phyllis. He is a 1968 graduate of Monahans High School. Randy's parents, who inspired a big part of this article, reside in San Angelo, TX.