An essay by Nydia Campbell.
Growing up in a small town in Oklahoma, I was a witness as my town became empty as the big rigs and drills of the oilfield left to search for the liquid gold and as my town began to burst once again as the oilfield returned discovering what they had been looking for was here all along. As the years went by, I watched farmers grow old as they worked the land using every bit of nutrients it offered to give back only a little of what was taken. I was there in tragedy, as my town grieved together proving just how strong we are and as controversy tore us apart. I have felt the joy of the football team’s big wins over a rival, as the town became empty, but the stadium seats became full, and I’ve felt the heartbreak of the team’s loss when it mattered most. As I reflect on these experiences, of my ordinary life, I began to realize just how extraordinary it was. I began to see how Oklahoma has shaped who I am in a way only Oklahoma can and the way only Clinton can.
Clinton Oklahoma is a small town that was built by the railroad, which had lines from all different directions that meet in Clinton’s center dubbing it the Hub City of Oklahoma. A name that was worn with pride until the rise of automobile travel and Interstate 40 was built right through town and right through the old railroad tracks. The big railroad companies began leaving and the towns around Clinton began to grow and change, some receiving colleges while others received air force bases while others still simply vanished, but Clinton simply stayed the same. As the oilfield began to boom, so did Clinton leading to the building of new hotels and housing additions, but as the oilfield moved away finding favor in other little towns across the nation, Clinton was left with empty houses, hotels, and promises.
I remember nights sitting outside watching as the storms roll in and inevitably split around the town when we needed the rain most. As the ground crumbles beneath my feet, a storm finally breaks through the imaginary barrier and drenches Clinton in rain and destruction as only an Oklahoma storm can. I can still remember the sound of the wind whipping around my house and the thunder as it rolls through the clouds. Oklahoma is always at the mercy of the storms that it prays for. One may bring rain but the next may bring destruction. Any farmer will tell you that we are simply at the mercy of the weather. And any farmer will tell you that that mercy does not always come.
So, one could say that Clinton is a bitter town filled with bitter people. Many town leaders can remember the day the oilfield left, and many can tell you of the lasting outcomes it left Clinton with. They’ll tell you of Clinton’s glory days when it seemed the sky was the limit for the little town but be saddened at the town that sometimes seems to be holding on by a thread. Less than an hour from the Texas border and sandwiched in between two other towns of equal size yet seemingly filled with more opportunity and growth, Clinton has developed an “us versus them” outlook. An outlook that can be felt through the streets of downtown, to the halls of the high school.
I sometimes find myself stuck in this outlook even now. I still find myself holding reservations when I meet anyone from another town. They are not from Clinton, so how could they understand me? Clinton: constantly underestimated and forgotten about. Maybe it is jealousy that bubbles to the surface when looking on at what other towns have. Or maybe it’s the longing for what Clinton could be that leads citizens to believe they are on their own. This mindset shared by the town has led to an almost black hole effect. If one doesn’t leave when given the chance, they may find themselves stuck forever and I feel myself fighting against the pull. But Clinton is not without its joys.
While Clinton is a town that has had its fair share of bad luck, Clinton still has things to take pride in. One of the things that comes to mind is football. Like many towns throughout Oklahoma, Clinton revolves around its high school football team. For as long as I can remember, my Friday nights from late August to November, and even early December, were spent under the lights of a stadium with the high school band playing and the crowd screaming in the background. Now, I almost feel out of place when I am anywhere else on a fall Friday night.
Clinton football is a town wide tradition that has brought the town together every Friday night for a hundred years. Seeing the pride on father’s faces as their son now follows their footsteps by playing the game or listening to the old men relive their glory days through the current players is something I will never forget. I cannot think of anything more Oklahoman than sitting in a stadium on a Friday night as the band plays Oklahoma and the crowd anxiously awaits tipoff as the sun sets behind them. A memory so central to my life and so memorable as one may fondly remember a birthday or holiday.
I remember how my Oklahoma town came together in the midst of tragedy to lean on each other and offer a shoulder to cry on. I remember my mom busy in the kitchen making food for the family whose house is flooded with water or damaged from the wind that swept down the plains. Something that is known to all Oklahomans is that food can cover a multitude of terrible outcomes. Tragedy is not unknown to anyone in Oklahoma or in the world for that matter. But something that is unique to Oklahoma is the way we gather around each other in the midst of the bad. As a state that is so isolated from those around it, we have learned to support one another. I will never forget the nights of quiet singing lit by a few candles where you are not sure if the sobs you hear are your own or the people around you. It brings me great joy to know that I am not alone.
Clinton. So uniquely Oklahoman. I think back on it and I am reminded of how ready I was to leave it. To escape from the tight knit community I grew up in and make a name for myself as so many others around me wanted. I dreamed of finding myself living my life in a faraway city with cool weather and an abundance of activity. But I cannot separate myself from the beauty of what I learned growing up in the midst of my small town as much as I wish I could. To be rid of the ordinary I thought I was in and find something extraordinary. But as I recount the details of my Oklahoman childhood, I find that it was extraordinary in its own way. Extraordinary in that it gave me a unique understanding of the world and a hunger to change it. Extraordinary in that it gave me a hope to make my small town known and to be able to go back and know that my town is proud of who I have become and who I am becoming.
This essay was written for the University of Oklahoma Class, Oklahoma Writers/ Writing Oklahoma.
© 2020 Nydia Campbell
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