The Little Old Town                       

It’s a little old town, dependent on oil,

 Acres of sagebrush on Alkali soil,

Quaint little houses, primarily of wood,

   Countless pumping units,

   Where derricks once stood.

 

One little movie house, used to be two,

   The drive-ins are gone

   And the skating rink too.

No drive-in movies, bowling alley’s gone,

No outdoor privies, I could go on and on.

 

Landmarks have vanished,

   There’s not much the same.

Technology, progress and greed share

   the blame.

Growing up here was really a joy

   in those long ago years

   when I was a boy.

 

The Fourth Street firehouse, with

   its wonderful bell,

If it were still with us,

   what tales it would tell.

The friendly fire chief would

   invite us inside, and we’d

   slide down the pole, what

   a wonderful ride.

 

There was no air conditioning

   that far back, just a fan blowing

   through a wet burlap sack.

It would sit in a window with

   a big block of ice, and I have

   to admit it was pretty damn nice.

 

We had radios then, but no TV,but

we loved all those programs

 that we couldn’t see.

There was Bob Hope, Red Skelton

   and Fibber McGee, and “I Love

   a Mystery,” a favorite to me.

 

Everywhere derricks constructed with

   wood, so tall and proud

    they majestically stood.

Built by men with wagons and mules,

   a tremendous achievement with

   old-fashioned tools.

 

Burlap water bags lashed to your car,

   for a fresh drink of water

   if you traveled very far.

You could go on vacation and not

   lock a door, and when you

   returned, all was just as before.

 

It was off to school so the folks could

   relax, the boys would play marbles,

   and the girls would play jacks.

When school was over, back home they

   ran, for a good game of tag

   or kick the can.

 

We would play until dark, ‘til Mom gave

   call; we were sweaty and tired,

   but we sure had a ball.

“Clean up for supper,” our dear mother

   said, then we donned our pajamas

   and got ready for bed.

 

Then came our teens and those high

   school joys, the boys noticed girls,

   and the girls noticed boys.

Football games and high school plays-

   those were wonderful days.

 

The bonfire preceding the Bakersfield game,

   with the sign at the top,

   “Oxford Rooms’ was the name.

Everything changed with the start of the War,

   and nothing was ever the same as before.

 

We learned of Pearl Harbor, where the

   attack was waged on.  The next thing we

   knew, all the young men were gone.

Off to serve, leaving loved ones in tears;

   they wouldn’t return for two or

   three years.

 

The war finally ended, and from that

   very day, things seemed to quicken

   and time slipped away.

Our old traditions seemed to leave us too

   soon, and technology put a

   man on the moon.

 

I miss the Old Town, and the pleasure it

   gave, and I have memories to cherish

   and save.

So, Taft, California to me, you’re the best

   and growing up here makes me feel

   truly blessed.

 

By Mickey Barnes, TUHS Class of ‘45