Another Take on Midland, Texas

Your story on Midland, Texas, (“A Place Called Midland: George W. Bush’s Home Ground,” Sept. 7) sent shudders up my spine.

I lived there from 1960 to ’68. Exhausted mothers carpooled in dust-covered station wagons with up to a score of shouting children swarming everywhere, like the Texas-sized red ants that invaded every summer. Like my father, the men worked the oil rigs in Odessa night and day, rednecking their way to 40-year careers of regular promotions with big oil companies--and a way out of Midland to the black-gold paved streets of Houston. Sometimes, they talked about those damn-fool wildcatters, who lived with their families on next to nothing while they dreamed of hitting pay dirt. And then did.

George W. was right about one thing: For tarantulas, tumbleweeds and white boys in “dah aahhll bidness,” Midland was a wonderful place. Oh, I share one more thing with George W.: We both got out.

MARIAN GERLICH

Valley Glen, Calif.