The Athlete with no Gold Medal

Kathryn Deladurnatey

“Wham” boards flying down one after another. Thaddeus crawled over the boards into the burning red-hot boiler. Flames erupted over the boards he had just crossed as they were now in flames. The heat was so intense his skin felt tight, but he had no time to lose his focus now, not turning to the burning wood but to the job at hand, men yelling orders, handing in tools, the common smell of oil, the well-known Texas sun with its shrilling glare.

Quickly switching his tools from one hand to the next, as if there was a ticking clock ready to strike at any moment, the sweat pouring down his face, his blood pumping faster and faster, his hammer flying as he beaded the flues, all his muscles straining.

“Hooray,” sounded the oil field crew as Thaddeus pulled himself from the repaired boiler.

“All done sir. You’re back in business”

$1,000 in his pocket and off he went!

This is the job he does over and over again.

His ambidextrous hands and his long years working with his older brother, Robert Watts, in the blacksmith shop out in Wattsville made him what he was today, a mastermind in boilers for this booming oil industry.

Thaddeus’ adrenaline rush left him and as his usual self. He found a worker or two who would lend an ear to anything on his mind. Off he went to the next job for the day, thinking to himself. 

Years ago, when he was young on the farm, if he had never worked in the blacksmith shop he would never have found himself making money like nobody else in this tiny little town.

But his mind wandered further. Some might have called him crazy or reckless, even out of this world brave, but to him it is just what a man did for his family.

He thought over the time when food and gas were very scarce, about how many men had no work and their families were forced out onto the street?

His call was higher than a sheer moment of bravery, shock of adrenaline, or a cheer from a crowd.

He reminded himself of a phrase he often stood by: “A man who does not pay his debts is not good for anything else either. This was the man he was, to care for those in his charge no matter the danger or pain, this was his one skill that would put food on the table, give a world worth something to his kids, and show his son what a man should be.”

But what he didn’t know was what he had dreamed all his efforts would become was already taking place, as the dawn of a cold morning erupted.

The wind shrilled around the Watts’ home, the cold weather had settled into their little Texas town.

A boy dressed in white- and blue-striped jammies perched on the stairs in the old white house, just six blocks from the school. This was “Willie Watts” Thadeus’ son sleepily watching him from the stairs. 

As he sat, he watched his dad, tall, thin, and strong as an athlete, his worn hands slipping on his boots.

At 4 a.m. every morning he headed off to Binghams, a local cafe where he would grab his coffee, chat with the guys, and read the newspaper. 

Willie knew this familiar scene, and what lay ahead for his dad.

As soon as his dad stepped outside that front door, he would be called brave, one of a kind, daring, crazy, and a man to which nothing could stand against.

Yes, an average man who day by day did heroic things. 

Willie was who he was because of his dad and that is when…

Screech, shrank, bash, crackle, bang…

“What’s that?” Willie asked as he sprang to his feet.

Willie’s thoughts jumped here and there.

Looking from the porch, he could see a man lying on the ground, seeming to have been thrown from the car. 

The air still being cold, and damp, he quickly grabbed a pillow and blanket and stepped boldly into the yard.

Yes, it was the very well-known and distinguished traveler and oil field man, Edgar B. Davis, out in the yard and laying on the ground. 

A word or two changed, and Willie placed a blanket over his cold and still body, and gently lifting his head he placed the pillow.

But Willie did this not looking for applause or boasting of his great kindness; he was only 12 years old, but it was the right thing to do out of common care for another person, something his dad had shown him by caring for their small family right there on Oak Street.

He stepped away… and never looked back. 

Six months later, Edgar B. Davis sent him a gift for a kind gesture that saved his life. 

This boy is Willie Joe Watts, better known as Joe, a man who carried on the legacy of courage and bravery a dream his father would have been proud to see today. He not only went on to be a newspaper boy, a bricklayer, a cattle rancher, an oil field man, serving on the school board, buying and selling land, winning a watermelon championship, but has preserved and had grown what his dad had given him. Now at 94, his working years are not over. You can find him every morning helping his daughter set up the family store where they sell all things leather at Holifield Designs.

These are both not just men doing their job and raising their generations, but they are the ones who made our towns, and built our economies. Without them, where would the place we call home be? 

If we are honest without them, we wouldn’t even be calling our little towns home. 

Kathryn Deladurnatey is owner of Sunny Hill Flower Farm in Caldwell County. She can be reached via email at sunny-hill-flower-farm.com.