The Legend: Clayton Williams

Laugh, play, work: The Clayton William philosophy of life .

“Do the best you can and don’t take life too serious.” Will Rogers

"Don't look back. Something might be gaining on you." Satchel Paige

It may seem strange to open a story about one of the most quotable characters in modern history with other people’s lines, but these are two of Clayton Williams Jr.’s favorites. And both ends of the equation in the Will Rogers quote—doing your best and having the proper amount of levity—go a long way toward defining this Texas icon.

Actually, putting “define” and “Clayton Williams” in the same sentence is risky business. Wildcatter and oil business pioneer; natural gas marketer; entrepreneur in real estate, telecommunications, banking and much more; salesman; gubernatorial candidate; rancher; big game hunter; world traveler; musician; raconteur; college instructor; and the list sprawls out as far as a drilling rig’s shadow across a West Texas evening.

“Laughing is very important in this business because you’ve always got screw-ups and dry holes and you can’t (cuss) about everything all the time, so you learn to laugh at adversity,” he advises. He then adds, as if reciting a cowboy code of honor: “Laugh; and play; and work.”

“I’ve had more fun at work—I’ve had a little fun after work.” He paused without giving details on either facet but there was a distinct twinkle in his eye. Many of his exploits, both during and after work, are legendary.

Why does he keep going to his ClayDesta office at an age at which he could easily retire to the ranch and enjoy a quiet life? The short answer is that that kind of life would not put him out on a limb. That would put him too far from the people he enjoys working with and the adrenaline rush of taking a huge risk with the possibility of a huge reward—the lifeblood of the wildcatter whose life is lived out on a limb—always looking for one more win. It’s the same pedal-to-the-metal, four-wheel-drive that sends him and his wife, Modesta, across the globe searching for big game. Today might be the day of one more blowout—or another colossal bust. You don’t know which unless you show up ready for anything.

He speaks fondly of the old wildcatter days when drilling was done with minimal information and a brimful of risk. “There was excitement in those days,” he says, as compared with today when geologists, geoscientists and engineers pore over seismic and other data for weeks to make new wells as close to a sure thing as possible.

Beyond the rowdy risk taker, there’s deeper layer of the man’s being. The quiet side of his 59-year career reveals a person who declares, “I’ve had a lot of good people work for me, and I’ve had a lot of good friends,” and who quotes the Golden Rule as his guide for how to treat everyone, from dignitaries and business partners to the rig hands on his wells; who repeatedly expresses awe and reverence for the freedom and rule of law in America; and who has an extreme sense of doing the right thing and honoring his word, even when it could cost him dearly.

Free to succeed, free to fail

His appreciation for American-style freedom was crystallized on a hunting trip to Mongolia. He and Modesta were with some local guides when three black limousines pulled up loaded with Communist government officials. The Williamses’ companions cowered in fear.

“That illustrated freedom more than anything I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said, adding. “We don’t have to cower” in America.

Travels all across Russia and other countries with oppressive and repressive regimes always ended with a happy return to the United States. “Every time we came back we said it’s so good to be coming back to a free country…. The main lesson I bring back is, thank God we’re free.” He later added, “Free to succeed, free to fail.”

“We were safer than y’all”

Even when they were hunting Urial sheep in Afghanistan on September 11, 2001, they did not feel the need to cower. In fact, he declares, “We were safer than y’all—we were armed!”

According to his authorized biography, Claytie, by Mike Cochran, the terrorist attacks were hours old before Clayton and Modesta knew anything, because of their remote location. Once a U. S. embassy official in Turkmenistan notified the couple to leave immediately, there was resistance. Quoting from Claytie:

“No,” Claytie resisted. “She’s got her sheep—and I don’t have mine yet.”

Finally convinced, they arrived in Ashgabat, Turkmenistan then caught a flight for Frankfurt, Germany.

“When the people found out we were Americans, they wanted to help us ‘cause they’d learned about the disaster,” he recalls. Lufthansa held a plane for the Williamses to return to America—but, as with everything in Clayton Williams’s life, it wasn’t as simple as just hopping on a plane to Texas.

The problem was that they were still toting high-powered hunting rifles—in an airport. The biography reports, “It would be six and a half hellish hours at the airport… Airport police got involved at one stage and a final security check even unfolded on the tarmac as the plane waited to depart.”

Son of the Pioneers

As are many in the oil patch, Clayton Williams is a product of pioneering stock, “which is kind of a good foundation for wildcatting and exploration and looking for things,” he says.

Family history includes a Williams ancestor marrying a descendent of Daniel Boone as those ancestors crossed Virginia, Kentucky and Illinois before landing in the Lone Star State. His grandfather, O. W. Williams, came to Dallas in 1866 then continued on to Ft. Stockton in 1885. Clayton, Sr (Clayton Jr.’s father) would be born there years later. The elder Williams, a Harvard graduate and loyal Church of Christ member, surveyed much of Lubbock County. Both Clayton Williams Sr. and Jr. also did some surveying in later years. Clayton says someone with an education could always get a job surveying in those days because nothing had be surveyed before.

Clayton started in the oil business after getting out of the army. He had $5,000 to invest—some from his Army pay and some he’d saved from waiting tables in the evenings.

He sold insurance for New York Life to pay the bills while getting the oil side of his career flowing. He called himself an “oil lease broker” even though he says he really wasn’t one yet. Because he’d worked on ranches starting in his tender years, he knew how to talk to the ranchers and landowners with whom he needed to sign leases, so he began to get traction.

Then he found a major investor that helped him get his first break.

Blowouts, dry holes and a punch in the jaw

In the next issue we’ll talk about that investor, his biggest dry hole that turned into his biggest discovery—and the surprising story of possibly the only bar fight Clayton Williams ever lost.