* * *
In Williston, as prices fell in late 2014, few residents believed that the state’s beloved oil boom might end. No one used the word “bust.” Instead they called it a “downturn” or a “temporary slowdown.” “It will give the city time to catch up,” said one official. “It will rebound soon,” another resident said. “We’re normalizing,” said a local real estate agent.
But prices continued to fall—dropping about 70 percent over the next year and a half. By 2016, the price per barrel was under $35, down from the peak of $145 eight years earlier. Some 10,000 jobs were cut in North Dakota. After a 40-year-old ban on exporting crude, enacted after the 1970s oil crisis created fears of scarcity, the United States repealed that decision in December 2015 in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
I visited Williston in October 2015, when the price per barrel hovered at $45. A year had passed since the downturn began. Cindy Marchello had left the oil field and returned to Utah; Tom Stakes was in Colorado; Jacob Klipsch had lost his job, and he and Chelsea Niehaus had separated; and Donny Nelson had retreated from his activism and media attention. Fighting oil development had taken a toll on him. Jay Reinke was the only person I saw during my trip, and he didn’t want to talk about the Overnighters program. He wanted to put that chapter of his life behind him.
Some Williston residents were coming to terms with the possibility of the “temporary downturn” being longer than expected. Rental rates and hotel rates had finally normalized. I found a room at the newly built Aspen Lodge and Suites for $50 a night—less than what most hotel rooms had cost before the boom. A man camp along the highway advertised rooms for “$24.99 and up.” New trucks in GMC’s car lot collected dust. Shiny new shopping centers stood half empty. The estimated occupancy rate for newly built apartments was at 50 percent—and approximately 5,000 hotel rooms and apartment units were now empty. Trailers and mobile homes sat discarded in open fields. A dump yard called TJ’s Salvage could hardly keep up with people abandoning their trailers and skipping town. The yard stretched across the prairie with some 400 discarded vehicles, rusted trailers, and trashed oil field equipment. Melted steel frames twisted around crumbling cement blocks, and dogs roamed through the rubble.
Despite the decline in newcomers, Williston’s building frenzy continued. About 1,350 new apartments were still under construction in the fall of 2015 and scheduled to come onto the market, adding to the 10,000 new homes and apartments built during the boom. Many developers had already invested the money and signed the building permits, so they figured they might as well build, hoping occupancy rates would rise. Apartment complexes offered move-in specials, such as two months of free rent or “$1,500 Off First Month + $99 Deposit on approved credit!” One complex slashed its prices and began offering free alcohol in the common lounge. A two-bedroom apartment that once went for $3,200 a month was now a third of the price. Other complexes came up with catchy mottos to attract residents: “Turning a Boomtown into a Hometown” was one development’s tagline.
Williston was now a sprawling city with major subdivisions, industrial yards, and expanded highways. A newly constructed shopping center with the chain store Menards was located between two yards filled with oil field tanks and pipes. New high-rise apartment complexes and single-family homes were tucked in between the industrial mess. The small-town charm Williston once had was mostly gone, though a few long-standing local businesses held on. The city was in the process of building a $70 million high school and a larger airport, but now had about $215 million in debt. The city’s municipal bonds were downgraded to junk status in March 2016. City officials justified the continued building, reasoning that when the boom came back, they’d be ready. But as more companies shut their doors and layoffs continued, a full rebound looked less likely.
I drove by the old trailer park where I had lived over the summer of 2013. I passed oil pumpjacks that sat dormant, leaning over like surrendered soldiers. My space, number 305, was empty. Many surrounding spots were vacant as well. The trailers that remained looked as if they had been there for years—reinforced, winterized fortresses. Tumbleweeds blew past the empty lots and piled up next to the trailers still standing.
Across from the trailer park, just off of Energy Street, the same developer had built a new neighborhood, with prefabricated modular homes and freshly paved roads with names like Owl Street and Hawk Street. Beyond the homes were more empty square lots, waiting for residents to come. Only one or two homes had lights on, glowing like lone flares on a dark prairie.
AFTERWORD
For the tens of thousands who migrated to Williston and soon left, the boom will likely fade into a distant memory. Many went back to their old lives. Some cleared debts and saved homes—but others overspent during the flush years on new trucks and big houses and found themselves with more debt than when they started. A number of workers parlayed their oil field experience into solid working-class jobs with more manageable hours, but their paychecks weren’t anywhere close to oil field money. Few sectors paid as well as the oil field for workers without a college degree—railroads, power utilities, heavy machinery operation—and those industries didn’t have nearly enough job openings to absorb the laid-off workers. Many former oil workers turned to minimum-wage jobs to get by. The lucky ones transferred to offshore rigs or oil service jobs in North Dakota and more established areas, such as Texas and Oklahoma. But for the most part, thousands of blue-collar workers were back where they started—struggling to survive. North Dakota’s boom helped them keep their heads above water for a few years, but now what?
The worry and uncertainty oil workers felt during this time coincided with the rise of Donald Trump’s popularity during the 2016 election. Trump campaigned heavily in oil patch regions and tapped into people’s anger. He blamed the struggling oil industry on President Obama’s regulatory policies and promised to use his business prowess to unleash a U.S. energy revolution. His message worked, and Trump was elected by a large margin in oil industry states.
LISA DEVILLE AND DONNY NELSON
In December 2016, after months of intense protests, the Army Corps of Engineers denied the easement needed for the Dakota Access Pipeline to cross beneath Lake Oahe near Standing Rock and announced it would explore alternate routes. DeVille was thrilled for the tribe and appreciated the attention their movement brought to pipeline concerns, but with Donald Trump’s election, the future of the fight looked bleak. Trump had between $500,000 and $1 million invested in the company building the pipeline as of December 2015 (though he later sold off some of his shares), and one of his first actions as president was to push the Dakota Access Pipeline toward completion. DeVille vowed to continue fighting. Donny Nelson stayed on his farm in Keene and launched a new construction and a custom harvesting business. He drifted away from his political activism.
CINDY MARCHELLO
After Cindy Marchello returned to Utah, she found a job at a salt mine not far from her house. In the spring of 2015, after dating for about 10 months, her boyfriend, Dennis Thomas, proposed. Their wedding was four months later at a campground in the Utah countryside. It was a small ceremony, about 50 people, including Marchello’s newest five-week-old granddaughter. Marchello stood next to her daughters as she recited her vows. Afterward, guests ate barbecue and danced inside a small barn. Marchello joked that it was officially “her last wedding.”
Marchello quit her job at the salt mine in December 2015 and launched her acupuncture business again—though it was a slow start. For the most part, she and Thomas lived off his income as she built up her client base. In July 2016, she and Thomas separated. According to Marchello, Thomas didn’t include her enough in financial decisions and she didn’t feel like an equal partner in their marriage. She took a job working the assembly line at the local Lofthouse Cookies factory for $10 an hour to help pay bills.
Her lawsuit against C&J dragged on for over a year and a half, and Marchello eventually told her lawyer, Steven Premo, that she wanted to s
ettle and put it behind her. A few weeks before their meeting to discuss a settlement, C&J filed for bankruptcy. Marchello and her lawyer had to hire a bankruptcy attorney to file additional paperwork, and mediation was delayed for another six months. Finally, in February 2017, Marchello settled the lawsuit for an undisclosed amount and couldn’t discuss the details of the meeting publicly.
Mana Kula continued to work for C&J, but mostly in Texas and Oklahoma. Scott Morgan quit his job at C&J but stayed in the oil industry. He rented an apartment near Fort Collins, Colorado, and took jobs closer to home. E, Kula’s good friend, passed away from cancer during the summer of 2016.
TOM STAKES
In Colorado, things did not work out as Tom Stakes had hoped. He and Gary Westerman had a falling out one drunken night. After screaming at each other, the fight became physical. Stakes moved out soon after. He found a room in a mobile home in Golden, Colorado, for $440 a month. He took painting jobs when he could, but most paid only $10 to $12 an hour. It was difficult to make ends meet. One night he called me from Denver, sounding panicked. He said he’d lost his job and been thrown out of his place at 6 a.m. He didn’t have a place to sleep for the night. The temperature was expected to sink into the single digits that night, and a snowstorm was coming. The local homeless shelters were at capacity and turning people away. “I’m down here with, like, 300 people,” he said. “I’m scared. I’m cold. I got no place to be. Denver is not a friendly town.” After we hung up, I called a few homeless shelters in Denver to see if anyone could fit Stakes in for the night. I finally found one that said it could take him if he arrived within the hour.
A few days later, per someone’s suggestion at the homeless shelter, Stakes applied for a public assistance program in Denver that gave him about $700 a month (he called it “the Old People’s Pension”). With the money, he bought a bus ticket back to Georgia to stay with his son Jay. But after a few months, he decided that another place might be a better fit for him: Williston, North Dakota. About a year after he’d left, he returned to live with Rick Sonstegaard and his mother, who welcomed him back.
CHELSEA NIEHAUS
Jacob was laid off in April 2015, and Chelsea and Jacob filed for divorce soon after. Jacob went home to Vincennes, Indiana, to live with his parents, and Chelsea, Will, and Litha moved in with her parents about 10 miles from Jacob. Chelsea and Jacob shared custody of the kids but did their best to avoid talking with each other. “Everything kind of collapsed at the same time,” said Chelsea. “The divorce, the job, where we live. It all kind of came down on us. Some days, going back to North Dakota looks good.” Chelsea finally sold her house in Louisville in early 2016. Jacob looked for oil field jobs in Indiana but eventually left to join a resistance army in northern Syria to fight ISIS.
Will went to day camp during the summer of their divorce, but Chelsea worried about how the separation was affecting him. That fall, Chelsea enrolled Will in the Catholic school she had attended as a child. Chelsea taught art at a local junior high school and moved into her own apartment. In the fall of 2016, after quitting the high school job, she started teaching English as a Foreign Language classes to Chinese students online. Jacob returned to the United States in late 2016 and reconnected with Chelsea. As of early 2017, he was still looking for employment.
JAY REINKE
Reinke stayed in Williston and worked at Pipeline Supply and Service, though he hoped to find work he was more passionate about. After a wave of layoffs hit Williston, he continued to help downtrodden men by letting them stay in his home.
* * *
In early 2017, as oil prices stabilized, there was talk of renewed drilling activity in the Permian Basin in Texas and New Mexico, and the Niobrara Formation in Colorado. Hundreds of men stood by, ready to relocate at a moment’s notice. They were eager to see if, this time, it was the boom they’d been waiting for.
An oil train cuts through the prairie near Williston, North Dakota. (Brad DeCecco)
Tom Stakes at the Trenton Lake campground in August 2013. (Will Christiansen)
The Andresen family cooks dinner with Tom Stakes at the Trenton Lake campground in August 2013. (Will Christiansen)
Billy Andresen tends to her daughter while Billy’s father, Mike, eats dinner. (Will Christiansen)
A gas flare burns on the prairie horizon. (Will Christiansen)
The author in front of North Dakota’s welcome sign in 2013. (Courtesy of author)
The trailer park, Williston Village RV Resort, where the author lived over the summer of 2013. (Brad DeCecco)
Jay Reinke talks with Overnighter Joe Lee at Concordia Lutheran Church in 2012. (Gabriel and Carin Photography)
Williston’s welcome sign in 2013. (Brad DeCecco)
Donny Nelson and his dog Lucky at Nelson’s farmhouse near Fort Berthold Indian Reservation. (Ashley Panzera)
Lisa DeVille on Fort Berthold Indian Reservation. (Living With Oil and Gas, a project of the Western Organization of Resource Councils)
The man camp, Rough Rider Housing, where Cindy Marchello, Mana Kula, Curtis Kenney, and Scott Morgan lived near Trenton, North Dakota. (Brad DeCecco)
Cindy Marchello and Curtis Kenney in Marchello’s man camp trailer. (Brad DeCecco)
Mana Kula and Curtis Kenney during poker night in August 2013. (Brad DeCecco)
Cindy Marchello on a coil rig at C&J in 2012. (Courtesy of Cindy Marchello)
Cindy Marchello’s daughters Jennie and Elizabeth at Cindy’s wedding in September 2015. (Courtesy of Cindy Marchello)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I could fill the pages of this book with names of people who helped me along the way. First and foremost I want to thank the people who allowed me to observe their daily lives and welcomed me into their worlds. Cindy Marchello and her family, Tom Stakes, Chelsea Niehaus and Jacob Klipsch, Donny and Rena Nelson, Jay Reinke, Lisa DeVille, Marilyn Hudson, Mana Kula, Scott Morgan—you likely didn’t know what you were in for when I introduced myself, but without your patience and openness, this book would not have been possible.
There were many others in North Dakota who helped illuminate issues, connected me to sources, explained complicated mechanics or legal topics, or gave me a place to rest my head—Daryl and Christine Peterson, Theodora Bird Bear, Richard Crows Heart, Sarah Christianson, Doug and Kristie Allard, Wanda and Frank Leppell, Curtis Kenney, Blake Ellis, Chevy, Heidi McCormick, Andy Bikkie, Betsy Wilkinson, Amy Dalrymple, Eric Killelea, Jesse Wellen, Chris Bean, Fintan Dooley, Stephen Premo, Blake Hall, Steph Nelson, Keith and Judy Lytle, and too many others to fit here.
I want to thank my early supporters—the crowdfunders who made my initial research trip possible (particularly Trefor Munn-Venn, Vaibhav Sinha and Baldy Rakhra, and Di Strachan), and the organizations that provided funding or time and space to write: Mesa Refuge, Blue Mountain Center, the Headlands Center for the Arts, the Barbara Deming Memorial Fund, and the Richard J. Margolis Award. Much of the book was written in beautiful settings that reminded me how important it is to protect our environment.
I also had a support staff that kept me sane throughout the process. Thank you to Ed Neely and Lisa Aldred, whose early readings, commentary, and reassurance were paramount to finishing the manuscript. Thank you to my first reader of the earliest draft, Erin Diebboll. Your edits and suggestions made the book infinitely better. Patrick Dyer Wolf listened to more recordings of my voice than I care to think about—I’d still be transcribing tapes if it weren’t for your help. Sarah Stanley fact-checked the toughest sections of the manuscript. Thank you to Ashley Panzera, Brad DeCecco, and Will Christiansen, who, in addition to their friendship, provided a stunning visual element to my work. Thanks to Tom Zoellner for always being so generous with your time and advice, and to Jackie Leo: meeting you changed my life for the better. Thank you for championing me. To my agent, Laura Yorke, and editor, Hannah Braaten: Thank you for believing in this project from the beginning. You improved my work at every stage and pushed me to the finish line. This book wo
uld not have happened without you.
My family has been there for me long before I became a writer. My parents, Greg and Carolyn Briody, not only pulled a trailer from California to North Dakota for this project, but told me for as long as I can remember to pursue my dreams despite the odds. My father passed away unexpectedly before I completed this book. He taught me many things but perhaps most important was how to find the humor in life and not take myself too seriously. Dad, I miss you every day. My sisters, Cailin and Alyse, are a constant source of inspiration and strength. My cousin Bill Buck helped me move to North Dakota and cheered me along as I went. My aunt Susie Briody brought much-needed reinforcements to Williston. My friends from California, New York, and North Carolina talked me through many challenges and setbacks. My loving partner and best friend, Daniel Whitesides, has been by my side since day one of this project. He responded with enthusiasm and encouragement when I announced I’d be quitting my stable job and moving to North Dakota. I can’t imagine doing this work without his steadfast support and love.
NOTES
CHAPTER 2: A FORGOTTEN PLACE
The story about men sleeping at Walmart: Blake Ellis, “Six-Figure Salaries, but Homeless,” CNN Money, October 26, 2011.
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