Lone Survivor_ The Eyewitness Account of Operation Redwing and the Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10 ( PDFDrive )

a way, I’m glad I lived through it, because it taught me to be careful, to earn my
money and invest it, get it somewhere secure.
And it taught me to think very carefully about the element of luck, when it’s
running, and how to keep your life under control. I have long since worked out
that when the crash came in Texas, its effects were magnified a thousandfold,
because the guys in the oil industry sincerely believed money had nothing to do
with luck. They thought their prosperity came from their own sheer brilliance.
No one gave much consideration to the world oil market being controlled in
the Middle East by Muslims. Everything that happened had its roots in Arabia,
assisted by President Carter’s energy policy and the fact that when I was five
years old the price per barrel of crude was $40.
The crash, when it came, was caused by the oil embargo and the Iranian
revolution, when the ayatollah took over from the shah. The key to it was
geopolitical. And Texas could only stand and watch helplessly as the oil glut
manifested itself and the price per barrel began to slide downward to an ultimate
low of around $9.
That was in 1986, when I was not quite ten. In the meantime, the giant First
National Bank of Midland, Texas, collapsed, judged insolvent by government
financial inspectors. That was one huge bank to go belly-up, and the ripple effect
was statewide. An era of reckless spending and investing was over. Guys
building palaces were forced to sell at a loss. You couldn’t give away a luxury
boat, and Rolls-Royce dealers darned near went out of business.
Along with the commercial giants felled by the oil crash went the horse farm
of David and Holly Luttrell. Hard-running colts and mares, which Dad had
valued at $35,000 to $40,000, were suddenly worth $5,000, less than they cost to
raise. My family lost everything, including our house.
But my dad’s a resilient man, tough and determined. And he fought back,
with a smaller ranch and the tried-and-trusted techniques of horse raising he and
Mom had always practiced. But it all went wrong again. The family wound up
living with my grandfather, Morgan sleeping on the floor.
My dad, who had always kept one foot in the petrochemical business ever
since he came back from Vietnam, went back to work, and in a very short time
he was on his feet, with a couple of huge deals. We moved out of Grandfather’s
place into a grand four-story house, and the good times seemed to be back.
Then some giant deal went south and we somehow lost it all again, moved
back out to a kind of rural skid row. You see, my dad, though born over the
border in Oklahoma, is a Texan in his soul. He was as brave as a lion when he