RIVER CITY JOURNAL: SEARCH FOR OZARKS ORE HAS NICHE IN TIME

Looking for gold in the Ozarks sounds like looking for pearls in the Mississippi.

But there you are. Some highly educated scientists who found gold in Australia when they were looking for iron now say the same geological conditions exist in the St. Francois Mountains not too far from here.

This all sounds familiar. It is sort of like a 35-year time warp. Of course, 35 years ago there were no headlines. But here is the story:

In the late 1950s there was a search for new veins of iron ore in the Ozarks of Southeast Missouri. This was a pretty ambitious search, costing some exploration outfit a good deal of money. Rock-grubbing farmers along Greenwood Valley and Keloh Valley and lots of other hill-bound valleys saw dollar signs.

One day a big car whose shine was obscured by the dust of a country road showed up in front of the farmhouse. The men in the car were wearing neckties, and it wasn't Sunday.

The most important fellow in the group explained they wanted to do some drilling on the farm. This meant negotiating for mineral rights and so on. Farmers more accustomed to selling hogs and cattle and horses and corn and a few bales of hay had to get used to mineral rights and selling something you couldn't see or touch.

Well, a deal was struck, and the geologists set up a drilling rig behind the barn. Folks were familiar with wells about 200 feet deep to reach the cold, mineral-laden water table. But these guys planned to go 1,000, maybe 2,000 feet, maybe farther in the search for iron deposits.

Along the way, core samples were taken. There were hints that traces of precious metals might show up. But geologists tend to be mysterious when they are looking for valuable stuff. This just fueled speculation they were really looking for uranium. There was a Cold War on, you know.

One day the drilling equipment failed. The desperate geologists needed a part picked up in town, nine miles away by car -- only four as the crow flies.

They offered $5 if you would drive to town and pick up the part. Can you imagine that? They were willing to give you $5 just to drive to town. How many times had you begged for the car to go to town? And now someone was going to pay you to go. Would wonders never cease?

You grabbed the $5 and ran the errand. That is about the only worthwhile thing that came of the drilling. There was no gold rush -- and no uranium rush, either -- that year. You did get a new well to water hogs behind the barn, but it wasn't always reliable.

So much for drilling half a mile down in the Ozarks. Maybe these Australian geologists ought to take a look down that hole behind where the old barn was.

It was more fun several years earlier when you had the water well dug behind the house. Thanks to the arrival of rural-electric power lines and the new well, dreams of an indoor toilet danced in your head.

The drilling rig was run by a laborer from Mexico who slept on the day cot in the living room and ate meals with the family. It was like traveling on a magic carpet, listening to Manuel talk about Mexico. Your mother, a schoolteacher, helped Manuel with his English, so he could become an U.S. citizen.

Memories of Manuel are far more precious today than the bitter water from the geologists' well behind the barn. That is how it turns out sometimes. By the way, the toilet stayed in the orchard.