Sloan: Life still found in declining towns

Despite amateurish photography skills, I enjoy taking photos of rustic buildings in rural areas.

While recently chauffeuring a teacher to the small West Texas towns of Morton, Muleshoe, Lazbuddie, Dimmitt, Wilson and Meadow for interviews for elementary positions, I killed time by snapping photos of old houses.

Wendel Sloan

I assumed the dilapidated structures — with missing shingles, peeling paint, draped sheets and even boarded-up windows — were vacant, but then realized most were inhabited. Assorted vehicles were parked on un-manicured yards or under crumbling carports.

Occasionally, I parked my car and walked unpaved neighborhoods — watching shrieking children splash each other in wading pools. Barbecue grills emanated thick, savory camaraderie as adults fueled by cold ones guffawed through the mist of smoke wafting over defenseless prairies and plowed fields — battling dust spouts for supremacy.

Everyone who spotted me waved. Hiding my camera, I reciprocated. Interacting with inhabitants transformed their ramshackle houses into homes too personified to be casual photographic objects.

Most of the towns have been declining for decades. Three had populations under 500 and nary a convenience store. Residents shared memories of booming populations with multiple movie theaters and car dealerships.

Upon entering the cavernous “Morton Supermarket” for orange juice, I was astonished less than 20 percent of the shelves were stocked. They had no orange juice, so I — the lone customer — contributed $4.69 for a watermelon.

Owner Higinio Vasquez Jr., 66, has sunk $180,000 into the store over five years, but struggles to find vendors willing to stock Morton for less than a $30,000 upfront membership and $15,000 per week in purchases.

In steady decline from 2,738 residents in 1970 to 1,880 in 2014, most citizens — whose property taxes increased 40 percent this year — are unwilling to pay slightly higher prices to shop locally.

Retired from the Texas transportation department and Cochran County, Vasquez doesn’t need the store but is trying to help his hometown survive.

During my time-machine chauffeuring to these dying little towns, the families in the rustic sanctuaries seemed to be living on love while clinging to places that still feel like home.

Contact Wendel Sloan at [email protected]