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Good lord she was gorgeous.  The most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on, and he’d laid eyes on a lot.

She’d just been crowned Miss Cottonpatch of 1954 and could have had her choice of dates from nearly anyone in Fort Stockton.  Why she chose to accept his offer is something she reflected on over and over again in the years that followed.  She reckoned his good looks played a part.  He was a handsome man back then.  In fact, he remained one.  But a lot of the young men seeking her favors were handsome.  There was something more to it.

He had a look in his eye that made people think he knew something they didn’t.  Like he had a leg up on everyone.  And maybe he did.

Douglas Nederland and Pamela Lumberton walked down the aisle of Second Baptist Church of Fort Stockton 13 months after their first date, each one thinking they had made quite the matrimonial catch.  “The newlyweds will be honeymooning in Cancun,” the announcement in the Stockton Telegram-Dispatch said.  That wasn’t actually true, but they did go to Sanderson and stay the weekend at the Desert Air Motel.  Doug took what she claimed was her virginity soon after they checked in.  The act was followed up with four subsequent couplings to be sure the deflowering was complete.

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Pamela was somewhat disappointed in their time in Sanderson, the act of her deflowering falling somewhat short of the high expectations she’d had before checking into the Desert Air.  She hoped things would get better with time.  But she also was excited that apparently one of those efforts had led to conception.  Nine months, nearly to the day, from the wedding the first of two children was born.  A girl, Janice.

Douglas was neither excited by or opposed to the birth of his first child, although a male would have been preferable.  He was much more involved with starting the first of what would be many profitable businesses in and around Fort Stockton.  Before the little girl turned two, Doug and Pam had moved into their new split-level ranch in RoadRunner Estates.  When Pam was pregnant with their second progeny, construction had begun on their new larger home on several scenic acres out west of town.

While busy building an empire, Doug was gone a lot.  Initially Pam complained that he hardly ever saw his own daughter and her new brother.  But Pam also understood the sacrifices that had to be made for success.  “The American Dream doesn’t just fall in your damn lap, Honey,” Doug said to her when confronted.  “Take a look around.  None of this came cheap.”

Of course he was right.  Doug was always right.  She was glad to have found someone who was willing to work so hard to provide.  Pam put on a good face and supported his efforts as best she could.  A lot of times Doug was too busy to go with her to services at Second Baptist, but she attended faithfully, taking the kids with her and getting involved in functions and events taking place.

“I don’t know how she does it,” others would say.  “Always finds a way to help out and is practically raising those two little ones on her own.  That Douglas is one heck of a provider!”  And of course, he was.  One of the things Pam leaned on in order to help get her through seemed to be alcohol.

The housekeeper noted that there seemed to be increasing amounts of vodka poured into Pam’s morning orange juice, though she could barely detect any visible effects of the booze in Pam’s actions or speech.  Pam still did the shopping at the Piggly Wiggly, took the little ones to school, showed up at church, and would get dressed up for business dinners out at the Silver Slipper Supper Club with Doug.

It was after one of those business dinners that Pam told Doug she was expecting their third child.  She was surprised at the lack of any kind of response.  Pulling into the driveway, he mumbled, “I thought you were on a pill that kept that from happening.”

Of course she had been.  But at some point she stopped taking the pills thinking that a new child might put back some of the spark and enthusiasm that had seemed to be bleeding from their marriage.  That had been a miscalculation.  Rather than add anything to the marriage, it seemed to subtract from what little was left.  Doug traveled more, often to places Pam wasn’t even aware of.  He began neglecting to tell her when he’d be gone, when he’d be back, or where he’d be.

In the meantime, she grew large with child, let herself go, and was seen less and less in town.  Pam took comfort in food and alcohol and turned more and more of the responsibility for her children over to the housekeeper.  In the fifth month of her third pregnancy she lost the child.  Doug was out of town.  He didn’t find out about the miscarriage until a week and a half later.  The response to the news of losing the child did not differ from the response he had to learning of its genesis.

The children, Janice and Douglas Jr. saw less and less of their mother as she mourned the loss of the sibling they’d never know.  Of course, she was mourning more than that.  The weight she had gained with the pregnancy was not lost when the baby was.  Pam was not taking care of herself.  The children were too young to know what was taking place.  Doug was too disinterested.  The housekeeper, Magda, was well aware of what was going on but completely unable to do anything about it.

Construction workers doing work on the Nederland place, adding a pool, guest house, and second master bedroom suite talked of never even seeing Mrs. Nederland during the whole project.  “You’d think, for someone having that much work done to the house, that she’d be more involved,” the foreman told Rusty Hammer Sr. one day while picking up supplies at the hardware store.  But he wasn’t surprised.  Not many people were.

By 1969 the state of the Nederland marriage was well documented at the Klip-N-Dye, the Piggly Wiggly, and Second Baptist Church, as well.  Seems like the last one to find out was Roger at Frontier Ford-Lincoln-Mercury, “Home of the Straight Shootin’ Deal”.  He was the salesman Doug always traded with when he came in for new cars.  Doug bought a new Thunderbird every two years, a convertible when they were still making Thunderbird convertibles.  Every five or six years he purchased a new Ford for Pam, usually a Country Squire.

“Her cas never have more than a few thousand miles on them,” Roger told the Sales Manager one afternoon.  “I don’t think she hardly ever drives them.  They always bring top dollar over on the A-1 Used Car lot.”

“I want something extra nice for Mrs. Nederland,” Doug said when he came in.  “There’s no point in getting her another station wagon.  Magda takes the kids to school.”

What he really wanted though, was something to show off his success.  Same reason for the additions to the house and the pool.  And, perhaps, something to make up for the other things he was not able to offer.

“I think I know just the thing,” Roger said.  He walked Doug over to the very first Continental Mark III in Fort Stockton sitting on the showroom floor.  “The car is finished in white over black cloth and vinyl upholstery and is powered by a fuel-injected 460 cubic inch V8 linked with a C6 three-speed Select-Shift automatic transmission. Equipment includes a black vinyl-covered roof, vacuum-operated headlight covers, power steering, front disc brakes, 15″ steel wheels with covers, power-adjustable front seats, power windows, a Cartier electric clock, and a heater.”  Roger was proud to show off Ford Motor Company’s latest and most expensive luxury offering.

“Fine.  Write it up.”  Doug hadn’t even glanced inside the coupe.  He wandered across the showroom and seemed captivated by a new blue 1970 Mercury Cougar XR-7 Convertible on the other side of the showroom.  “This is a good looking automobile,” Doug said.  It was the first sign of any emotion he expressed since he walked into the dealership.

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Roger was afraid of showing Doug the Cougar; the commission of the Mercury was a fraction of that on the Mark III.

“It’s powered by a 351 cubic inch Windsor V8 paired with a three-speed automatic transmission. Equipment includes a power-operated soft top, concealed headlights, 14” wheels, and power windows,” Roger said, basically just reading the window sticker as unemotionally as possible.

“She would look fantastic in this!”  Doug said.  Roger’s heart sank.  Doug opened the door, sat inside, looked at the cockpit and seemed to picture himself driving down Highway 10 towards a sunset.  “I’ll take it!”

“Are you sure your wife wouldn’t like the Continental more?” Roger asked.

“Yeah, that’s why I said to write it up.” Doug replied.  Roger was confused.  “This one is for my business.  I’ll take them both.”  Roger wasn’t stupid.  He knew Doug had bought a new Thunderbird four door sedan through his business just a few months ago for his personal use.  The Cougar was for Doug’s secretary.

Rodger got recognition for selling two of the highest margin cars on the showroom floor to the same customer on the same day at the next sales meeting.  But he felt complicit in something that didn’t feel right.

At home, the new Mark III was barely noticed and rarely left the garage.  Well, not at first, anyway.  Within six months it was leaving the garage frequently.  Always at night.  Always with the lights off till it got to the end of the long winding driveway.  Once on the highway, the hidden headlamps would be exposed as the accelerator was pushed to the floor and the 460 cubic inch V8 would be fully engaged.  Five hundred foot pounds of torque would thrust the coupe towards the football field of Jim Bowie High School, “Home of the Fightin’ Knives.”

That’s where 15 year-old Janice Nederland, who did not yet even have a driver’s license, would meet 17 year-old Seth Richland, quarterback of the Fightin’ Knives.  On the football field, long before the sun ever came up, there would be more illegal use of hands and unsportsmanlike conduct than ever got called during games.

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