Oilfield Trash

                                                                                    THE OILFIELD

“The only business you can work a lifetime in and never see what you are doing.”

Excerpt from Roughnecks, Drillers and Tool Pushers—Gerald Lynch

  

When you grow up as "oilfield trash-OFT for short or “oilfield scum” as we were typically called,  you learn to gravitate to others of a similar calling.  Probably we clung together because no one else understood us or wanted to be lumped in with us.

Gerald Lynch, the author of Roughnecks, Drillers & Tool Pushers said it best, “we stuck together because we spoke the same language and lived the same life.” Rarely could you find someone outside the “OFT” who understood what doubles, thribbles and fourbles were.

Living in an oilfield company camp house on a remote lease in the Texas panhandle, my acquaintances were all children of roughnecks, tool pushers and drillers.

They were my only friends until I started school at a small rural elementary school with a total student body of maybe 100 kids.  It was here the OFT kids learned to co-exist with the farmers’ kids and the transient workers’ children who were with us for a few months each year and then moved on.

Our home life was routine driven.  The presence of an old tin lunchbox, a huge coffee thermos and a scuffed up metal hardhat told me if daddy was home or not.  And supper was typically on the table at 5:00 pm and we were safely tucked away in bed by 8:00.

My bedtime lullaby was the constant beat of a pump jack working through the night.  Even as a child I came to learn the sounds that signaled the need of maintenance on those iron horses.

I could tell you exactly how long it took a dirt clod to disappear from sight in an oil slush pit.

I knew the sound of a gas flare off and a “pig” running through pipes.

I learned the term S O B meant many things and not all of them were bad.  Sometimes it meant good, lucky, handsome, talented and hardworking and therefore, not offensive at all.

Because children were “seen but not heard” we often weren’t really seen either.  Our invisibility gave us listening ears to jokes and stories definitely not intended for our tender years.  Therefore, we all had very colorful vocabularies and we could cuss with the best of the hands at a very early age.

OFT were prone to pranks and dirty tricks and frequently even dirtier jokes. Often, they told huge whoppers.  They were vivid, colorful and interesting people who lived hard lives, worked risky jobs and loved what they did.

But, more than anything on earth, I learned I could trust those rough men and the tireless women who packed their lunches and washed their dirty oil patch clothes.  I instinctively knew then and know now they are people who can be counted on.  You might not be readily accepted but once you gain their trust, you become a part of their world.

They are part of my past and present, they are my friends and family.  That “Oilfield Trash” is also the salt of the earth and I’m proud to be one of them.

"Slick" As Grease On A Doorknob

A legend among oilmen, Tom Slick, known as the “King of the Wildcatters”, was an independent operator in the truest sense. His office was his car during his early days of wildcatting the Mid-Continent oil field around 1910.  And, even after great success brought him to more elegant surroundings in an Oklahoma City office suite, his style remained hands-on. 

His impromptu deals were often brokered on street corners and over pay phones in his typical laconic style. Well into the 1920s he was the last of a breed who had no stock holders or board members to answer to, and instead "worked out of his hip pocket." 

Slick, determined to become a millionaire, came to Oklahoma during the winter of 1911 to find "the big one". Although he initially found nothing but "dusters" (dry holes), a combination of perseverance and luck eventually brought him to the farm of Frank Wheeler.  Wheeler’s farm was located approximately 12 miles east of Cushing, Oklahoma in what later became Drumright and the rich smell of oil sands was perfume to Slick’s nostrils. 

Frank Wheeler had purchased his land, located in the midst of allotments forced upon reluctant Creek Indians, for sixty-five cents an acre shortly before statehood in 1907. Slick soon would take that .65 an acre investment and turn Wheeler into a very rich man.

Because Wheeler had heard of the riches of the Osage Nation and Glenn Pool, he readily agreed to lease his land to Slick for a dollar an acre.Slick obtained financial backing from bankers at Bristow along with a Tulsa attorney and soon drilling commenced on the Wheeler No. 1. However, when the well reached a depth of 2,000 feet without results, the wary investors pulled out of the project.  Slick’s determination never wavered.  Instead, he borrowed a few dollars, traveled to Chicago, and eventually secured the backing of C. B. Shaffer, who had already made his fortune in the Pennsylvania oil fields. 

Returning to the Wheeler farm, Slick selected a more promising site and began drilling once again. On March 12, 1912 his dreams were realized as his drill bit struck a gigantic gas deposit in a thick stratum of oil-bearing sand. Crude oil spewed forty feet above the derrick. Eventually the well was deepened to between 2,319 and 2,347 feet and began producing 400 barrels of oil per day.

 Within one month Wheeler was a happy farmer, receiving $125.00 in royalties every day. Two years later his royalties had doubled as other producers were brought in on Wheeler's land.  Even at the modest $125, Wheeler suddenly found himself with an income of over 3K a month which at that time was equivalent to a King’s ransom.  The production of the well was so impressive, Slick hurriedly informed his money man, Shaffer and instructed him to send experienced lease traders.

Meanwhile, in an effort to keep his new find a secret, he quickly capped the well and spread fresh dirt on the pools of oil spilled by the gusher.

 Oddly enough, although known for his honesty in business dealings, he was not above rabidly protecting his interests. The wildcatter quietly made cash deposits reserving all the horses and buggies in Cushing.  By doing so he effectively hampered the efforts of competing lease bidders who were sure to descend on the area when news of the strike became widespread.

Slick's efforts were successful for a few days, until the Cushing Democrat outed Slick’s discovery, proclaiming to the world that a "Splendid Oil Find" had taken place, and the great rush to the area began.

After his discovery in Cushing, newspapers and oil trade journals constantly followed Slick’s business endeavors, but he strenuously resisted all efforts to know him on a personal level.  He once bluntly stated “I’m not going to tell you anything about him”, speaking of himself.

 In researching Slick and learning how intensely he guarded his private personal life, I was often reminded of my own dad.  Daddy maintained “everyone should die with some secrets.”  Maybe his feeling was a common thread  running  through the veins of many an old oilman.

When Slick died in 1930, from a massive stroke following surgery, oil derricks in the Oklahoma City Field stood silent for one hour.  A fitting tribute to the man who was responsible for the discovery of the largest Oklahoma oilfield until the 1920’s.  The man who became King.

-research for this article from "King of the Wildcatters" by Ray Miles

EARLY OIL-Nothing to write home about

First a word about the photo.  The original for this was sent to me by an old friend.  The original was in pretty bad shape but over the course of a couple of weeks I was able to do a pretty decent restoration on it.  Borger, TX - Circa 1926

The first time Texas coastal oil was documented was in 1543.  The Spanish Explorer, Luis de Moscoso Alvarado was shipwrecked between High Island and Sabine Pass and noticed a viscous substance floating on the water.  The only excitement stemming from his discovery was the fact he and his shipmates could use the substance to caulk their newly constructed boats.

As settlers began to move into Texas, they noticed oil seeps here and there.  And by 1874, oil or asphalt had been documented in 18 Texas counties.  Those early settlers had no idea they were sitting smack dab in the middle of a veritable “gold mine.”  Oil had no economic value and no one cared.  One has to think it was probably viewed as a giant pain in the neck to people trying to scratch out a living in the dirt.

In 1866, Lyne Taliaferro Barret made the first deliberate effort to drill for oil in Nacogdoches County.  He hit for a well that produced an unimpressive 10 barrels a day.  That brought about sporadic drilling by others but the practically non-existent  demand for oil squashed rapid development. 

When oil was discovered in Corsicana all interest in Nacogdoches was effectively killed.  In 1897, the Corsicana field sported an impressive 287 wells and birthed the first Texas refinery four years later.

But then, Pattillo Higgins’, belief in the existence of oil under the Big Hill salt dome near Beaumont hit pay dirt.  In spite of the failure of three test wells, Higgins and his investors persuaded mining engineer Anthony Lucas to drill.  Lucas began drilling in October of 1900 and continued throughout the winter.

The well came in on January 10, 1901 at 10:30 am with a gusher twice as high as the wooden derrick.  It took 9 days to cap the well that was to produce an incredible 75,000 barrels a day.  Spindletop validated Higgins’ belief in a big way.

That veritable “gold mine” that no one cared about became a reality with gold that was thick and black. Suddenly, everyone cared and cared deeply.  Just as it had happened in the 1849 California gold rush, people swarmed to the upper Texas coast.

 Texas oil as an industry had been born from a dome of salt and neither Texas or the world would ever be the same.

Source—Historic Photos of Texas Oil—Mike Cox  

Grasshoppers and a Pair of Striped Pants

In 1874, massive swarms of grasshoppers rode through the Great Plains on the Chinooks. Clouds of insects nearly a mile high, 100 miles wide and 300 miles long created mind numbing problems.

The constant drumming of their wings must have been the stuff insanity springs from, however, the devastation to crops and livestock were horrific and life changing. The ‘hoppers chewed crops and grass down to the bare ground. Trains mashed them on the rails until their greasy remains effectively stopped the engines’ ability to pull the train forward.The grasshoppers blanketed hog lots where pigs enjoyed veritable feasts, gorging themselves on insects to the point, when butchered later, their meat carried a pungent undertone of grasshopper.

Particularly hard hit by the infestation was the state of Nebraska where a quiet farmer and local magistrate named Lew Phillips was trying to raise a family in Greeley County. Surveying the destruction, Mr. Phillips commented “they have eaten everything and are now starting on the wagon spokes.” With that, he decided to relocate to southwestern Iowa with his wife, two daughters and infant son.

That baby boy was destined to become a household name in the petroleum industry. But as Frank Phillips grew, the only thing he knew for sure was he wanted to always wear striped pants to work. This determination was born when, as a young boy, he spotted a Creston barber wearing the flashy striped pants popular in that day. The dapper appearance of that barber spurred Frank to talk his way into an apprenticeship in a Creston barber shop where he eventually became one of the city’s most popular barbers.

An astute businessman, even at a young age, Frank soon owned his own shop where he manufactured and sold his hair tonic “Mountain Sage.” Touted as a cure for baldness, it was well received although basically useless for its’ intended purpose. So, it would seem the man who was to later become so instrumental in the development of the oil and gas industry got his start as a mere “snake oil” salesman.

He soon owned several barber shops and had caught the eye of the local banker’s daughter. After sweeping the daughter off her feet and down the aisle, Frank spent several years selling bonds for his new father in law. It was during one of these sales trips he encountered an old friend who filled his head with intoxicating stories of oil exploration in the Oklahoma Indian Territory.

Excited about the prospect, Frank, his younger brother L.E. and Frank’s father in law John Gibson began selling shares of stock in their new business, Anchor Oil and Gas Company. They opened an office, secured a driller and went “wildcatting” in Oklahoma. Their first venture, the Holland No. 1 was a strike! They were euphoric but the joy was short lived when the Holland proved to be merely a “pocket” which quickly ceased producing.

Then came 2 dry holes and discouragement set in. It seemed the oil and gas industry was only for the big and mighty like Standard. The Phillips brothers were going broke and potential investors were avoiding them like the plague. With their last little bit of capital they secured an 80 acre allotment from an 8 year old Delaware Indian girl named Anna Anderson. Anna’s allotment was nestled in the juncture of the Big and Little Caney rivers about 3 ½ miles north of Bartlesville, OK.

On September 6, 1905, the Anna Anderson No. 1 made its’ gushing arrival and by nightfall the area around the drill site was black and greasy with black gold. The strike was so rich in production it reportedly pumped out 250 barrels a day. The Phillips brothers were on their way. Lady Luck had smiled on them and the wheel of fortune had turned. They went on to punch 80 consecutive producing wells and suddenly enthusiastic investors were seeking them out.

They went on to become prosperous bankers as well as visionary oilmen. They also never forgot their humble beginnings. “Uncle Frank” was determined to always give back to the communities he was connected with in business. Happily, the “snake oil” rubbed off; this was not to be Frank Phillips’ legacy. And, it is reported he did, indeed, often wear striped pants to work.

Information for this article was pulled from the publication
Phillips—The First 66 Years (a public affairs publication of the
Phillips Petroleum Company)