Rear view volume II
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| We left Leadville in a late afternoon and looked for a campsite. But after getting to Loveland Pass and getting thoroughly chilled in that snow field country we decided a cabin might be a better option. We finally found a fine rustic one at the Clear Creek Ranch, where we felt lucky to be when we heard it rain that night. Next day we went through and examined Central City, another historic mining town with many attractions of interest. One of special interest was the Teller House Bar, the site of that famous historic poetry epic, “The Face On The Bar Room Floor”. The Sharkeys had recently been transferred to Carter Oil Co.’s Denver office, and we phoned them. Ruby wanted us to come out for an overnight stay, as did Hank when he got home from work. He and Ruby hosted us well, taking us to a delightful dinner at an attractive restaurant. But before bunking in with them that night, at their suggestion we paid a visit to some other
old friends (from Rawlins), Phil and Joan Willhite who had also been transferred there. Phil, the ultimate party giver and go-er, insisted that he and Joan take Carol and I to a nightclub. So it was rather late before we retired at the Sharkeys. We next paid Rocky Mountain Park a brief visit, then continued north into Wyoming. Kappy was so thrilled to finally return to the state where she was born! We had lunch in Rawlins and showed the kids the hospital where Kappy had entered the world. Then we proceeded to Lander and admired the log cabin we’d lived in for a while ten years ago. Carol and I were pleased to renew acqaintance with our friends there then, Dr and Alyce Dunkin (he had been our dentist). They insisted on hosting, wining and dining us for a couple days. Alyce toured us, including a visit to the Shoshone Indian reservation which was of considerable interest to the kids, especially the spot where the braves held their annual Sun Dance. It was hard for them to believe that, as Alyce explained, they danced for three days and nights without food or water, which was supposed to cure loved ones of sickness and make the dancers themselves immune to sickness and evil spirits. Carol’s birthday occurred there. Gemstone jade had been recently discovered in Wyoming and Lander rock shops displayed many samples and jade jewelry. So I bought Carol a jade ring and pin, which really thrilled her. One of J.M.’s current hobbies was rock collecting and mounting, and he wanted to buy a jade sample for his collection. But the one he wanted most was $2.50, –a big amount then for his modest financial assets--, and I tried to talk him out of it. Finally he said to Carol, “Mother, I wish you’d ask Daddy not to try to talk me out of buying that for my rock collection. It takes me half an hour to get up the courage to decide I really want it again. And I want that big piece of jade!” He got it. Our next stop was near the site of DuNoir, a mining ghost town, where Carol and I had camped during our former residence in Lander. But the Forest Service had for some reason entirely cleaned up that historic site, and DuNoir was no more! So we had to do some careful map study before finding the area for private camping we’d once used. But we did, and spent two fun days there, sharing our campsite with chipmunks, deer, moose and elk, all of which we saw from time to time. Jerry Mike decided to bury a treasure in a cave we found. He wrote a message, sealed it in a wine bottle, and labeled a rock in front of the cave with an “X”. Then he drew a map of the location, to enable him to find it again some day. (The pencilled map, rather faded, still resides in Carol’s trip document.) Next stop was the Grand Teton National Park, full of fabulous forests and Alps-type snow covered mountains always in the backgound. Most fun there was when we rented horses for a scenic ride around Jenny Lake. Our youngsters felt like real Cowboy kids!
imagine the thrills and enjoyment they provided us. When we left Yellowstone we headed east, naively expecting to cover the 470 miles to Rapid City, So. Dakota, in one day. But we had overlooked the very time-consuming difficulty of crossing the Bighorn Mountains, fifty miles of which took us nearly two hours, and we stayed in Gillette. The next day we meandered through the Black Hills and spent some time in Rapid City where we all were interested in the dinosaur exhibit and (me, mostly) in the rock displays at the South Dakota School of Mines' geology museum. We’d been traveling for fourteen days after reaching Huron for our overnight stop, and the following day we finally were able to settle down for a good visit with families and relatives in Wisconsin. I drove back to O.C. a week later; Carol and kiddos lingered longer and eventally came back on the Rock Island Rocket. But their trip excitement was not quite over. Near Mason City, Iowa, the train going 75 mph was struck at a crossing by an auto doing 65 mph , which decapitated one auto passenger and nearly so another, and scattered sections of the auto for 150 feet from point of impact. This delayed the train for a couple hours and quite a few passengers got out to view the disaster, including J.M. and Kappy.They of course were awestruck, and the experience might have influenced their safer driving habits as adults. Coincidentally, as will be described later, my family had a car-totaling auto crash abut 20 miles from the train accident on a Christmas trip to Wisconsin four years later. None of us were badly hurt, fortunately. But we decided Iowa wasn’t a very safe state to travel in. * * * * My father had owned and operated the Kyle’s General Store in the small village of Downsville, Wisconsin, for 47 years, having bought it from his father in 1905. In December of 1950 he had a mild stroke which partially paralyzed his right arm. He was determined to continue working and with considerable effort taught himself to write with his left hand. His 1951 script was legible, but quite unlike the free-flowing handwriting he’d been previously capable of. (A sample can be seen in the Appendix of Volume I of Rear View, and in the 15-lb. accounting ledger in which he and his father maintained store records beginning January 1, 1900. (This leather-bound antique is on display in the club room of my current residence, by the way.) But the rigors of storekeeping and left hand writing finally became too onerous. He finally sold the store and retired in 1951, and with my mother moved to Menomonie ( a town seven miles away, where I went to high school). My mother and father were married on January 1, 1906, so in early January of 1956 we persuaded them to come to O.C. for us to have a 50th wedding anniversary party for them. It was a nice one, in an elegant restaurant, and guests were the Bolands. My folks appreciated it, and we all enjoyed their week’s visit. For some reason I couldn’t accompany my family to Wisconsin that summer, and that anniversary occasion was the last time I ever talked to my Dad in person. A year later he was completely paralyzed by a major stroke, and died on February 23, 1957 at an age of 81. Mother continued living in their lovely Menomonie home until her death from cancer in October 1961 at age 76. Several months after their visit in O.C. I was downtown and decided to get a haircut. There was a nice barbershop in the building I was visiting so I stopped in. Each chair was labeled with the barber’s name, and I was interested that one name was “Kyle”. He was white-haired and looked a little bit like my Dad did 10 or 15 years ago. So I took that one when I had the chance, and introduced myself. He seemed a bit surprised to hear I was from Wisconsin, and said that he thought all Kyles were living in Texas. I asked why and he explained that his grandfather and three brothers migrated from Scotland to the U.S. in the early 1800’s. The grandfather and two others headed into Texas, but the remaining brother went west somewhere into the north central U.S. They never were able to contact him again, and assumed that he had died. “My gosh!”, I replied to that explanation. “Sir, you are looking at that lost brother’s great-grandson! My great-grandfather’s name was Sam Kyle, and my Dad has told me that Sam’s three brothers moved south somewhere shortly after they migrated from Scotland, He lost track of them and never heard from any of them again. My Dad said that Sam initially settled in Canada, where Dad’s father John was born. That family later moved to Wisconsin, where my Dad was born and still lives.” “Incredible!” The barber exclaimed. “What a remarkable discovery! Let’s see, that must make your father and me—what? Second cousins?’ “I’m not an expert on cousins,” I said, “but you must be some grade of cousins.” “Does your father ever come to see you here?” “Golly,” I replied, “he was here in January, when we had him and my Mother down for their 50th wedding anniversary. “He’d have been so pleased and excited to visit with you. He’s somewhat older than you, I’m sure. He owned and operated a general merchandise store in a small town for forty seven years, but retired about five years ago. He’ll want to meet you; maybe we can get him down here next year.” The barber was delighted, and didn’t charge me for the haircut.
year. But it was not to be. As mentioned above, Dad died in February, 1957. * * * * Dick Hicklin, the O.C. office Exploration Manager, enjoyed kidding people in a humorous way. Somehow I was expecting that one morning in 1956 when his secretary called me in and, with a wink and smirk unusual for her, told me Dick had some interesting news to tell me. I went into his office. “I have some interesting news.” Dick began with. “So Helen just said.” “The Tulsa office tells me I’m being moved to the Denver office.” I wasn’t sure what to say. Finally, “Is that good news or bad news?” “A little of both, I suppose. I’m sorry to be leaving all the friends I have here, but Denver is a fine town, I’m sure, and I’ll still be an exploration manager.” “Well, I –uh, that sounds like mostly good news. Did they tell you who’d replace you here?” “Yes,” Dick replied with a slight shoulder shrug “They told me who, and I thought it was a good choice.” “Somebody from Tulsa headquarters office, no doubt?” I asked. “No. From here in the Central Division. Want to guess?” I hated that question. If I guessed wrong it would seem that my opinion as to who in this division was most qualified would indicate that either he or I was a bad judge of the performance quality of my coworkers.. But I had no choice. “Well, let’s see. I suppose maybe--John Folks?” “Nope. Try again.” I tried again: “ Ah, --well, J. B. Coffman has been a great supervisor in the Wichita office. Him?” “Nope. Want to keep trying?” I shook my head. “Well,” said Dick with a wide grin, “It’s YOU!” I was greatly startled, of course, but then remembered Dick’s penchant for crude humor. “O.K., Dick, this is your idea of a joke, right?”
then got down to details, telling me that he’d be making a preliminary trip to Denver on the coming weekend, and that he’d spend the rest of the current week instructing me on my new duties and administrative procedures. Exploration manager of the Central Division,--Wow! The Central Division was the biggest Carter Oil Co. division: most production, most current drilling operations, and most exploration personnel. And I was suddenly in charge of all those personnel and their activities in the geology, geophysics, land and scouting functions., plus division budget preparations and administration. Frequent appearances before the Carter officials and board members in Tulsa headquarters were necessary to explain and justify our division’s exploration goals and operations, and a time-consuming duty was to host the occasional visits by Standard of New Jersey’s New York officials and conduct them on tours of our five district offices. I could hardly wait to get home and break the news to Carol, and when I entered the house I was walking on air. I greeted her with, “Guess what happened to me today, hon.” “You got fired?” “Nope. Get this: I was promoted to Exploration Manager!” I gave her a bear hug. She smiled. “That’s nice. Did you remember to get those groceries I told you this morning to bring home?” Carol didn’t really appreciate my enthusiasm until we sat down, each with a drink in our hand, and I explained the function and stature of “exploration managers” in the Carter Company. * * * *
The first producing oil well in Oklahoma was drilled in 1889 near Chelsea, about 20 miles northeast of Claremore. Since then well over 100,000 commercial oil wells have been drilled (not including the dry holes). And much of Oklahoma’s oil production has been on Indian lands. Except for a few scattered bands of native Osage, Comanche, and Kiowa Indians, Oklahoma was quite vacant until the U.S. government began moving tribes from eastern and southeastern United States areas onto western reservations to make more room for white settlers to replace them. Between 1820 and 1846 the so-called Five Civilized Tribes (Seminole, Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw and Creek) were all moved into eastern Oklahoma. Each tribe was assigned land on which they formed “nations” which were called protectorates of the U.S. They and other tribes began to occupy other areas in the state, and at one stage of history Indians owned all of Oklahoma except the Panhandle. (Recent statistics indicate there are more Indians now in Oklahoma than in any other state except Arizona.) But after the Civil War, during which the Indians had been pressured into supporting the Confederacy, the U.S. government invalidated many Indian property rights. However, they did buy about two million acres from the Creeks and Seminoles in 1889, and opened the land to white settlers who staged the great land rush in which about 50,000 persons occupied that area in 24 hours! Land in other areas was also sold by Indians to whites, but after some rather complex negotiations between tribes and the U.S. much of Oklahoma was still owned by tribal organizations or by Indian individuals. When the oil boom began and spread from northeastern Oklahoma into other areas, the tribes soon recognized that the greatest financial value of their land was from oil lease sales and the royalties from oil production. So they began the lucrative practice of having open-bidding lease auctions of their properties in or near producing areas. Carter often participated in some, and sizeable sums were often spent by the major companies in obtaining lease rights on valuable properties. On one occasion our geological staff had decided that certain wildcat (undrilled) acreage to be put up for leasing at a forthcoming Seminole Indian auction had remarkably good potential. One 160-acre tract in particular, about a half mile from some good producing wells, was a prime target. In our planning conference on the subject John Folks, Division Landman, who often attended such auctions in which Carter was interested, was of the opinion that a lease on this property would probably go for between $250 and $300 an acre, since he was sure several other major companies would be competing bidders. (These prices are modest by modern standards, but the value of produced oil was a lot lower then, and dollars were worth more than now.) We finally all agreed our maximum bid would be $325 per acre, a total for the 160 acres of $52,000. I had never been to one of the lease auctions, and while Folks was preparing his notes on tract description I told him I’d decided to accompany him. He said “Fine”, and three days later the two of us drove to the town of Seminole, about 55 miles southeast of O.C., where the auction was to be held. The auction site was fully occupied, and John pointed out a few individuals that he recognized from a few companies such as Shell, Texaco, and Conoco. As scheduled, the auction began promptly at 10 a.m. Bidding was brisk, with fairly large sums being offered. The tract we wanted was 3rd or 4th on the list. Finally it came. The auctioneer called out “Northeast quarter, section 10.” “Twenty thousand.” someone called out. After a brief interval another bidder said “Twenty five.” A few minutes later thirty thousand was bid, and John decided it was time to participate. “Thirty five thousand,” he called out. Another bid topped that by a few thousand, and bidding finally climbed to fifty thousand. “Fifty two,” said John. That bid was topped at fifty five and finally sixty thousand. John looked at me, shook his head, and whispered, “Way over our limit.” “Yeah, everybody thinks that’s a good tract,” I replied, also shaking my head. After a pause with no more bids the auctioneer began, “Sixty thousand once.” Pause; “Sixty thousand twice.”- - “Sixty five!” I yelled. John looked at me aghast. After a long pause with no more bids the auctioneer again began his ritual: “Sixty five thousand once.” Pause; “Sixty five thousand twice.”--Pause; “SOLD! to Carter Oil!” “Do you know what you’re doing?!” John demanded of me. I suddenly felt rather weak. “Guess it's auction fever.” On the way home, after John had consummated the paper work for the purchase, he kept repeating comments like, “My God,--why did you do that? Do you know what you’ve done?” My knees were quite shaky by then, but I told him “John, I have the authority to do that. Don’t worry. No skin off your nose. Let’s hope our geologists knew what they were doing.” And they did! We drilled five good producers (and one dry hole) on the tract, which I later heard had ultimately gotten Carter a net profit of about fifteen times the price of the acreage plus all the drilling and production costs. * * * * One of the geologists in the Oklahoma city office was Chinese, named Bing Yee. I’ve heard that many Chinamen are fond of gambling, and Bing had that reputation. I don’t know if he ever played poker, or ever spent any time in Las Vegas casinos, but one type of gambling I know he enjoyed was the stock market. I don’t know if he ever bought any investment grade securities, but I know he was addicted to the speculative “penny stocks”, which were especially abundant in the Canadian markets. Bing apparently had some source of current information on stocks of small risky oil companies, whose fortunes could either rise or fall dramatically in very short time periods. Bing frequently appeared in my office mornings shortly after we were open for business, and regaled me with many accounts of stocks selling for loose change per share that his inside data indicated had good possibilities for rapid appreciation. Many apparently did so, and Bing claimed to have frequently profited with his buy-and-sell ventures during short periods of time, but never mentioned any losses he probably had. (This was no breach of company ethics in trading in Canadian oil stocks, of course, since Carter and other domestic Standard of New Jersey companies had no business interests in Canada.). Bing usually concluded his brief discussions of a particular stock that sounded like a winner with his suggestion that I ought to buy a few shares. I never did until one morning, after I’d checked on a few of his previous recommendations that did turn out to be winners, I decided to have a fling at one he seemed quite excited about. It had the improbable name of “Zeno Oil Company”, and Bing said his information source had reported that the company had about a thousand acres a short distance from, and “on trend with”, a wildcat well being drilled somewhere in the Canadian boondocks by a major company,--Mobil, I think it was. “Bing, what’s that stock selling for?” I asked. “Well,” he replied, “when I checked it early yesterday it was 25 cents a share.” After he’d left I decided it might be fun to try, gave my broker a call and told him to buy me a thousand shares at “market price” (which means whatever the asking price would be when he placed the order). He called me back a couple hours later and told me I’d bought the thousand shares at 35 cents per share. He laughed and said, “Looks like you’re into high stakes now. That’s $350, plus my commission of $25.” “It’s just for fun,” I said, “I ‘ve always wanted to own a penny stock.” To my amazement, when I had my broker check a day or so later, Zeno was selling for 45 cents a share. I mentioned my “investment” to Carol that night, and I was surprised by her interest in the subject. “I’ll bet my bridge players would get a kick out of your big gamble,” she said. “Do you have any objections if I tell them?” “Nope,” I replied. “Maybe they’d like to buy some too.” So she did. And they did. A couple days later I asked Bing how much he’d spent on Zeno, the next time he appeared in my office. “Well,-uh, actually I didn’t get any.” He shook his head in embarrassment. “It was 40 cents a share the day after I told you about it, and I thought I’d wait till it dropped back a bit. But it never did.” Carol and I watched Zeno climb with much interest and enjoyment. Two weeks or so later it was about 60 cents, as I recall, and one night Carol said, “Maybe you ought to sell when it doubles at around 70 or so. That would be a nice return on your money.” “Yes,” I agreed, “but I hate to get out when it’s climbing so fast. Let’s decide on a higher sellout point.” “O.K,” said Carol. “But we shouldn’t be pigs about this. Let’s sell when it triples what you paid. Let’s see,--say, $1.05.” I agreed. With pleasure we watched Zeno climb nearly every day, by 5 or 10 cents a jump.One morning Bing told me his information source said the wildcat was near the target producing zone, and that if it hit oil the stock would really soar. A couple days later Zeno hit $1.00 per share. The following day Bing’s face hung low when he came in my office. “It’s a dry hole.” he muttered. “Mobil’s abandoning the well.” Next day my broker told me Zeno’s shares were down to 25 cents, and would probably keep dropping. I told him to sell me out. That was my last venture in penny stocks.
school, for a year or two, and played football on their junior team until a knee injury kept him on the sidelines. He later left Casady to return to Ridgeview school where Kappy had been attending. His primary organized athletic activity afterward was being a star player in a little league baseball team, the Ridgeview Rams, which won several city league championships. During our O.C. stay, both J.M. and Kappy enjoyed hosting a number of cute kittens which they somehow accumulated in spite of Carol’s mild disapproval. Thereafter pussycats from various sources and generations became relatively regular residents of our household. Download 0.54 Mb. Share with your friends:
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