Rear view volume II
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* * * * I learned that there was some tax and business advantages in having my consulting setup incorporated. So I did so, with the official name of Peminex, Inc., which was an acronym for "Petroleum & Minerals Exploration". It was officially approved by the Texas Secretary of State on 9/28/78 ( a Thursday, by the way). I proceeded to draft up the required Articles of Incorporation and By-Laws, which were subsequently registered with the Secretary of State, and my consulting business acquired a business atmosphere. I appointed Carol, Jerry Mike, Marie and Kappy as directors and officers, and myself (of course) as president and CEO. My first stock issue of 11,000 shares covered the initial capital requirement, of which I assigned myself 5,000 and divided the remaining 6,000 among my staff. The company's earnings were distributed on that per-share basis, which was pretty good pay for my staff whose main function was to sit in on the occasional required board meetings and therefore legally approve some of my business transactions. (But I was in a generous mood, celebrating my retirement, and mentally considered such disbursements as healthy Christmas gifts.) My consulting business prospered, and included much conventional geological work in addition to the satellite/aerial photo projects, both on EPRCo's frequent jobs and numerous intervening projects requested by a variety of small companies and independent oilmen. When my three years of commitment to EPRCo's assignments expired the small operators kept me as busy as I cared to be. I was amazed at how many somehow knew of Peminex and requested my work, since I never solicited customers nor advertised in any way. I was pleased and proud to once have as a client the distinguished "dean" of Texas geologists, a well-to-do independent oilman, and an esteemed resident of Houston, Michel T. Halbouty. Peminex was only once involved in owning an interest in a wildcat drilling deal. A personable young Chinese man, Daniel Chiang, was from a wealthy family and wanted to get into the oil business. He organized a company he called Muskeg, and came to me on several occasions for geological investigations. I once located and mapped for him a prospect in southern Texas we called Canoe Bayou. He was able to interest several small companies in leasing it, with the objective of drilling two wildcats on it, one to 14,000 feet and another to 16,000. This was a project requiring ultimate investments of several million dollars to lease and drill a block of about 11,000 acres. Dan put up some of the cash, and as a fee for the geological work Peminex received a 1% working interest in the acreage, with no obligation to share in drilling costs. The first well tested some minor gas shows, but not enough to justify its development. I was not enthused by that result, and before the second well had drilled very far I arranged to sell 81% of Peminex's 1% to the drilling companies for slightly over $5,000. Not exactly a "bonanza" payment, but it appeared a smart move after the second well reached 16,000 feet as a dry hole. In 1985 the U.S.'s oil business began a decline, particularly in the drilling and development end of the business. I can't remember now the theories as to why, but a basic reason must have been an increasingly apparent oversupply of petroleum in the world, which reduced incentives to explore for and produce more. The years 1985 and 1986 were the first two that Peminex had an income deficit. Eight of my ten years doing consulting had been good ones, and I decided maybe the time had come to cash in the chips and spend the rest of my life on a permanent vacation. During a phone chat with Chiang I told him that, and to my complete surprise he said, "Why don't you sell me your company?" I said, "What's the matter with Muskeg?" He laughed and replied, "Nothing at all. I just thought I might be able to re-sell Peminex." I realized that Dan, trader that he was, might well be able to re-sell the Peminex corporate entity and net some profit, and that was a sales job I didn't have the experience or desire to attempt. So I agreed, we settled on a modest price, and he and I signed the title transfer contract I prepared, on April Fool's Day, 1986. (An appropriate date for one of us, I guess, but I've never decided who.) Anyway, that was the end of my geological working career at age 70, and the beginning of what so far has been 15 years of a DANG fine career (Doing Absolutely Nothing: Great!) * * * * Tours and Travel By my retirement I had had the opportunity to visit, or at least set my feet in, a total of 34 countries (mostly due to business travel). I wasn't greatly enthused about doing more as a vacation routine. But Carol enjoyed the git-up-and-go pastimes, was ready for more whenever we could, and persuaded me take trips while we were still able. So we made a few trips during gaps in my consulting business when I was "unavailable" for new assignments, and a few in my post-Peminex epoch. The first was in 1979, as I recall, when we took a tour-guided trip to Hawaii. We were accompanied by another Exxon couple, Elloise and Bill Randall. First stop of course was Honolulu, on Oahu. There our first tour visit was Pearl Harbor where we reviewed the tragic history of the 12-7-41 "date which will live in infamy" as President Roosevelt emphatically declared, when the Japanese air fleet of about 360 planes attacked and sunk six U.S. battleships, damaged 10 other warships, killed 2,008 sailors on the sunken Arizona , and killed or wounded about 1,600 soldiers and marines. The other later tour attractions were less poignant and more pleasurable, like frequent luau banquets, hula-hula shows, scenic bus tours, and of course the obligatory tour visit to Waikiki Beach to ogle and admire the nearly nude bathers. (Subsequent conversation between Carol and Elloise about our sightseeing there exclusively pertained to "hunks" and "studs", while commentary by Bill and me was limited to "buxom babes" and "fancy fillies".Finally, by mutual agreement, we confined further discussion to scenery viewing.) We spent about two days and nights in each of the four main islands: Oahu, Maui, Kauai, and Hawaii (the biggest). Crow-fly distance from the northernmost (Kauai) to the most southern (Hawaii) was about 260 miles, mostly over water. So tour arrangements were that we flew a chartered plane between islands, and were given bus tours of points of interest in each. This was all a theoretically very efficient system, but we found that a problem was that we spent an undue amount of time waiting in hotels and airports to be picked up for transportation between islands, or from each tourist attraction site to the next. And since we were there in the height of the tourist season, we often had to wait in our tour bus for buses ahead to clear out so we could see what they had been seeing. But it was a good trip. The Kyles and Randalls enjoyed each other's company, and later at home spent many party hours in retrospective conversations about what we referred to as our"hula-hula" experiences in Hawaii. Our most scenic trip unquestionably was our June 1981 trip to Alaska, accompanied by J.M. and Marie. Carol and I drove to the Colorado cabin and opened it in early June, then continued driving to Seattle. We had made reservations for ourselves and kids on a guided tour arrangement. Carol and I were scheduled to leave Seattle by a tour bus for Vancouver, and J.M. and Marie would fly there from Houston. At Vancouver we would embark on a tour ship, a magnificent many-passenger cruise ship of Holland America Cruises Co. called the Statendam, for a leisurely voyage up the west coast of Canada into the inland waterway through that narrow strip of Alaska which lies west of Canada's British Columbia province. After an overnight stop in a Seattle hotel we were ready the next morning of June 26 for a scheduled bus ride 145 miles north to Vancouver, where the Statendam was due to depart at 5:00 p.m. We expected to arrive in the early afternoon, but the bus driver persisted in making numerous stops: small town cafes for midmorning coffee and later a long time for lunch, many usually unneeded pit stops, and an endless array of gift shops enroute ( I'm sure he was entitled everywhere to a commission for any sales his travelers made). All of us passengers began getting irritated by the slow progress, and nervous as time slipped away about making the scheduled ship departure time. But the driver kept reassuring us that he'd made the trip often and would be at the Vancouver dock in plenty of time. But the bus trip ended with the driver, now also rather nervous, speeding through the streets of Vancouver and arriving at the dock about 5:02 p.m., just as the gangplank was being raised! The driver drove as close as possible, tooted the horn in a continuous blast, and with great relief we saw the gangplank being lowered for us. J.M. and Marie had given up expecting us to join them, so we had a happy meeting with much laughter as Carol and I gradually calmed our nerves. The voyage up the inland waterway was delightful. Our staterooms in the ship were excellent, as were all the services, meals and faccilities aboard. The coastline mountain scenery was stunningly beautiful, and our stops and casual visits in the picturesque cities of Ketchikan, Juneau and Skagway were interesting and entertaining. The only adverse feature was that the weather was mostly cloudy, chilly, and damp from frequent showers. Juneau was the end of our cruise on the Statendam. We then flew in a small plane to Glacier Bay, stayed overnight in a U.S. Park Service lodge, and the next day embarked in a small boat into the headwaters of Glacier Bay for a day's visit. That trip involved dodging a lot of ice floes as we neared the front of the massive glacier at the bay's end. We approached to within about 100 feet of the glacier face, which was an impressive and chilly experience. I asked the boat's captain if any big chunks of ice had ever dropped off when the boat was that near. "Oh", he said, rubbing his chin whiskers, "a few times. Makes a good splash and rocks the boat pretty well, but we've never lost any passengers overboard. Yet. When we hear loud cracking and think a big one might come loose, we usually have time to warn the passengers to hang on to the railings, or somethin'."
in 1897 and 1898. Whitehorse is a classic western town, and the biggest in the Yukon with nearly 6,000 residents (when we were there). In addition to catering to mining interests it has Territory offices of the Royal Canadian Air Force and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. The next two days were occupied in a bus trip of 605 miles to Fairbanks, the northern end of our tour. (It is also the north end of the Alaska Highway and the Alaska Railroad). Our trip was on the main highway between Whitehorse and Fairbanks, which was sparsely traveled and had a very few small towns enroute. It traversed much wilderness territory, in which we had numerous stops to enjoy viewing the variety of wildlife, including moose, elk, deer, bears, mountain sheep, and a few prospectors. Fairbanks is Alaska's second largest city (nearly 14,000 residents then), and is the center of a great region of mining for gold and other minerals. Weather is always on the chilly side, since it's only 130 miles south of the Arctic Circle. It's an interesting town to hike around in (if you have warm clothes), and an interesting feature to us "southerners" was the ability to sit on an unlighted hotel porch at nearly 11:00 p.m. and read the paper. (Nighttime in July that far north is quite limited!) In response to our inquiry as to who the city was named after, the first person we stopped to ask on the street was pretty sure it was the famous actor Douglas Fairbanks, Sr. But later a more reliable source explained that the honored individual was Charles W. Fairbanks, Vice-President of the U.S. under Theodore Roosevelt from 1905 to 1909. He, and William McKinley who was U.S. President from 1897 to 1901 and had his name used for the highest mountain in North America, were undoubtedly selected since both were in office at the time of the expanded mining boom in Alaska after the Klondike Gold Rush. Highlight of our Fairbanks stay was a day's trip to Mount McKinley National Park, about 120 miles southwest of Fairbanks, where we stayed overnight in very comfortable rooms at Park lodge facilities. Next day a guide and picnic lunches were provided by the tour personnel, and two or three tour buses left for a visit to view Mt. McKinley. This magnificent mountain, which reaches 20,300 feet, is perpetually snow-covered in at least its upper half, and is a photographer's dream, --when cloud-free and in sunshine, which we were told is a rarity. But we had hopes, and nearly everyone was well equipped with a load of camera equipment. Luck was not with us, however. As we left the Park lodges, the clouds and a rainy drizzle moved in, and by the time we got to the location the guide said was the best for viewing, we were grossly disappointed to be able to see only the peak's foothills. So the guide, who was experienced in such conditions, set up an easel board with a huge 2' by 3' photo of a sunlit mountain. "This is what you'd be seeing if there were enough church-goers among you", he said, which elicited some not very amused chuckles from a few of the tourists.
reasons we never heard clarified. The guide wasn't on our bus, so we discussed this on our trip back to Fairbanks, with several people theorizing as to that name's origin. None of the theories sounded very authentic, but the one everyone approved of was the suggestion that maybe the word "denali" was an Indian word meaning "usually cloud- covered". Next day we again boarded another bus for the 360 mile trip south to the busy city of Anchorage, the metropolis of Alaska. It is located at the head of the Cook Inlet, a large embayment of the Gulf of Alaska. It was founded in 1914 as the headquarters of the Alaska Railroad, and was so-named since it was the anchorage for ships bringing supplies for the railroad construction camp from which the city grew. It is the center for trade and services for over 2/3 of Alaska's population, is an imporant air traffic center, and has nearby bases for the U. S. Army and Air Force Alaskan headuarters. As a port city it is of course near sea level, but its beautiful background is the (usually) snow-covered Chugach Mountains. We had a pleasant day and night stay at a hotel in downtown, and fnally bid Alaska a fond farewell as we flew the last leg of our Alaska trip to Seattle on July 10. It was a fascinating two-week's tour, although the almost constantly rainy weather (or occasionally snowy in the high country) took some getting used to. I'm not sure if that's normal or if our visit was in an unusually moist summer, but my advice to friends who might be contemplating such a tour is to be sure and have clothes for a rainy and chilly climate. Enroute to Seattle I was inspired to thus commemorate such a possibility: Ode to Alaska In Alaska there is constantly rain, Don't count on the sun in Alaska, In the mountains as well as the plain. 'Cause the rain is bound to out-last ya. If the rain ever slows, But say this for me, Or it stops,--then it snows, It's a great place to be, And then it starts raining again! In case anybody should ask ya! * * * *
Jerry M. and Marie then flew home to Houston from Seattle, but Carol and I were scheduled to continue our journey with an automobile expedition into some of the massive mountain terrain in the southeastern portion of British Columbia (in our car which had been parked in Seattle during our Alaska trip). By previous arrangement I had planned this portion of our trip, plus an additional visit in Montana, to be a "mini-reunion" of 4 of the 5 members of the "Last Man's Club" of Carleton College days. (For those of you who may not have read my Volume I of Rear View, the LMC consisted of 3 of my best friends there who with me always ate at the same table in the college dining hall, served by a 4th member who was earnng a scholarship as a student waiter who always waited on our table. Due to our lengthy post-meal discussions we were usually the last men out of the dining hall,--hence our LMC designation.) First re-unioner was Robert Crassweller, who with charming wife Mollie flew in to Seattle to meet us. (Crass had become a lawyer with a career that included working for the State Department in Washington, for Pan American Airways, and International T. & T. in New York.) After an impressive two day trip with lovely sunny weather providing a delightful contast with the Alaska variety, and a constant volume enroute of "careers- catch-up-conversation" by Crass and me, which left Carol and Mollie only very limited opportunities to chat, we arrived July 12 at Banff. There we were met by Chandler (Swan) Swanson and lovely wife Ruth who had arrived from Florida via airlines and a rental car. (Swan had enlisted in the navy after college, became a torpedo bomber pilot in WWII in which he earned many honors and promotion to Captain, and continued after the war as a career officer until his thirty years' service retirement.) The six of us had a great time touring Banff and Jasper National Parks, with stopovers at Jasper and Lake Louise. On July 15 the Swansons left us, heading west to Vancouver, and the Crasswellers and Kyles headed south into Montana, staying overnight in Kalispell as guests of my old army buddy Con Lundgren and wife Jean. The next day we proceeded to Anaconda for a day's and evening's visit with Reverend Jack Caton and wife. Jack, who had been our Carleton waiter, was known to most as "Happy Jack" because of his loud and unique guffaws so frequently heard on campus and at the movies.(To everyone's amazement, after his graduation he became a Carleton-sponsored missionary to China and subsequently mired down as an Episcopalian minister in Montana.) Needless to say, he had lots of "career conversation" to contribute about his wartime experiences in China. The only LMC-er missing from our mini-reunion was Allan Matthews, who with wife Doris lived near Washington, D.C., and whose other activities commitments precluded joining us. (Except for his WWII service as a naval officer on a destroyer, his career was mostly in government foreign aid economiics.) On July 15 we continued south, depositing the Crasswellers at the Salt Lake city airport, from whence we drove back to our Colorado cabin at Gothic. From the cabin's "pillar-to-post" the 25-day trip was one of our longest, and one of the most enjoyed. * * * *
One short week's trip in August, 1984, in desert type country was quite the antithesis of the snow-peaked deep-green mountainous terrain we had been immersed in in Alaska and Canada. Carol had suggested, and I agreed, that more experience in the picturesque canyon country of Arizona and Utah would be a interesting change from a scenic view standpoint. We decided that Doug, who had just turned 13, was ready for a bit of travel with his maternal grandparents. Kappy had left him with us at the cabin, and for some reason I can't recall wasn't in a position to join us on our tour. So on August 4 the three of us embarked on what we labeled "The Kyle-Cooper-Canyon-Caravan". First stop was the Black Canyon of the Gunnison , near Montrose, Colorado, where we got a good exercise warmup by climbing the 400-odd stair steps down to river bottom and back up again. Then to Ouray where we took the narrow gauge railway trip to and from Silverton. (I don't think Doug had ever been on any train before, so that was an exciting experience for him.) Heading southwest the following day we crossed into Utah and Monument Valley for a quick dose of desert environment. Then, of course, the Grand Canyon was on our list for a day's stay, followed by a boat ride on Lake Powell in Glen canyon where we saw the impressive Rainbow Bridge National Monument. Next stop: Bryce canyon, Utah, for a day's hiking tour. After moseying around that general area for a couple days we swung southeast to Moab and the Arches National Park Then, finally, back to Gothic. It was great country,--a photographer's dream, even for amateurs like us, and the only thing we spent more on than film was for Doug's steaks for lunch and supper everywhere we ate. * * * * Our last cruise trip, and last of any trip outside the U.S., was a Caribbean boat ride the week of Feb. 3 - 10, 1985. It wasn't one we'd planned, but took on short notice. The week before my Carleton buddy Swan phoned and explained a bargain deal he could offer, and hoped we'd take. It seems he and Ruth, and another couple, had somehow lucked into obtaining special rates as WWII veterans on the week's cruise, but the other couple had to cancel on short notice. Swan said it would be possible for Carol and me to be substitutes (since I was also a veteran), and if we'd agree immediately he could make the switch in reservation names. And, the fare was only $400 for each of us! Needless to say, the following Sunday morning we flew to Miami, joined Swansons aboard the (French) Paquet Line's "Rhapsody", and by mid-afternoon were enroute to the Bahamas. As we hiked around the ship I was impressed at how familiar the arrangement of deck facilities seemed. I said to Swan, "I didn't realize that all big cruise ships are so similar in design."
"This is the old Statendam," he replied. "The Paquet Line bought it about a year ago." Swan laughed hilariously. "Glad to know you're not really psychic, Jerry!"
Islands, and everyone said that would have been an inappropriate name today.) Those two islands we visited were each blessed with a lot of beautiful sandy beaches, encircled Download 0.54 Mb. Share with your friends:
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