Rear view volume II
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| Superstition Mountain! Using a county road map and my aerial photos I found a trail about a mile west of the mountain façade that looked like it headed into or near a narrow canyon in the steep cliffs. It was a rough row to hoe, more suitable for Jeep travel, and progress was slow.
Finally, as we topped a long rise, we were surprised to see in the near distance a small shack which, being built of rock materials, was well camouflaged in the desert terrain. The trail led to and past the run-down cabin, and as we neared it we could see an old codger in ragged clothing who looked about as weather beaten as the cabin, sitting on a bench in a small partially shaded porch. I stopped in front of him and got out.
small bushes on the banks. They offered a little shade, so Carol decided to wait there for us, and Kappy thought she’d better stay with her mother since Carol wasn’t looking too healthy in the high heat (which we learned later had a day’s high of 110 degrees!).I had lugged a one-quart thermos from the car to leave with Carol, and Kappy had brought a scout’s canteen, so I thought they’d be OK while J.M. and I headed into the mountain’s wilderness for two or three hours. We each had a full army canteen on our belts, enough for our morning’s hike, I thought, to where I could locate the geological fault I had seen on the aerial photos.
thrilled to have found , in the stream bed’s rock debris, a quartz sample in which on close inspection could be seen a few minute specks of gold! We had decided to defer using any of our precious canteen water until we were clear out of the canyon. And when we finally were, we anticipated with great pleasure the relief that cool water would bring to our parched lips and dry throats. I took a big swig and---“Aaaagh!!” was my hoarse yell as I spit out a mouthful of—hot water! “Jeez-us!”
reaction, and cautiously sipped his. “Wow! Oh golly! I didn’t think the heat would soak through the canteen covers that bad. What’ll we do?” As I emptied my canteen to lighten its load of now-useless contents, I said, “Guess we don’t have much choice. We’ll do well to get back to the girls and still be able to talk. Let’s get going.” The return to Carol’s and Kappy’s spot was much quicker than our hike up the canyon; not only was it downhill but the incentive of getting some drinking water added to our speed. But when we got there we found that the heat had given them unusually high thirsts. They had drunk Kappy’s canteen of water first, and nearly all of the quart thermos supply afterward. They were apologetic when they heard of our status, but ex- plained quite reasonably that they assumed my and J.M.’s canteens would have been sufficient for our needs. Our response to that was fortunately limited by our dry throats. We hurried back to the car and headed for our motel (noting enroute that the talk- ative fellow at the cabin I’d had the long conversation with was no longer on the porch.) At our two-room cabin we graciously gave Carol first chance at the shower, while the rest of us drew straws to determine the following sequence of bathers. But as we did so Carol emerged from the bathroom. “Good heavens! Something’s wrong,--both faucets give only hot water!” I went in to check, and Carol was unfortunately right. I phoned the motel desk clerk, and was appalled to be told, with their apology, that cool water would not be available until nine or ten o’clock that night. The explanation was that there was no central city water service available for the motels, and each of them (and presumably other places of business) had to have their own wells. The wells were pumped more or less continuously but had to be stored on big tanks atop the motel’s office building, where during really hot days the water temperature stayed pretty warm. (Like our canteens!) At least we did get a good supply of cold drinking water from the cooler in the motel office. We were all so dehydrated that we drank quarts of that delicious nectar. And, we later confided to each other, none of us had to urinate until late the following morning! We did continue to Tucson for a stay with the Schmidts, who were gracious hosts and especially glad, of course, to see Carol again. My Lost Dutchman experience was a technical disaster, but fun to later talk about., and elicited a lot of laughs from our hosts. Our trip home to Houston was routine and uneventful, and it was nice to again be in an environment that had both hot and cold water! The next summer, incidentally, Schmidts sent us a clipping from the Phoenix news- paper about how another prospector named Jay Clapp (who doubtless thought he had acquired the authentic Lost Dutchman mine map) disappeared in Superstition Mountain some months after our visit, and his headless body had just been found. (!) * * * * The foreign trip I had expected in August, 1964, didn’t materialize, and my only travel that fall was another conference in New york about the status of current and proposed geophysical projects. My office activities were the usual routine. A change in our family life routine had occurred the previous year when our first born child began college, and we had shipped him off to Tulane. He had selected that university after due consideration of the scholastic benefits and opportunities available at several educational institutions (which we had surmised may have included an assessment of entertainment facilities), and it sounded like a good choice to Carol and me. J.M. was home for the summer but Kappy wasn’t since she had been selected to be a “foreign exchange” student. This was a program of swapping students with those from foreign countries during the summer to promote some inter-cultural experience and communication between young people who might someday help improve international relations between countries. The chosen students had no choice as to what country they’d be sent. Kappy's assignment was Finland, which sounded like an interesting one to us. The foreign exchange students were expected to make some effort to learn a bit of the language of their assigned country, and in Kappy’s case that was quite a challenge. I could find no Finnish speech instruction books at the library or any book store, but we finally got one of sorts from the Finland consul in Houston (who was actually a Texan who happened to have such a book because he too was trying to learn a little Finnish. I suspected Finland wanted a Texan since that would save them a lot of travel and housing rental expense that shipping a Finlander would otherwise incur.) Kappy tried hard and learned a little Finnish, but with difficulty. Many Finnish words are of outstanding length, and have no even remote relations to English,--as do Spanish, French, etc. She learned more by the necessity of getting established and acquainted with her Finnish family, since most of those family members knew very little more English than Kappy did Finnish. But it was a great and much enjoyed summer for her, and she continued correspondence for many years with the Finnish girl she spent most time with. * * * * The major summer experience in 1964 for Carol and I, one that has influenced our family’s lives for all subsequent years, was the purchase of a lot in a scenic section of the valley of a lovely Colorado mountain stream called East River. Our family had been camping fairly regularly each summer in that general area, and Carol had commented occasionally during our tenting tours that “Wouldn’t it be nice to own a cabin in this area?” I agreed, and we mentioned this to Carl Turney, a horse wrangler who had met us one summer at our camp site, and taken us on some exciting horse-back tours through the mountains. Carl directed us to a cabin where in the summer resided an elderly widow named Carol Spring who, with her recently deceased husband, owned an old mining claim of 40 acres in an aspen grove a half mile south of the old ghost mining town of Gothic (which had been subsequently converted into a summer session school called the Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratry). So we contacted Carol Spring during our 1964 summer camping visit. She was a sprightly little lady who wasn’t very enthused about selling any of her property. But after a couple days acquaintance we were able to convince her of our altruistic love of nature and wildlife, and that we wouldn’t shoot the deer or maintain a mowed lawn at our proposed cabin site. She finally agreed to sell us nearly an acre for $4000. near her cabin. She and I walked and staked out an irregular tract where our cabin at 9500 feet would have a fine view of the surrounding 12,500 and 13,000 ft. mountains. I subsequently had the tract surveyed and a deed recorded in the county seat of Gunnison. (More in a later chapter about the cabin construction the following year, and our lives in it in subsequent years.) * * * * One morning that fall at the office Will Rust came in, sat down in front of my desk, and after some brief conversational comments said, “Have you enjoyed your visits to New York?” I responded that I found them interesting, but wouldn’t want to have to do them very regularly. “Well,” he said, “maybe you’d like to just stay there.” That had a rather ominous sound to my way of thinking. “Ah, --I, uh, --I don’t think that would be a top priority choice of mine.” Will cleared his throat. “I was hoping it would be. The New York office likes you and wants you to come and be on their staff.” I didn’t know quite what to say. Finally, “How long do I have to think about that?” Will said, “They’re sure you’ll be glad to do it since it’s a nice promotion. And if you should decide to stay here you’ll no longer be foreign geophysics chief. Merrill was so sure you’d jump at the job that he’s already picked a replacement for you. Let’s see,--this is Wednesday; I think we should advise New York no later than Friday morning.” I said, “OK, I’ll tell you tomorrow.” Hell! I’d been in the New York office on business visits enough times to know I’d hate working there on a permanent basis the rest of my company career. Kappy was in Finland then, and I sure didn’t want to move just before her senior year in high school. Jerry M. was in his first year at Tulane, and it would have been a long commute for him. And we’d just bought the Colorado lot, planning on having a summer cabin home there which wouldn’t have been very handy to New York residents. I was unhappy that Merrill Haas (then head of all Humble’s Exploration department) had not talked to me first. If he had he might not have been so quick to replace me. Then it occurred to me that maybe my replacement, whoever it was, was a better friend of his than me, whom he wanted to promote without having to demote me. The more I thought about it the more I could visualize prior planning by Haas: he contacts some Jersey official: “Say, I know you’ve been looking for some more good exploration staff personnel, and we’ve got a fellow here with a lot of potential who’d sure like to join you Yorkers. We’ll miss him, but---.” My primary objection to such a move, of course, was simply that Carol and I had gotten tired of moving, and I was sure she’d feel the same. I knew I’d get either fired or demoted if I wouldn’t accept the transfer, but I thought that with my background and experience getting a job with another oil company would be a feasible option. So, late in the same day that Will had talked to me in the morning, I want down to his office “Will.” I said, “I’m sorry to have to decline the move to New York. Tell Merrill I’m sorry to disappoint him,--if he is disappointed. But I’ll cash in my chips here, if that’s what he wants.” “I’m very sorry to hear this,” replied Will, “but no,--no need to ‘cash in your chips’ as you put it. I’ll pass the word to Haas, and I’m sure he’ll have some alternative in mind for you.”
Chapter VII: Houston (1964-1975) I decided not to try to get another job elsewhere. I considered myself “demoted”, but it didn’t reduce my salary, and I reasoned that keeping credit for my years of service with Carter and Humble would someday pay off in retirement perquisites. So for the next year I was reclassified as “Headquarters Staff Geologist” for Humble (or for “Exxon” as Humble was renamed a short time later). My duties were various: exploration budget coordinator, economics and exploration planning studies, etc. All very dull uninspiring work. Then, in mid-1965 I heard that some interesting studies using aerial photos were being initiated at Esso Production Research Company (a “sibling” of Exxon, also located in Houston, in which all of Exxon’s research studies in petroleum exploration and production are conducted). So I requested and received a transfer to EPR and acquired the title of “Senior Research Geologist”, with one of my specialities being my expertise in aerial photo interpretation. My initial work was rather localized, pertaining to Houston and Harris county and vicinity. There was (and still is) some land subsidence in the area, which creates lots of problems in some vicinities (since all Gulf Coast terrain is very flat to start with). And Exxon’s production department was afraid the subsidence, and perhaps the numerous geological faults, might be due in part to their extensive oil production withdrawals. So I proceeded to map, by ground inspection, all the surface faults and obtain records of the surface elevation variations over the past years. My analysis was that the subsidence was due to both slippage along faults and excessive ground water pumping in the Houston and Baytown vicinities. This analysis was of course goood news to Exxon. From that rather inconsequential study I then graduated into a program of giving lectures on techniques of fault mapping from photos, and their geological interpretation as an aid in exploration for oil, at Exxon’s Structural Geology schools, and in numerous district and division offices where I was invited. Then, satellite photos became available with worldwide coverage! These were taken by a U.S. satellite orbiting the earth about 260 miles above it, and were made available to the public by a federal government agency. Those photos, first only available in black and white and later in color, each covered wide expanses of territory and made it possible for an expert (as I became) to detect and map major geologic features not recognizable at ground level, which could be used as guides to untested and potentially oil productive provinces. My satellite studies became in great demand by Exxon’s foreign affiliates worldwide, and especially so where I could make rough assessments of possible oil reserves in some areas where the size and nature of geologic structures and rock sequences could be compared to those of known producing areas. In addition to the value of knowing such reserves estimates in foreign countries where Exxon might be able to secure leases and drilling rights, they were also very interested in knowing the possibilities of future oil development in countries which would be competitive with Exxon in world petroleum marketing. Russia and China were examples of these, and the New York office very soon directed EPR to have me concentrate on major studies of their potential. Both countries have gigantic expanses of geologically unexplored territory, and working those two countries became one of my primary projects for nearly two years. After I’d been doing that for a year or so, and feeding interim assessment reports to New York, I one day received a phone call from Max Sons, a petroleum production expert in that office who’d been one of the staff reviewing my work on those communist countries. “Jerry,” he began, “ your work has been good and getting a lot of attention in our office. For some reason the CIA is interested in communist oil reserves, and have asked us if we had done any studies that we wouldn’t mind letting them use.” “That’s interesting.” I replied, “I suppose you’ve mentioned my work to them?” “ Yes. Oh yes! And they want to interview you! Would you be willing?” I was quite startled. “Well,--uh,- I guess so. But why don’t you just let them see my reports?” Max said, “They want to ask you how you do it. Can you meet me at their Washington office day after tomorrow?” “Golly. I suppose so. But you’ll first have to clear this with my supervisor. I can’t just take off on a visit to the CIA, for cripes sake, without getting authority.” Max said OK, he’d do that, and for me to be in the CIA office at 10 o’clock two days after tomorrow. I was of course quite excited by the prospect of lecturing the CIA on my assessment techniques, and begn selecting appropriate satellite photos and my reports for that purpose. The following day I asked my supervisor if he’d had word from Sons about my requested visit, and he said no. I asked if I should go anyway, and he said no, that for me to transmit my assessment data to anyone, even the CIA, required authorization from someone in New York at a higher official level than Sons. (My reports were classified as “secret” and available only to Exxon personnel on a “need to know” basis.) The next day my supervisor told me that he’d had no word from New York, that he therefore assumed the proposed CIA meeting had been cancelled, and that I might as well forget about it. I was greatly disappointed, of course, but I’d had enough contacts in the past with the New York administrators to realize that such changes in plans or orders were not uncommon. So the next morning I was back at my usual work when my phone rang about 9:30 a.m. Max’s voice was abrupt and he sounded exceedingly upset. “Kyle, this is Sons! I’m in the CIA office. Why aren’t you?” I said, “No one here ever got authorization from New York.Weren’t you going to take care of that?” His reply included quite a bit of profanity, and he finally attributed the screwup to his supervisor who, he said, should have gotten the necessary authority and advised EPR. He concluded his harangue with, “Well, dammit, the deal’s off now. I’ll apologize here and maybe we can set it up another time” But they never did. The use of satellite photos rapidly became the “in” thing for use by Exxon in regional exploration and assessment studies, and I was soon booked during intervals in my Russia and China work for lectures to exploration personnel in a number of our division and district offices, and at several of EPR’s structural geology schools. My last, and most extensive business trip as an Exxon employee was in 1968 to once again visit Libya, and also Australia, to demonstrate my assessmeent and satellite study techniques that those Exxon affiliates might wish to incorporate into their exploration work. Exxon had no objection to my proposal to make both visits on one trip, and to take some vacation time stops enroute at areas of interest (with the travel costs of those portions of my trip of course being my personal expenses.). So , I made plans for my first (and only) round-the-world expedition! I acquired quite a bit of travel literature and airline schedules data, and worked out details for what I expected to be (and was!) a fascinating journey of about a month, including about five days each in the two business offices I’d be visiting. First stop was Rome. I’d made brief airline stopovers there on previous business trips, but never had time to tour the city’s points of interest, so I spent two days there visiting the many structures and sites of historic interest, and viewing the art and artifacts of artists of an ancient age Most of my non-pedestrian travel was by taxis, which was a bit hard on my nerves. I never could figure out the traffic system, and the auto population and horn tooting was excessive. (I assumed that any vehicle with a non-working horn was probably considered disabled, and undrivable until fixed.) But overall my Rome visit was pleasant and very worthwhile. Next stop was Libya. Several of the company employees I’d last seen during my visit six years ago were still there, including Denny Meyer, and the reunion was pleasurable. At one of the evening dinner parties I was admiring the rings a couple of the ladies were wearing. They were narrow gold bands, much like a wedding ring, but with the top decorated with a row of 10 or 12 small matched gemstones,--rubies in one ring, and amethysts in the other. I asked them where in Tripoli I could buy some for Carol and Yvonne. “Oh,” said one, “we both bought these in Beirut, Lebanon.They’re called “harem” rings, and we bought them from the maker so they weren’t excessively expensive.” “When I leave here I’m heading for Iraq,” I said, “and maybe I could schedule an overnight stop in Beirut. Is there any way I could find that jewelry maker?” The ladies assured me I could, and gave me his name. (I can’t remember it now, but will just refer to him here as “Abdul”) “Very easy to do,” said one lady. “Just get a taxi; they all know where Abdul does business.” That sounded interesting, so the next day I had my airline schedule revised to provide an overnight stop in Beirut. Our company had discovered oil since my last visit, and there was much interest in the Sahara satellite photos I had brought, and my suggestions for expanded exploration and assessment studies with their use. I had nearly four days of intermittent business sessions, including an interesting review of the prospects that had been discovered by the seismic crews. On the morning of the fifth day I headed east, to Lebanon. My change in schedule had required booking on a Libyan airline, and several of the passengers, including my seat mate, were sheik-types in white robes and headdresses with prominent jewelry decorations, like those I’d seen at the gambling casino in Tripoli in 1959. My seat partner paid no attention to me, and apparently spoke no English, so our six or seven hour trip, including a fueling stop in Cairo, was devoid of conversation. I had made a hotel reservation in Beirut, and as my cab driver was taking me there I asked if he knew of Abdul the jewelry maker. “Ah, yezzir. All us know Abdul. You plan go there? I be glad take you. My name Haroun .”(My phonetic spelling.) My plane to Iraq was scheduled to leave about 1:00 p.m. the next day, and I had planned to visit Abdul early that morning. But as I reached my hotel it was about 4:30 p.m. and I decided I might as well go shopping after checking in. Haroun seemed glad to wait while I did so, and by about 5:00 p.m. we were off. I had no idea how far it might be, and it began to seem like we were going to completely tour Beirut in the devious route we seemed to be on. But in response to my frequent inquiries, “How much further, driver?”, he always responded, “Soon, soon.” Download 0.54 Mb. 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