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BLOODY MARY

By:  Ray Blackhall

Sometimes stories just have to be told and retold until they almost become legends. This is one of that genre and, as I become more of a veteran in this oil business, I find myself becoming one of those storytellers.

             This tale begins in the comfortable confines of our Texaco Houston Onshore Division offices housed pleasantly in the Guarantee Bank Building of Sharpstown Plaza, Houston, U. S. of A.  A well was proposed thanks to the efforts of a geophysical- geological exploration team. Their combined efforts produced a small Frio Prospect adjacent to a Texaco Field production office. The heroes of this tale will be revealed though I hope that none are offended. Their roles were greater than mine, but I was lucky enough to be in the right place to capture the entire saga.

             An exploration wildcat became an actively drilling well in a relatively short time. The players were yours truly, at that time a two year geologist, Neil Wendling, a great geophysicist (we miss you Neil), geologist Jon Jeppessen, my friend and learned three or so year man, and thirty year man Jim Eiffert, a Texaco stratigrapher par excellence (we miss you too Jim). There were other players but a short story demands a small cast.

             The first well was drilled and successful before I was lucky enough to be moved to the development teams for the second well, a resounding dry hole. I fought hard to get a third well drilled and also was fortunate enough to get the logging job. It was so much fun getting the company car high centered on the railroad tracks by catching the transmission!  I had fun driving the car onto the location backwards when we finally got it off the tracks. I’d rather not elaborate on how close the train was.

             It was back to Houston for another car. You’ll have to use your imagination as to how I got back. It was only sixty or so miles. Then there was a slight change of plans. It seems that I was to be accompanied back to the well by another compatriot geologist, Dr. Ed Crisp. Our job was now to make a continuous sample log from the Marg bug within the lower Anahuac shale through the upper Frio and our objective sands.

             This was not standard operating procedure but it seems that a few top-level management people were on their way from New York and this well was close enough to the office to take a little field trip. We were to make the log and look very professional.

             We were good. By the time they got there we had finished our log and “Big Blue” had even finished theirs. We had told them where the top Frio would be within two feet and had picked two pay sands as they logged. We were beaming, our sample log literally glimmered with perfection, we had proof with the e-log, our brass guests weren’t interested. Oh well, it was a well which ended well.

Now why is it that this tale is called “Bloody Mary”? Why have you been bored with all this trivia about well logging when the legend, I mean plot, of this story has not been revealed? I shall now recount the most magic moment.

While driving onto the location and having Ed rolling with laughter about trying to lose a company car to a train, Ed made the remark that there probably would not be any beautiful women waiting on this location (Ed loved beautiful women). I in my own sarcastic manor told Ed that I had a lovely lady waiting to welcome him. Little did I know how right I was. As we rolled steadily up the board road, crossing a pasture and carefully avoiding the magnificent Oaks, we turned into the darkened well pad and pulled to the toolpusher’s trailer. The derrick was a medium-sized double, well lighted, with the crew busy pulling pipe for a bit trip. On the floor were the driller and two roughnecks of large build. As we opened the car doors and stepped onto the brightly lighted boards, one of the roughnecks slinging chain stopped to wipe a sweaty brow.

             Ed looked up and their eyes met as if on cue. Bloody Mary had stopped to take a new bite of chew. She was the strongest, roughest and down right nastiest roughneck I have ever seen to this day. Thank the stars that her eyes had fallen on him. I had leaned back in the car to grab something. Mary gazed down at Ed and simply said, “I’m coming for some of you later.” Then she spat her mouthful of used tobacco and spit directly at our feet, which were a considerable distance from her. She freed us from her riveting eyes and returned to the task at hand.

             Ed was speechless. I was stunned. We hurried into the trailer like two scared dogs, tails between our legs. The tool pusher just smiled and said, “Met Mary huh?” We shook hands appropriately and went about our task of setting up our binocular scope and sample catching apparatus. Very little was said other than my smirked, “Your lady awaits.” Ed was not amused. In fact, his look might have scared eight lives out of a cat. We were safe inside, we thought. To say the least, Ed was not gong to catch the first sample. A trip around the base of the rig to the flow line just wasn’t in the company directory under these circumstances. I was scared when I went, especially when Mary greeted me by the flow line with a big yellow toothy grin. I wonder ‘til this day what my face looked like. I was about to bolt and run for it when she said, “Here, let me help you with that.” She was pleasant and warm with a side I would have never expected. We never told Ed. I know that he didn’t get any sleep and I feigned dozing off so that he’d get one sample during the middle of the night. Ed was a big, strong man, generally fearless. I prayed for him just in case I’d been had. She’d gone off shift and gone home.

             It’s been many years since this incident, so maybe the story is a little off, but that’s the good part about legends.