The Driller and The Storm

The Driller and the Storm

         Black smoke billowed from the Franks Triscope drilling rig as the driller fed power to the massive diesel engines. The one-and-a-half tons of elevators and blocks climbed into the upper reaches of the rig. Securely clasped within the hold of the elevators was a joint of black iron pipe. The slips engaged down on the floor of the rig, and two rough-necks worked the tongs and skillfully maneuvered the newly freed joint of pipe over to the side of the floor. High above the floor, the fourth member of the crew, the derrick-man, secured the pipe in the derrick. The men were “coming out of the hole.” That was the term used to describe pulling the 8,000 feet of connected pipe out of the oil well. They unscrewed and stacked the pipe on end, in sixty-foot stands, in the derrick. It took four hours, on a good day, to get “out of the hole.”

          “Hey, it’s startin’ to get dark up here!” Billy, the twenty-one year old derrick-man, yelled from his perch half-way up the derrick. It was Billy’s job to secure the top end of the pipe when they came “out of the hole.” For that he received $2.50 an hour more than the rough-necks who worked from the safety of the floor.

          “Stop griping,” yelled Shorty from the floor, “it’s supposed to get dark when it storms.”

          “Pay me your extra $2.50 and I’ll do your job for ya!” added Buster as he maneuvered the elevators so that they latched onto the next pull of pipe.

          “Kiss mine!” retorted Billy, “Keep’em coming. I don’t want to spend all night up here. Hey! I thought I saw lightning! Did you see lightning?”

         Wiggins had been drilling for oil almost all of his life. At sixty years of age he still climbed up on those oily floors and operated the blocks and brakes of those old drilling rigs. As the senior member of the crew, had there been a sergeant, it would have been him. Wiggins locked the brakes of the blocks in place and secured everything. He did not want to drop the remaining tubing down the 8,000-feet deep hole. If he did that, there really would be hell to pay.

         He walked out to the edge of the floor, which was elevated about ten feet above the ground. He removed his hard hat and gazed at the clouds. He’d looked at a million clouds rolling across the Oklahoma sky. He’d seen them turn bad, and he’d seen them just threaten. If they were going to turn bad, then he wanted to get Billy out of the derrick. If they were just going to roll along and threaten, he’d leave him up there and continue coming out of the hole. But, he knew for sure that he didn’t want to leave the tubing half-way out. No, it was best to remove the pipe and then set the blow-off preventer before the storm arrived.

          “What’dya think Wiggy?” Buster spoke to the old driller.

          ”Hell, I’ve seen worse clouds than this on a church picnic. Let’s get this pipe out of the hole.” Wiggins returned to his position, fed diesel to the motors, and pulled another sixty feet of pipe out into daylight. However, he kept his eye cut to the side where the dark clouds were forming. He’d have to watch them.

* * * * * * *

         Having driven into town for lunch, Jack and Danny planned afterward to visit four rigs that were drilling in the Central Oklahoma oilfields. In the summer months, he always looked forward to spending time with his dad in the field. The crews all knew him and delighted in teasing and joking with the boss’ kid. He loved the attention.

         Danny took a bite of his cheeseburger and glanced over his shoulder at his dad talking to the State trooper sitting at the counter. His dad's hamburger remained untouched on his plate, getting cold. Danny continued his meal, knowing that his dad would join him eventually, as always, after he finished visiting or conducting some last minute piece of business.

         "C'mon, Danny--we've gotta go." Jack dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table to cover the meal and proceeded to the door.

          “Dad, we’re not finished eating.” Apparently they were.

         Danny choked down one more bite and then trailed after his dad, attempting to match his stride. He had spent the week with his dad, a tool-pusher for a drilling company, the man who kept the crews on the four rigs working, and the liaison with the big oil company engineers who hired his company. But, more importantly, Jack was responsible for sixteen men who manhandled iron pipe and massive equipment in the dangerous oil fields of Oklahoma.

          “Where are we going, Dad?”

          “The State Trooper, back there at the diner, said he had a report of a funnel cloud sighted about thirty miles south of town. It’s moving to the northeast. We’ve gotta get the men off those rigs before it gets bad.”

         “Tornado—that’s what a funnel cloud really is. It just hasn’t touched down yet. God, I hate tornadoes,” Danny thought to himself.

         Gravel flew as Jack accelerated out of the parking lot of the diner. It was a forty-minute drive to the first rig--Jetro Wiggins' rig. As Jack picked up the radio hand-mic, the first spatters of rain began to dot the windshield.

          “Mobile-base to Triscope One, come in…” Jack began to contact each of the rigs over the company radio. “Come in, Triscope One, come in..”

         After fifteen minutes Jack contacted all of the rigs, except one. He ordered the seasoned drillers to get off and away from the rigs, to load the crews in the pick-ups and get back to town. Three of the rigs acknowledged. Wiggins' rig did not. Urgently, Jack headed that way. He glanced at the changing sky out of the side glass, as he sped down the highway. The clouds began to boil and the wind began to buffet the car.

* * * * * * *

          “Wiggy, I saw lightning. I know I saw lightning. Did you see it?” Billy yelled down at the others as he secured the giant sized lightning rod in its place with the other joints of iron pipe.

          “Yeah, I saw it! It’s up to you Billy. You can come on down, if you want. But, we only have five-hundred feet of pipe left in the hole. We can probably get that out before the storm gets here. It’s your call.” Wiggins called back up to the derrick-man.

          “Damnit, Wiggy, I don’t want it to be my call! Hell, let’s keep on pulling pipe! But, I’ll tell you right now, that extra $2.50 isn’t worth it.”

          “Hey, Billy, I’ll give you an extra fifteen cents and buy ya’ a beer if you stay up there.” Shorty ribbed, but secretly wished Billy would come on down.

          “Shorty, you just keep kissing…”

         Smoke billowed, pipe clattered, and the men picked up their pace. It began to rain. Billy did not mind working in the rain--it was the lightning. Usually, at the first sight of lightning, they retreated from the iron lightning magnet of the drilling rig. They all knew that they were taking a chance now. But, it was important that they get this pipe out of the hole. A mistake now would cost thousands of dollars to correct. Measured alongside of Billy’s $2.50, thousands of dollars seemed to warrant them continuing and ignoring the risk.

* * * * * *

         The trailing edge of the storm, where tornadoes were spawned, hung ominously over Jack and Danny. The rain fell in a great cascade. Jack hoped that the storm had not yet reached Wiggins and the crew; but he feared it soon would. He accelerated beyond the safe limits for speed on a wet and stormy road.

* * * * * *

         Wiggins knew that there were only a few joints of pipe left in the hole. Just a few more minutes and they could lock down the blow-out preventer and find safety away from the rig. He knew he shouldn’t be pushing the crew under those conditions. Fortunately, no lightning had illuminated the darkened skies. However, the heavens virtually opened up, and rain sheeted down on the four men. Yet, the black smoke billowed, the iron clattered, and tons of metal worked at completing the job.

         Again the elevators pulled the pipe up out of the hole. And, again the men repeated their skillful handling of the massive equipment. However this time the pipe was different than all the ones before it. The drill-stem—the last piece of pipe--vacated the open hole. They were out. The wind assailed them and the rain blurred their vision. Billy guided the last joint of pipe with the drill-stem to its place, standing it with the other 8,000 feet of iron pipe.

* * * * * *

         Jack left the highway and negotiated the last bend in the lease road leading to the rig. The rig’s form slowly appeared through the curtain of rain. To his amazement he also saw the blocks pulling pipe from the hole.

         “My God, they’re still on the floor working,” he thought incredulously.

          “Dad, what’s happening?” Danny shouted to his dad as trees exploded and debris pounded the car.

         The noise increased to a roar louder than the rig’s diesels. The howl assaulted them, coming from every direction. With unnatural accuracy, the tornado dropped from the sky, intent on destroying the rig and every other thing in its path. The tornado picked up the vehicle as if it were one of Danny’s toy Matchbox cars. The horizon disappeared and they lost all sense of position. Their weight shifted and strained the seat belts as they careened on some sort of surreal rollercoaster ride created by nature’s force. Suddenly, as if bored with an old toy, the vicious wind discarded the car into the wooded area near the drilling site. Fortunately, a massive oak tree buffered its landing and would forever wear the scar of the hurled car.

* * * * * * *

         The four men on the rig were not aware of the approaching car. Their every concern focused on getting off of the rig. Like a captain of a ship, Wiggins stood at the brake waiting for each of the men to retreat to safety. Rocks and splintered wood rained onto them like missiles. The wind of the tornado clawed at them trying to pluck them from the floor of the rig and swallow them into the depths of its maelstrom.

         Buster and Shorty jumped from the floor of the drilling rig, uncertain of what lie below them but convinced that it was better than what waited for them on the floor. They felt the soft dirt of the “slush-pit”, which served as a reservoir for spent oil and drilling mud. They rolled down its embankment into the oil and mud contained therein. Debris splashed into the liquid beside them and the howl of the tornado's wind promised to bury them in that muddy, oily quagmire.

         Wiggins saw Buster and Shorty jump from the floor. He locked his left arm around the structure of the rig and gripped the brake-handle with his right hand. His responsibility to these men would not let him leave Billy in the derrick alone. Wiggins stared into the chaos above him. He could not see the platform where Billy stood. His heart sank as the thought of Billy being plucked from the rig’s heights forced its way into his mind. He imagined Billy's body being torn and shredded as he was sucked into the blackness of the tornado's vortex. As a result, Wiggins did not--could not--leave his position.

         Incredibly, when he thought that the sound could not be magnified any louder, when the horror of the moment could not increase, Wiggins heard the shriek and crunch of heavy metal, as the guy-wires holding the rig erect snapped like thread. The metal of the superstructure, around which Wiggins had locked his arm, shuddered and vibrated violently. The massive iron skeleton of the rig twisted. Wiggins felt excruciating pain as his arm broke like a twig when the rig began its collapse. Having nowhere to go, Wiggins held on with his broken arm and still clutched the useless brake with his right hand. Over and down he went--with the rig.

* * * * * * *

          “Danny, are you OK?”

          “Yeah, Dad, I’m fine –I think.”

         The car rested partially on its side against the massive oak tree. Jack and Danny faced the rig and witnessed distorted movement of the rig through the shattered windshield.

          “My God, Danny, look at that!”

         Jack and Danny stared in amazement, in equal shares of horror and wonder, as the rig came apart. The massive guy wires flailed around it, as if being furiously fanned like hair blown in a hair dryer. The rig buckled at its base; it collapsed in a pile of twisted iron.

         As suddenly as the cacophony of noise and terror descended upon them, it departed. Wind still whipped the site, and a steady rain still pelted down. But, the tornado was gone. It traveled on its path, wreaking identical havoc on the next soul daring to stand in its way.

         Jack’s heart beat hard and fast as concern for his crew returned. He would not be surprised to find them all dead. They extracted themselves from the car and, collapsing next to it, surveyed the battlefield that once was a work site.

          “Danny, I want you to stay by the car. I’m gonna go check on the crew. I don’t know what I’ll find, so I want you to stay here. Understand?”

          “Yeah, Dad, I understand. I’m not going anywhere.”

         Jack walked toward the twisted remains of his rig. He noticed movement off to his left. Shorty and Buster emerged from the slopes of the slush-pit covered in oil and mud. To his relief, they were walking under their own power, that is, with a little help from each other.

          “You two OK?”

          “Yeah, Boss, we’re fine. But, we just saw the damnedest thing. Just before the rig went down we think we saw Billy sliding down the suicide line screaming, ‘Geronimo!’”

         The suicide line was a line connected from the derrick, where Billy was, to a point on the ground. It had a pulley on a handle that, in dire emergency, the derrick-man could ride down to safety. There was no brake on the pulley. So, there was no way to retard the rate of descent. Its purpose was to get the derrick-man to the ground—fast.

         The three men trained their eyes on the ground in the vicinity of where the suicide line was secured. To their delight they soon saw a head bob up from the debris. It was Billy. In unison a sigh of relief escaped each of the men.

          “You gotta know, that had to be one hell-of-a ride, boys.” Jack shook his head and the other two men smiled.

         They walked to the twisted pile of metal that used to be the drilling rig. Lying in the midst of the metal, they found Wiggins. Hurriedly, they scurried to extract the old driller from the twisted mass. To their relief they found him holding his arm and moaning.

          “Wiggy, are you OK?” Jack asked the veteran driller.

          “I’m OK, Jack. But, look what I did to your rig.”

          “We’ll get another rig Wiggy. Right now we just gotta get you out of here.”

         Jack left the two men to finish the job of extracting Wiggins. He needed to check on Danny again and try to get some help out to the destroyed site. As he turned to return to the damaged car, he saw Billy walking toward him. Wet and muddy and still shaking, Billy walked up to Jack. He reached deep into his pocket and fumbled with something.

          “Here, Boss.” Billy spoke with a shaky but determined voice as he held his hand out to Jack.

         Jack reached out to receive what Billy was handing him. He looked to his hand as Billy gave him three crumpled one-dollar bills. He looked up at Billy quizzically.

          “That’s the extra $2.50 that you pay me for working derricks. I ain’t gonna climb back up there again. You can keep the change.” A thin grin hinted at Billy’s mouth.

         Jack searched the reaches of the young man's face for a clue as to how to respond. What he saw there confirmed that Billy was made of strong metal. There was no lasting fear in that face.

Jack thought, "He'll go back up there. But after what he's just experienced, I don't blame him. He'll go back up--not today or tomorrow--but, maybe the day after that."

         The two men stood in silence for a brief moment in the midst of the demolished drilling site. The rain had lessened to a soft and rhythmic patter.

          “I understand.” Jack said, with respect for the young derrick-man, as he put the money in his pocket. “Yes, I really do understand.”