Surviving with the Enron Dinosaurs: An Insider's Lighthearted Journal

By James R. Tucker

The book takes a lighthearted look back at the authors journey and experiences with the Enron Dinosaurs. Tucker, an ex-Enron pipeline engineer, brings to the reader a lighter side of the events that led up to Enrons collaspe. The term "Dinosaur" was coined by upper management to describe employees who designed, maintained, and operated Enrons gas pipeline systems. It was a derogatory term which expressed old-fashioned, boring, and un-innovative for the new "non-asset" age of Enron. Ultimately, the gas pipelines and resilient Dinosaurs survived Enrons tragedy as it was found they were practically the only legitimately profitable companies owned by Enron. Although not as rich as they were during Enrons peak, the easy-going and hard working Dinosaurs are still around, living happy, and still working on those pipelines.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 29, 2006
• ISBN: 9781465318961

James R. Tucker

Jim Tucker has a B.S. in Industrial Engineering from Texas Tech University. Born in Borger, TX, Tucker attended high school in Hobbs, NM. He also attended college at New Mexico JC, Odessa College, Midland College, and University of Texas at the Permian Basin. Tucker resigned from Enron before the bankruptcy. After residing in The Woodlands for 4 years, he and his wife, Janice, and their blind dog, Jaci, returned to Midland in 2002, where he continues to work as an engineer in the gas industry.

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Copyright © 2006 by James R. Tucker.

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter 1

Inaugural Flight to Houston

Chapter 2

Dinosaur Team Relocated

Chapter 3

Greetings from the Roswell Dinosaurs

Chapter 4

Getting Settled

Chapter 5

A Dinosaur Project to Remember— or Forget

Chapter 6

Invention of the Thong

Chapter 7

Baseball, the Park-and-Ride, and Practical Jokes

Chapter 8

The Fort Stockton Dinosaurs

Chapter 9

Innovative Changes in Fort Stockton—Outside the Nine Dots

Chapter 10

Psycho Gomez

Chapter 11

Enron Hoopla in Houston: And How Are We Making Money?

Chapter 12

Stock Ninety-One, Productivity Zero

Chapter 13

Birthday Party with the Old Midland Dinosaurs

Chapter 14

Near Extinction of the Dinosaur Team

Chapter 15

The Fallen

Chapter 16

Stinking Rich—Well, Stinking Anyway

Chapter 17

Starting Over With Defiance

AFTERWORD

Ken Lay’s Death

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to all my beloved proof readers; my daughter Jessica, my little brother Tooter Pete, my best friends Penny and Randy Chilton, and especially my wife, Janice who had to read the book five times and who has always encouraged me in everything I that I ever pursued no matter how outrageous it was.

Also, thanks to the literary agents Sonia Pabley and Peter Riva for their time and valuable critique.

I dedicate the book to the Enron Dinosaurs—my fellow coworkers who inspired me to write the book. Their courage, resilience, and positive attitudes absolutely astounded me. Their stories entertained me. Their friendship remains everlasting.

Introduction

Everyone knows about the evil founder and dastardly CEO, and how they allegedly inflated profits, hid debt, and cashed out their stocks at high prices as the employee watched their savings tickle away and the corporation went into bankruptcy. There are plenty of books written about that.

What most of the public does not know is an important facet to the story. That is; Enron was initially formed by several major gas pipelines. When Jeff Skilling joined the company, he favored ways to sell off the semi-profitable pipeline assets a piece at a time and form hidden (non-asset) companies. These non-asset companies with hidden books made it easier to show inflated profits. In the tangible gas pipeline business it is very easy to see money-in and money-out as there was gas-in and gas-out.

Enron management wanted to rid them of the pipeline business, the original core of Enron. It was not profitable enough. Management called the pipeline and the people who built and maintained them as old-fashioned, unexciting, and unnecessary for the new age of Enron. We were called by some—the old Dinosaurs.

As I advanced my way through the ranks of Enron and befriended many of the characters who worked for the pipelines, I began to realize just how important these people really were to the existence of Enron. They were everything. The pipelines and the skilled people who operated them were very profitable and always had been. It was the newly developed hidden companies that were unprofitable all along.

As I worked in the field I saw how dangerous it was working on the pipelines. There were serious accidents; some fatal. It seemed unfair that the executives sat in their ivory tower making millions while the employees took all the risks. After my transfer to the corporate headquarters in Houston, I began to realize how much more pleasant and fun it was to work with the naive, laid-back, considerate, dedicated, and funny old pipeline worker.

After much mismanagement, divestures, downsizing, and disrespect; against all odds, the pipeline employee (the Dinosaur) still survived. The pipelines survived. Enron or not—we still have to have gas delivered to our homes.

In essence, this is a lighthearted story of;

EVIL AGAINST GOOD

EVIL PURSECUTES GOOD

BUT EVIL PERSHISES

GOOD SURVIVES

. . . with the many misadventures along the way. The events are true as best as I recall them. The names were not changed to protect the innocent, although, there are so many Dinosaurs; I used only the first names for simplicity.

Chapter 1

Inaugural Flight to Houston

It was January 2, 1998, my first flight to Houston after yet another reorganization of Enron Corporation. Austerity programs, divestitures, downsizing, and outsourcing were common management buzzwords in this, the gas pipeline, side of Enron’s businesses. This reorganization, our sixth in eight years, would transfer our six-member Roswell engineering staff to the big tower on 1400 Smith Street in downtown Houston. Our new residence would be on the fortieth floor, just ten floors below Ken Lay, the founder of Enron.

After a lifetime of avoiding the hustle and bustle of the world’s largest oil and gas city, I was somewhat excited about the new adventure for my wife, Janice, and me. There was a time I might not have taken the transfer and elected to take the severance package instead. But our daughter, Jessica, was in college now. Uprooting her was no longer a concern. Four of our six engineers had lived in Houston at one time or another. They were already showing me the ropes for the move.

I was sitting in the Continental boarding area reading over the details of my relocation package. The ticket agent approached me. Mr. Tucker?

Yes?

I am so sorry, but you and one other passenger are going to miss your connecting flight in Dallas. We are having mechanical problems here in Midland. We’re not going to get you out in time. We will have to put you and a Mr . . . . ahh . . . Leon Spears on another plane when you get to Dallas.

Oh, what’s the new flight number? How long of a delay in Dallas?

Not long at all. When you land in Dallas, just stay on the plane. A ticket agent will come on and give you the details of your new connection. The flight number is undetermined, but we plan to get you on the very next available flight. You will only be fifteen to twenty minutes behind your original destination time.

Oh, . . . okay. I guess that will be fine.

Good. And one more thing. Can I ask you for a special favor? the agent pleaded. Mr. Spears, over there, wearing the Longhorn jacket, suffers from a mild neurological condition, we think. We know his mother is to pick him up in Houston. I believe he is traveling there for some sort of doctor’s consultation. Would you mind keeping an eye on him and see that he makes the Dallas connection?

Sure, I would be glad to. Leon, you said?

Yes, thank you so much, Mr. Tucker.

I looked up at the new boarding time. They estimated another forty-five minutes to board. Leon Spears was handsome—mid-twenties, six feet, about 175 pounds, had short neatly combed blond hair. Just by looking at him, I could not tell he was mentally challenged. He looked fit and athletic. Because he was wearing the burnt orange Texas Longhorn windbreaker, I wondered if perhaps he could have been injured playing sports.

A few minutes passed. I decided to approach my reconnecting partner. Leon? Hi, I’m Jim Tucker. I extended my hand.

Hello. He shook my hand, but not firmly.

Listen, I understand that you and I are the only passengers who will miss our connecting flight in Dallas. Did the ticket agent tell ya that we are to stay on the plane when we arrive? I sat down two seats away from him.

Yeah, I am supposed to stay put. My mother will pick me up. Not in Dallas. In Houston. I am not going to go to gate 29 like before, Leon said in a lethargic rhythm.

That’s right, I said. After we land in Dallas, we are supposed to stay on board until everyone else gets off the plane. Then a ticket agent will come aboard and take us to another plane.

My seat number is 18 . . . C. That’s an aisle seat, said Leon. I like the aisle seat.

Okay, well, let’s just try to hang together when we get to Dallas. What do you say?

O . . . K.

Later we boarded. Leon was comfortably seating in his seat after I showed him that 18D was the wrong aisle seat. His seat was across the aisle. I was seated ahead of him in 12F. Occasionally, I would look over my left shoulder to see how he was doing.

With the gentle roar of the plane’s engines in the background, I looked out the window and saw the flat open spaces of West Texas. The terrain was treeless and unappealing. I had heard stories about oil and companies who would recruit high-tech personnel and would often have them arrive at night so they couldn’t see the geographic lackluster of the land. But I learned to like the openness and will miss it. I began thinking my biggest fear about the move would probably be that horrid freeway traffic. I remembered the first time I drove into Houston.

I drove my company-issue Crown Victoria from Fort Stockton to Houston, some 650 miles. When I reached Houston, it was raining. My weary eyes were intensely concentrating due to the lack of visibility through the rapidly moving wipers. I exited off the loop and came to a stop light. I was in the far left lane to take a left turn under an overpass. When the light turned green, the new white Cadillac in the center lane suddenly turned directly in front of me, almost as though it was deliberate. I immediately slammed on the brakes. That only seemed to accelerate my speed on the wet pavement. My bumper crushed the back passenger door behind the driver as I hopelessly cringed. We both immediately found spots on the median and stopped.

I jumped out and ran to the passenger’s side of the Cadillac. I opened the front door. Are you okay?

Hurry and get in before you get soaked, the