Priorities

By Jim Pickens

This novel is about the fundamental changes that took place in the lives of Will, Bill, and Jackie, in less than a year, while Deweys priority, his oil company, will never change
While at home for his mothers funeral, Will Thomas, a petroleum engineer, watches the BP oil well in the Gulf fail, causing the government to shut down all drilling in the Gulf. Will discovers a possible oil field under his fathers 700 acre citrus farm. If Dewey Carlson, Wills boss, can recover this oil, his company can survive. Otherwise, Carlson Oil will be bankrupt, and Will and his colleagues will lose their jobs.
When Will goes to the bank, he meets the most beautiful women hes ever seen, and falls madly in love. He decides hes not leaving her to wait for him to return from some project on the other side of the world. Those days are over, even if it means giving up his career and becoming a citrus farmer with his dad.
Bill Thomas, seeing his sons after his wife dies, realizes how much he has missed being with his sons and grandchildren, makes his top priorities the relationship with his family and their happiness, and the new members, Jackie and her daughter, Angie, that will be part of the family when Will gets married.
Dewey Carlson still is obsessed with finding which politicians and bureaucrats to bribe for drilling permits, getting around roadblocks put in his way by environmentalists against all drilling, and older locals who dont want any changes in their town. His only priority is his company.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781493110889

Jim Pickens

He has been a jazz trumpet player since 1951, playing in clubs and concert halls with some of the greatest jazz performers in the history of jazz, from Los Angeles to Chicago, Atlantic City to Florida, and New Orleans to Memphis. He still takes his All-Star Dixieland Jazz Band to concerts and festivals all over the country. A veteran of the US Air Force, he left an engineering job at IBM and moved to Vicksburg, Mississippi, in 1963, to work for a large engineering research and development laboratory, on projects all over the world, retiring in 1993.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

D EWEY CARLSON WAS sitting in his office, overlooking the buildings that housed most of the eighty-four larger oil companies in downtown Houston and pondering the financial future of Carlson Oil, Inc. He was listening to the quarterly financial report from his comptroller.

I just finished the financial projections for the rest of the year, Dewey. When Will Thomas brings in that Mexico well, that’ll mean only about $20 million more a year. That’ll barely cover our overhead. Without our big rig in the Gulf puttin’ out, we’ll be out of business in 8 months. We need a new drill site.

I know it, Bob. We’re looking, but right now that’s all we’ve got. Shell beat us to the one in Nigeria last month. I talked to Will yesterday. He’s got another 1,400 feet to go; probably another 3 weeks. That’ll tide us over until we find a new well.

Bruce Thorn rushed into the office and shouted, Turn on the TV. You won’t believe this. BP #17 platform has just exploded in the Gulf.

The picture of the oil rig with flames at least 100 feet above the platform was horrific. The TV reporter on the helicopter was shouting to be heard above the propeller noise. Some oil company sources are saying the blowout preventer failed. Oil is gushing out of the 5,000 foot deep wellhead, releasing possibly 100,000 gallons per minute. If that’s true, this could be the biggest environmental disaster in the history of America. The currents in the Gulf could carry the oil to the beaches along the northern Gulf coast and ruin them for years.

Dewey could not believe what he was hearing.

This fool is spreading panic before they even have a remote camera down at the bottom. That’s nothing but raw speculation. According to these folks, everything that happens is the end of the world. All he’s doing is ruining the reputation of the oil industry.

Unfortunately, the people see this and believe it, Dewey, and then the politicians feel they have to do something, so they do something stupid. I wouldn’t be surprised if they banned all offshore drilling.

If they do, Carlson Oil’s finished, Bruce. Even if Will brings the Yucatán well in on time, it won’t be enough by itself. We’d be out of business in a few months.

A spokesman from the Sierra Club came on TV and sanctimoniously said, This environmental disaster was predicted by us when they foolishly allowed the oil companies to drill in the Gulf. Drilling needs to be stopped before another spill occurs. We call upon the administration to put a moratorium on all Gulf drilling now! Before it’s too late!

Bruce and Bob left the CEO’s office, and Dewey sat and stared at the worsening sight on the television. It took two more days to get a remote camera down to the broken wellhead to be able to see the extent of the damage. Dewey could see that it wasn’t going to be easy to put a cap on the badly damaged underwater structure, especially at 5000 feet. ‘It’ll probably take 6 months to cap this one,’ he thought to himself. He was still watching when the tower collapsed just 10 miles from his own oil tower in the Gulf.

CHAPTER 2

A S THE PICTURES of the burning platform continued to be shown constantly on every cable channel, and the talking heads were expounding on the coming Armageddon, Martin Stroud was becoming more agitated every minute, as he prepared to teach his environmental class at the University of South Florida, in Tampa. He was infuriated at the raping of the natural beauty of his beloved Gulf by these steel monstrosities sticking out of the clear waters in increasing numbers, leaking toxic hydrocarbons into the natural habitats of hundreds of species of aquatic wildlife. These insensitive oil profiteers should all be in jail for endangering the future of the planet! I’m going to see to it.

He sat in his office, fuming at the TV until the platform finally collapsed, leaving only pictures of the massive amounts of oil leaking from the mile-deep wellhead into the clear waters of the western part of the Gulf of Mexico. He waited until he had to leave for his class, trying to think of some way he could stop all drilling; both on the land and offshore. He jotted down several phrases he would include in his lectures, planning to shout his condemnation of the oil industry from the rooftops, and if necessary, call for massive demonstrations in the streets and blocking the doors of all energy companies.

CHAPTER 3

B ILL THOMAS WAS doing the same thing he had been doing 60 hours a week for the last 40 years; working his 500 acres of citrus groves, supervising his migrant workers, and trying to maximize his harvest. Pedro Valdez, his labor foreman and partner, was spending his 10 th year on Bill’s farm and had become an indispensible member of Bill’s team. He was also Bill’s best friend. Bill and Pedro had built a three-bedroom house for Pedro’s family about 100 yards from Bill’s house. Pedro’s wife, Maria, helped Bill’s wife, Martha, at the main house.

Bill and Pedro were trying to figure out how to fix the front wheel of a tractor when they heard Arturo, Pedro’s 10-year-old, running down the path shouting, Senor Thomas! Senor Thomas!

What’s the matter, Arturo?

Arturo finally caught his breath and shouted, Come quick! The Senora is sick. She fell down, and we helped her to the sofa. Come quick!

Bill and Pedro jumped into the pickup and raced back to the house. They heard the siren on the main road just as they turned into the yard. They ran into the living room and saw Martha lying on the sofa, having trouble breathing. Maria had loosened her collar, but it wasn’t enough to help. The paramedics came in, and within 2 minutes they announced that she was having a bad heart attack. They gave Martha nitroglycerine and loaded her into the ambulance. Bill got in and rode with her to the emergency room. She died about 2 minutes from the hospital. Bill was devastated. Pedro and Maria followed the ambulance and were horrified to find out Martha had died. Maria cried all the way home, saying over and over, She was like my sister.

When he got home Bill called his son’s home office in Houston. It had been 6 months since he had seen Will. He didn’t even know where Will was. Carlson could have sent him anywhere in the world.

Carlson’s intercom buzzed, and his secretary told him he had a Mr. Bill Thomas on the line. He turned away from the huge window.

Sally, I don’t know a Bill Thomas. Did he say what it’s about?

He says he’s Will Thomas’ father.

Put him on. He picked up and said, This is Dewey Carlson.

Mr. Carlson, this is Bill Thomas, Will’s father. I need to get in touch with my son. Do you know where he is?

Hello, Mr. Thomas. Will is in southern Mexico on a new well. Is everything alright?

No, it’s not. His mother died, today. Do you have a number I can call?

I’m so sorry, Mr. Thomas. I hate to hear that. Looking at the clock, he said, He’s not at the field office this time of day, he’s probably at the rig. I can reach him by radio at the site and tell him to call you. Again, I’m very sorry about your wife. We’ll do anything we can to help. You’ll probably hear from him within the hour.

Thank you, Mr. Carlson. Goodbye, Sir.

The connection was made in about 10 minutes.

What’s up, Chief?

Your father called with bad news, Will. Your mother died this morning. We’re all so sorry.

Will was devastated by the news. What happened? Did he say?

No, he didn’t; just that she died this morning. I’ll send the company plane to Cancun. It’ll be there in about 5 hours. You can be in Tampa by 6:30 in the morning. Stay home as long as you need to. Anything else we can do for you?

No thanks, Chief. That’s enough. I appreciate the plane. The job’s going as good as it can. It should be at the pocket in about 2 weeks, barring breakdowns. Juan can handle it while I’m gone. I’ll touch base with him every evening, and call you from Florida.

Let me know about the funeral arrangements.

Will do, Chief. Thanks.

Will sat in the field office, and thought about his mother. He couldn’t believe she was gone. He had often thought about her in the middle of the night, alone in some small trailer in some godforsaken area of some godforsaken country, vowing to get home more often. Some emergency always seemed to come up when he was finishing a job, and he was lucky if he made it back to Florida every six or eight months. Sometimes he started to call and talk to her, but the 10-15 hour difference between some of his drill sites and the farm, meant calling her at 3:00 in the morning, local time. Wiping a tear from his cheek, Will called home and talked with his father.

Dad, I can’t believe it. What happened?

She just collapsed, Will. It was a massive heart attack. There was nothing they could do to save her.

Will was having a hard time, felling guilty about not being home to see her for several months.

How’re you doing, Dad?

I don’t know, Son. It doesn’t seem real. I can’t believe she’s gone. I expect her to come in and ask what I want for supper, any minute. Pedro and Maria are doing everything they can, but I feel like I’m in a fog.

Carlson is sending the company plane to Mexico. I’ll be home tomorrow morning, Dad.

I’m glad, Will. Tommy and Betty will be here tomorrow night with the kids. It’s a shame it took your mother’s death to get all the family together again for the first time in two years. His father began to cry, and sobbed, I’ll see you tomorrow, Son, and hung up.

Dewey Carlson called his pilot to arrange a pickup for Will at Cancun, and fly him to Tampa. Afterward, he leaned back and tried to figure out how to keep from going bankrupt. Will’s mother’s death could not have come at a worse time for the company. Will would be gone from the new well site. He started thumbing through his Rolodex for possible sources of new financing to keep Carlson Oil running.

CHAPTER 4

W ILL OPENED THE door and motioned for Juan Cartina, his job foreman, to come to the office. Juan trotted over, asking, What’s up, Jefe?

Juan, I have to go to Florida. My mother died.

Crossing himself, Juan replied, Senor Thomas, I am so sorry. I will pray for you and your family.

Wiping a tear from his eye, he said, Thank you, Juan. I appreciate it. I’ll probably be gone about a week. Do you think you can handle things while I’m gone?

I will, Jefe. Do not worry. I think we will be OK. When will you leave?

As soon as I can shower and change. I have a go-bag already packed. Jaime can drive me to the airport in Cancun. I’ll call you every afternoon at 5:00 your time and check on the job. If you need me, call this number.

OK, Jefe. I will tell Jaime to fill the truck and meet you here. I am truly sorry about your mother.

Thanks, Juan.

Will was dreading the ride to Cancun in a pickup truck with a broken spring, traveling over a typical Mexican rural road, and listening to Jaime run his mouth. He tried to ignore Jaime, and think about his mother and being with his family again, but it was no use. By the time they got to Cancun, Will had learned about Jaime’s family, his cousins, his work history, his mother-in-law, and other absolutely useless bits of information. After Will spent the most unpleasant three hours in recent memory, they finally reached the airport. He grabbed his bag, thanked Jaime, and headed for the bar for a much-needed attitude adjustment. The company plane would land in about an hour. That would give him plenty of time for dinner before the flight.

The Cancun airport restaurant was just like hundreds of others all over the world; it had a limited menu of bland, overcooked, and overpriced food. After finishing a cup of coffee strong enough to float the spoon, he walked over to the private plane gate, where Sammy White, the company pilot and long-time friend, was waiting for him.

Hi, Sammy. Thanks for the quick ride.

Hello, Will. I wish the circumstances were different. Joey’s getting the plane refueled. We should be able to leave in about 20 minutes. ETA will be about 6:15 AM at the gate in Tampa. Good weather all the way.

Joey Calhoun came in from the tarmac, announcing the refueling was finished, and we could leave as soon as we wanted.

I sure hated hearing about your mother, Will. I met her once. It was at the party celebrating your first successful well. Nice lady.

Thanks, Joey, I remember. I’m ready if you are.

Let’s go, then. All aboard.

The tower cleared them for immediate takeoff, and within 15 minutes the 8-year-old Gulfstream with the Carlson Oil logo was at 20,000 feet, headed northeast toward Tampa. Will was dead tired, and in another 20 minutes he was asleep. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a restful sleep. His mind kept telling him that he should’ve made time to go home more often. He fitfully slept until Joey announced that the Florida coastline was in sight, and they landed in Tampa fifteen minutes later. He was exhausted.

Call when you need to get back to Cancun, Will. Please express our sincere condolences to your father. It was good to see you again. I’ll see you next week.

Thanks again, Sammy. I’ll call.

CHAPTER 5

A S SOON AS Will cleared Customs, he saw Pedro, standing at the gate. "Hey, Will. Let me have your hanging bag.

Glad to see you, Pedro. I appreciate your meeting me. How’s Dad?

He’s doing fair, but I don’t think it’s hit him yet. Maria is staying at the main house to be near him, but it’s going to take some time. We were in the field when your mom just collapsed in the kitchen. Maria and Arturo helped her lie down on the sofa and called 911. The ambulance got there in about 10 minutes. The paramedics said it was a massive heart attack. Your dad was with her when she died.

During the 30-minute drive from the airport to the farm Will didn’t have much to say. He just listened to Pedro, telling him what had been happening there since his last visit home, wishing he had come home more often.

Bill’s brother, George, had driven up from Key Largo with his two sons. Greta, his wife, had been visiting her sister in Orlando, and drove down yesterday afternoon. She was helping Maria find space for the food.

Hello, George, How’s Dad?

Hi, Will. I don’t know. He has highs and lows. Tommy and his family won’t be in until later tonight. It’ll be good for him to have both his sons here. He needs his family. The funeral’s set for Wednesday afternoon at the church. We’ve had a steady stream of people from the church drop by; about half of them brought food. We have enough food for a week. Come on. We’ll go see him. He’s in the kitchen with Greta and Maria.

They stepped into the kitchen in time to see his dad drop his cup to the floor. Maria ran over with a towel to clean it up.

I’m sorry, Maria. I seem to be all thumbs this morning.

Greta brought another cup of coffee, and replied, Don’t worry about it, Bill. We’ll clean it up. Here come Will and Pedro from the airport.

Bill got up and hugged his son. Glad you’re here, Will. Sit down.

Greta brought Pedro and Will coffee, and they sat down with his father. What happened, Dad?

It was mighty bad, Will. They said her heart literally exploded. She didn’t have a chance. I rode to the hospital with her, but she died before we got there.

I’m sorry it’s been 6 months since I’ve been back, Dad. I wish it had been different. Was she having any symptoms of heart problems?

"None. She had a physical four months ago, and they said everything was OK. At least she didn’t suffer very long.

"We’ve set the funeral for tomorrow afternoon at the Baptist church in Smithville, with the burial at the church cemetery. Tommy will be in about 9:00 tonight.

Can I get you some breakfast, Will? We still have some eggs and sausage.

No thanks, Maria, just some coffee. Let’s go sit on the veranda, Dad. Will picked up the cup and followed his dad to the glass-top table on the veranda.

Dad, what do you want to do, now? After all, you haven’t done anything but work for 40 years.

I really haven’t thought much about it, Will. About a year ago Tropicana offered me $9,800 an acre for the 500 acres of groves, but I turned them down. I don’t know how to do anything else but be a citrus farmer. What else would I do with myself?

With $5,000,000 from Tropicana, you could do anything you wanted to.

"I’m too old to change, Will. I’ll probably die on a ladder in the grove, looking at an orange. Pedro will throw me into the back of the pickup and bring me to the house. You’ll have to fly in from Nowhere, Arabia for the funeral, and people will be asking you the same thing you’re asking me.

Speaking of too old to change, when are you going to get married again, Will? It’s been 10 years. Any prospects?

No, nothing serious. I’ve been too busy to think much about it.

You knew Margie married Harold Mueller. He’s now the president of the Bay Bank & Trust in Tampa.

Good for her. Now she’s married to somebody who has more money than she figured I’d ever have. She’s happy as long as she has an Amex Gold Card. She can hang out at the country club all day and never eat at a restaurant that’s rated less than four stars.

You ought to start looking, Son. You’re not getting any younger.

As he drank another cup of coffee, he thought about where he had been when the rest of the family had been celebrating birthdays and holidays together. He knew he had missed too many of them and would have to do something about that. Life was getting too short.

CHAPTER 6

T HE CHURCH WAS full, and flowers lined the walls, all the way to the last row. People from all over southern Florida were there. Will was glad to see the turnout. It showed the respect his father and mother had garnered during the last 40 years.

Bill and Martha had been pillars of the church for a long time. Bill looked at his citrus competitors as colleagues and friends, and they knew it. Martha had always made sure that the church fridge had plenty of fresh orange juice every Sunday morning.

Martha was buried in the Thomas family plot at the front corner of the cemetery. The double headstone was already in place. Will and his dad drove back to the house alone, followed by Tommy’s family, and Pedro and Maria. There was very little left to say. They got back about 5:00, and all of the visitors were gone by 6:00. Bill broke out the bottle of Glenlivet single-malt scotch that was untouched since Will had last been home. He poured three fingers each in three glasses, and went out on the veranda to watch the sunset over the new orange grove he had planted last year. Tommy joined him. Will made his call to Juan before joining the other men.

Hola, Jefe, how is it with your father after the funeral?

As well as it can be under the circumstances, Juan. It was a hard day for all of us. How’s the job going?

We are at 8,600 feet, Jefe, with another 1,300 feet to go. We have been going close to 90 feet a day this week. We should be there in 2 weeks if we have no more trouble. The logs and core samples do not show any changes from shallow depth. I have some bad feelings about this well, Jefe. When will you be back?

Probably Tuesday or Wednesday. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know. Adios, Juan.

Adios, Jefe. Hasta luego.

Will joined his brother and his father, where they sat sipping the 12-year-old scotch, both silent with their own thoughts. Pedro and Maria saw them and decided to leave them alone.

You know, boys, your mother was more than a wife; she was my partner in the business, and my best friend. She managed the office, kept the business going, and she was out there with me in the orchards, cold and wet during the freezes, and cold and wet during the storms, helping to save the crop. Nobody worked harder to keep the farm going than she did. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without her, he said, thinking out loud.

Neither of his sons had known their mother was such a big factor in the business. They were just realizing she was with him more than just waiting for him to come back from the field. She had actually been in the field with him.

When they finished their drinks, Bill said, Tomorrow I’ll take y’all on a tour of the operation. We’ve made a few changes since you were here. I’m pretty tired. It’s been a hard day. See y’all in the morning at breakfast.

OK, Dad. Goodnight. Will poured two more drinks and sat with Tommy.

You know, Tommy, we should get back here more often. It’s been 6 months since I’ve been back to see them, and you haven’t been back in a year. It’s a shame we’ve been so busy we haven’t forced ourselves to take the time. We didn’t even know that she managed the business and worked from the seat of a tractor, sometimes. I feel real bad that I haven’t seen Mom very much lately. Now it’s too late.

You’re right, Will. Me, too. Life’s gotten too frantic. I’ve been too busy trying to build a law firm and missed a lot of my own kids’ growing up. We seem to go from crisis to crisis, saying this or that is too important to put off. Now that Mama’s gone, we see that we missed a lot of the really important stuff. We need to spend more time with Dad. The kids didn’t really get to know their grandmother very well. Life always seemed to get in the way. We need to change that. The kids need to know their grandfather. That has to be a priority.

I know what you’re saying, Tommy. I’ve been going from oil well to oil well. Sometimes I wonder if it’s been worth it.

How’s this BP rig fire in the Gulf going to affect the oil business?

"It’s a Public Relations catastrophe, Tommy. All the negative commentary and constant pictures on TV, bombarding the public with all the exaggerated environmental impact stories, predicting the inevitable rise in gasoline prices and the ruining of the Florida beaches, are preaching the death of the planet. No matter what happens from now on the environmental protesters will frame the debate, and they’ll say they told us this would happen. I just hope the protests don’t get