got lots of tenants. What is the company you’re hunting for?”
“Oh. Mr. Miles at Wellington Oil and Exploration.”
The officer replied, “Take the last elevator to the forty-sixth floor.” He pointed to the bank of elevators immediately to Elam’s left. “Take a left; it will be at the end of the corridor.” The officer stepped back, smiled again, and tapped two fingers against his right eyebrow. “Have a nice day.”
Elam walked toward the elevator. He was upbeat, enjoying his entrance into the world of the VIP. Elam followed the officer’s directions and soon found himself at the entrance to Wellington Oil.
The doors, with Wellington Oil Exploration, Inc. cut into neat rows on each frosted glass panel, opened to a magnificent reception area. Once inside, Elam found himself staring at a very pretty receptionist.
Beautiful woman, he couldn’t help thinking. Beautiful. He eyed the nameplate reading Macy Buckles.
“Good afternoon, sir, and welcome to Wellington Oil. May I help you?”
“Sure can. I’m Elam Duquette and I’m supposed to see Mr. Miles right about now.”
“Good to have you here, Mr. Duquette. I hope you enjoy your time with us. Mr. Miles will be with you in just a few minutes.” She pointed to a leather couch and matching chairs. “Please have a seat. May I get you a cup of coffee or a soft drink?”
An uneasy silence for her. Daydreaming for him.
“Mr. Duquette, may I get you a cup of coffee or soft drink?” Her volume increased just enough to bring him back to reality.
“Huh? Coffee? Yeah, sure.” Elam thought the couch looked most comfortable, so he sat down on the middle cushion.
Over his coffee Elam surveyed his surroundings. The dark blue carpet was covered with yellow-gold dashes laid out geometrically like headstones in a national cemetery. Pleasant canary-yellow walls accentuated the carpeting and mahogany furniture. Adorning the walls were pictures of the Texas oil industry up to the 1950s. Wooden derricks, oil-covered wildcatters, and gushing plumes of black gold told stories from the past. The antiseptic cleanliness of the room was too much for Elam; he preferred comfort to clean and beer in a bottle to coffee in a cup.
Bart Miles walked as briskly as possible from his office directly to Elam. He stuck out his hand before Elam could stand up.
“Good to meet you, Mr. Duquette. I’m Bart Miles and we’re pleased to have you join us today.” His smile was overdone and Elam noticed. Bart continued. “My senior leadership team will be meeting us in the conference room.” Bart Miles swept his hands toward double doors at the far end of the complex.
A huge oak conference table dominated the room. Same carpet, same walls, similar pictures. A polarized glass window, comprising the entire outside wall of the room, opened over the Houston skyline. It was magnificent.
Elam offered, “Sure love your place. Pictures remind me of the Wild West.”
Bart, not interested in small talk, ignored Elam’s comment. “Let me introduce you to my colleagues.”
Three men in tailored dress suits rose to greet their visitor. After pleasantries subsided, Bart directed Elam to a seat next to him and nodded to the others to take their seats. In addition to its CEO, the leadership of Wellington Oil and Exploration consisted of Frank Milsap, Morgan Rosewood, the company’s senior lawyer, and Jim Bitters, the new executive vice president of oil exploration. The scene before him was surreal; he was sitting somewhere near the top of the world with four of the most influential oilmen in the United States. Maybe I shouldn’t be here, he thought.
Everyone sat down and Bart Miles started the meeting. “Let me begin with how I came to learn about Elam and his oil extractor.”
Nine
Thursday Afternoon,
New Year’s Eve
Broken Wing Ranch
Abundant sunlight filled Tom Seiler’s office at the ranch. Tom and Don sat at the large drafting table. Tom slid a yellow pad of paper toward Don. The top four pages held a collage of handwritten notes and sketches.
“Let me get down to specifics. What you have right now is a system consisting of two side-by-side cylindrical tubes placed vertically in each stripper well. On average, let’s say they go down twenty-five hundred feet. Your prototype is workable in basic theory but not in a mass production application. It fails too often.” He looked at Don.
“You mean the constant folding of the small pipes inside the well?”
“Yeah. That and your sensor. Let’s start with that since it doesn’t take any drawings to explain my thoughts. What you show is a sensing device that measures volume. The problem is that it is installed inside the chamber at the bottom of the well. When it works, great. But every time one of your sensors fails, you have to pull out the entire line and replace it. I say control the cycles using a computer-driven timer at the compressor above ground. Each time you blow out a slug of oil, you can measure its volume using a simple bobber device. If the slug volume is less than the chamber volume, the computer program adjusts the timer to take a little longer. If, on your first cycle, the slug has the same volume as the chamber, then the time is shortened slightly. Eventually, the timing will be virtually exact for removing oil at an optimum rate. It’s a simple iterative algorithm. Blow a slug, measure the amount, adjust the timer.” Tom looked up at his brother.
Don shook his head and smiled. “This is almost too simple.” He added, “So simple that no one else has thought of it.” His grin broadened. “OK, now for my major problem. What delicious solution do you have?”
“Look at this.” Tom directed his attention back to his sketches.
The rudimentary sketch was a top view of the well casing and JETS. It was a simple rendition of concentric circles.
Tom continued, “The outside cylinder is the existing stripper well steel casing. The sections are joined with sealed connections. Well diameters from bottom to top could range from less than ten to more than twenty-four inches according to the drawings you gave me. Nothing special about it.” He moved his finger to a second steel cylinder, drawn inside the first. It had an outside diameter slightly less than five inches. “This represents the steel tubing down through which your system blew air from the compressor. To keep it from folding inside the casing, we’ll use structural connectors to center and stabilize the tube within the well casing.”
Don responded, “I’m with you. Keep going.”
“Finally, this small cylinder is the product line tube.” The smallest of the three cylinders had a diameter of approximately two inches. “Again, we’ll have a structural connection system to keep the product line set dead in the middle of the system. With both inside tubes unable to move and buckle, the system will be structurally stable.”
Tom turned to the second page of sketches while finishing his explanation of the system. “It’s no different in concept than what you have. The only difference is in structural stability.” He gave a wry smile and continued. “Mine is better. Air goes down the void between the product line cylinder and the gas injection cylinder. In doing so the gas forces the ball valve shut, and the oil slug is forced up the inside of the product line cylinder to the holding tank. Slick as a whistle.
“Now, my concept of the chamber isn’t much different from yours—only what I’ve shown you where my connected concentric cylinders replace your side-by-side lines.” Tom sat erect on his drafting stool, appearing satisfied that he had made his case. He leaned forward again and removed the top sketch. “Here’s what I’ve drawn so far on the full system.”
From