Backstory of an independent geologist

There are a lot of Richard Masons out there, and my mother absolutely forbid the use of “Dick” when referring to me, or for “Bill” for my younger brother, Dr. William Mason of Little Rock.

I’m the third child my mother gave birth to, but the first one to live. That doesn’t say much about Arkansas’ prenatal care, does it? William and I were born in El Dorado, but later, during World War II, the fam- ily moved to Norphlet closer to my father’s job with Macmillan Petroleum, because gasoline was rationed during the war.

When I was 8 years old, we moved to a 20-acre farm about a mile outside Norphlet. Our house was less than 100 yards from Goodwin Creek and a vast swamp covering several thousand acres and ultimately connecting to the Ouachita River.

I didn’t know then that daily forays to the creek, tramping through the woods, fishing and swimming would have so much influence on my adult life. I developed a love for nature that remains with me today, and shows up in simple things such as stopping the car when I see a terrapin trying to cross the road or seeing our wonderful planet abused.

As a teen in high school, I had other things on my mind, and studying wasn’t one of them. I never took a book home, and finished high school with a middle C average. Why do better? I thought.

My mother had other thoughts. “Richard, you’re going to college.”

Why not go to the biggest one? I thought, and I entered the University of Arkansas-Fayetteville. Not preparing in high school almost caused me to flunk out, but I managed a 2.0 point average that first year. After that, I should have done better, but coasted to a 2.4 GPA and a bachelor of science degree in geology. I figured I’d get married and find a job.

After marrying Vertis, the love of my life, and several days of knocking on oil company doors in Houston without even a hint of a job—“We only hire geologists with master’s degrees”—I panicked and begged my way into graduate school on probation. For the first time, I hit the books. Being married and desperate, I made straight As.

Then it was off to Houston again where, after four more days of going door to door to oil companies, I finally stumbled off an elevator on the wrong floor, went into an Exxon district office, and was hired as a wellsite geologist to work on King Ranch in Kingsville, Texas. I only got the job because several Exxon geologists in Denver refused to transfer to Kingsville. I didn’t have a clue where Kingsville was located.

The job was developing one of the largest oil and gas fields on the King Ranch, and after two years of on-thejob training and several sessions at the Exxon Research Center in Houston, I had over 100 wells drilled—all producers. I couldn’t miss since I was proposing wells in the middle of a 100-million-barrel oil and gas field.

I got a couple of nice raises and things were going great when the district geologist called me into his office.

“Richard, the main office in Houston is trying to get several geologists to work in the Benghazi, Libya, office, and they are offering you a transfer. Are you interested?”

My brain clicked: North Africa. I was shaking my head as I started to leave the room when he said, “And they will double your salary.” That stopped me dead in my tracks.

We were living in a 10-foot by 35-foot trailer from our college days, and were up to our ears in debt. Two days later, after a string of “Don’t go’s” from geologists who had worked in Libya, I took the job. It was everything bad they said it was, and more, but you couldn’t spend much money, and my check was deposited in my home bank account.

Two years was about all I could take, and I transferred to Corpus Christi, Texas, where I worked as an Exxon sub-surface exploration geologist. After two years I was doing great, getting raises and being groomed for management. I loved working for Exxon but started thinking about venturing out on my own. When I heard of a job in a small oil company where I would be the whole exploration department and get a percentage of any oil or gas we found, I quit a great job and went to work for an alcoholic womanizer.

I didn’t know that until it was too late, but only put up with it for a year.

However, in that year, I learned how independent oil and geologists work and make money. I hit the ground running, rented a one-room downtown office, and after a couple of years working as an independent, I had sold 15 drilling prospects and cleared a significant amount of cash plus a 1/32 royalty interest in the well. I was on my way to being a successful independent oil and gas geologist.

Then I met Joe Baria, another successful independent, and we became partners in Gibraltar Oil Company. Joe was 15 years older than me, and helped by raising money to drill wells and buy acreage on drilling deals I produced. We were doing great until a string of dry holes put us on the ropes.

Then we took a deal in north Mississippi from an old Mississippi State classmate of Joe’s. In west Texas there is a saying: “All you need is one good well.” Well, that wasn’t it. but …

The trek through my history continues next week.