Rememberng Charlie Murphy

          Remembering Charlie Murphy

During my sophomore year at the University, after my father was killed in a drunk driving accident---he was the drunk driver, Charlie Murphy, of Murphy Oil and I had a number of talks, and I began to depend on him for advice. Right before I got married, I went for another talk, and he recommended I get a second degree or a master’s degree to go with my B. S. in geology. Vertis was going to enter the University as a freshman, and I would be in graduate school.

We took his advice. However, with Vertis in school, and even with me doing part time work, we ran out of money as the school year ended.  Vertis was going to work full time that fall, but if I didn’t get a good summer job, I couldn’t finish my Master’s Degree. That summer when I desperately searched for a job is so vivid, I can remember it as if it were yesterday.

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May 24^th, 1960

It has been a week, and I’ve been to 17 companies applying for a job; without any luck, and I’m desperate. As I rack my brain trying to come up with another company to interview, I think about what I have to do. If I can’t save at least a $1000 during the summer, even with my part time jobs and Vertis working; we can’t make it.

Finally, in desperation, I decide to go see Charlie Murphy, I know Murphy doesn’t have any summer jobs in their home office, but since my father died, he’s been a mentor to me during my undergraduate time at the University. I 'm hoping he might know of some company that is hiring. I've just hung up the phone after talking with Charlie’s secretary, and I have an appointment with him tomorrow.

As I ride the elevator up to Charlie’s office, I’m thinking about what I’m going to tell him, and as soon as I walk in his office, I start rattling like a magpie going over my situation.

“Charlie, I can’t go back to college, if I don’t get a summer job.”

“Have you been to Lion Oil and Wheeling Pipeline?’

“Yes, sir, and fifteen other companies in town.”

Charlie is shaking his head, and I’m getting a sick feeling. It seems to me, I’ll spend the summer doing odd jobs, and not have enough money to return to college. I don’t want to even think about what my situation will be if that happens. I’m standing up to leave, but before I can turn around Charlie says, “Oh, I forgot about ODECO.  I think they’re hiring a roustabout crew for the summer.”

I know Murphy Oil Corporation owns 50% of Ocean Drilling and Exploration Company, an offshore drilling company located in New Orleans, and I’m holding my breath.

“Would you mind working offshore for several weeks at a time and driving back and forth to south Louisiana?”

 “No, sir! Who do I need to talk to and where is their office?”

            Charlie is writing down the Personal Manager’s name and the company address, and as he hands it to me. I thank him, and head home to make plans to leave for New Orleans the next morning.                                                           

                                                                           &

It’s not even daylight, and I’m driving south toward New Orleans in my old 1950 Ford. Six hours later, it’s 11:00 o’clock, and I’m parking in front of the building where ODECO’s offices are located. I check the building directory, step in the elevator, and seconds later I’m walking into the ODECO office. There’s a secretary sitting in the outer office, and I smile and walk up to her desk.

“Good morning; I’m Richard Mason from El Dorado, Arkansas, and I’d like to see Tom Lewis the Personal Manager.”

“Just a moment, Mr. Mason. I’ll see if he’s available.”

In a couple of minutes, I see Mr. Lewis coming to the receptionist’s desk.

“Mr. Lewis, I just drove in from El Dorado to apply for a summer job as a roustabout.”

He’d shaking his head, and I’m getting a sinking feeling.

“Son, we don’t have anything.”

I’m standing in front of the reception desk wondering why Charlie let me drive to New Orleans when ODECO isn't hiring.

Mr. Lewis is starting to walk back to his office, and I’m sick at my stomach. As I’m about to leave, he stops and asks, “Why did you drive down here from El Dorado to apply for a job?”

            I’m giving up now, but I manage to say, “Well, Mr. Murphy told me you might be hiring.”

“Mr. Murphy? Mr. Charlie Murphy?”

 “Yes, sir, he said he’d heard ODECO is going to hire a summer roustabout crew.”

            “Just a minute, son, I’ll be right back.”

 Mr. Lewis is walking back to his office, and I’m wondering what’s going on.

He’s back now and he’s smiling.

“I’d forgotten all about that roustabout crew. Mr. Murphy was right. When can you go to work?”

 I want to work every hour I can, so I say, “Monday morning”.

“All right, come on back, we’ll fill out some paper work, and send you out to get a physical.”

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It’s Sunday night about nine o’clock, and after kissing Vertis goodbye, I’m back in the old, green Ford driving south toward Louisiana, and seven hours later, I’m pulling into the parking lot marked on my map Mr. Lewis gave me. It’s a little after three A. M., but I’m afraid to try and get some sleep---what if I oversleep---so I’m just going to sit in the car until 4:30.

My gosh the minutes seem to drag by, but it’s finally 4:30, and I’m walking over to the boat dock at Cocodrie, swatting mosquitoes as I wait on the crew boat to arrive. I’ve been given instructions to board the crew boat at 5 o’clock, and it will take me to the offshore rig where I’ll be working. The crew boat is right on time.

There’s a man with a list of workers. He looking at me and asks, “You Mason?”

“Yeah.”

“Throw your stuff in the back and take a seat.”

There are two benches in the lower part of the crew boat, and I take a seat on the end of one of them. Ten minutes later another 8 men have come on board, and they are sprawling out leaning back again the side of the boat trying to get a little more sleep. The smell of beer and cigarettes is overwhelming.

The crew boat pulls away from the dock, and it a smooth ride while we are in the inner-coastal canal, but now we’re heading for the open Gulf. Wow, the crew boat is banging into four to six foot swells, and I’m gripping the seat trying to hold on.  Its been four hours now, and, yuck, two of the men have just thrown up and vomit is sloshing around on the floor. It’s not bothering anyone but me.

Finally, the is boat pulling up to the ODECO’s offshore rig, the El Dorado, (Named after El Dorado.), and I’m stepping into a lift net. My college-saving-summer-job is starting.