CHRISTMAS in KHOBAR - Excerpt from Clark Randall's Big Break
... Clark Randall had never considered Chevron’s Arabian venture before, but a seed was planted. He asked around and was quickly hired by Aramco. Not much later he arrived in Abqaiq on a single-status contract for a provisional year before his family could come over.
In 1949 things were hopping in the Abqaiq field but, when he arrived, as happened often, the personnel people weren’t exactly sure where to put him, so he rotated from job to job as a substitute for some sick rigger or a mechanic on short leave.
This wasn’t bad work, but it wasn’t getting Clark anywhere as a career. As he missed Jo Ellen and Bob, he began to consider calling it quits after his year was up.
One day between assignments, he was in his supervisor’s office, and the man was telling him that they had received a rig shipped from the States. It had been mistakenly offloaded at Karachi but had finally arrived — only accompanied by the bills of lading; all the other documentation was missing. They had cabled San Francisco for instructions, but would Clark run down to Dhahran and check it out?
Leaving Abqaiq in his Dodge Power Wagon, Clark speculated about this errant shipment. But by the time he passed the decrepit cement-block halfway house on the two-lane blacktop road to Dhahran, it was so hot that he began anticipating a cold beer at the Stag Club when he finished this chore. It was a time when such a thing was legal within camp.
He introduced himself to Fritz, the manager of the breakout yard in Dhahran. They had a cup of coffee, talked shop, and enjoyed the AC for a few minutes. Fritz, an old-time bachelor, was enthusiastic about the AramcoCade, a sort of Esther Williams-inspired aquacade, that was going to be staged at the Dhahran Pool. He had visions of mermaids swimming before his eyes.
Fritz called in his right hand man, Hamood Ali, a short, wiry Qatifi with perfect posture and well-used laugh lines around his eyes. Clark liked him right away and followed him out of the office to find the shipment.
At the time Aramco had a small fleet of three-wheeled Italian motorcycles called Apes. Hamood hopped on his Ape, popped the clutch, and led Clark on a wild chase though the vast maze of the yard.
They drove past lanes of stacked pipe, great bundles of rebar, huge wooden spools of wire, and then Clark followed Hamood around a corner and screeched to a halt. There was his rig. In his crates. Marked Taft, California. ...
No comments:
Post a Comment