Tulsa, Tornadoes and Life's Curve Balls

Back in the early nineties two petroleum engineers, friends of mine asked me to testify for them at the Oklahoma Corporation Commission on a geologic matter. Their geologist was out of town, on his honeymoon.

“The map is already done,” Irv told me.

“All you have to do is go over it for the Judge and answer a few questions for the group that’s protesting our spacing hearing,” Ron added.

The task seemed simple enough and I agreed to help them out in the hearing scheduled for consideration in Tulsa. As we all drove east down the Turner Turnpike, their lawyer John regaled us with stories about when he was a Captain in Korea, working for the Military Police.

It was spring, the weather wet and stormy, much like Oklahoma’s weather today. Running water filled ditches on both sides of the turnpike and clouds were a dark shade of ominous gray. You didn’t have to be an Okie to know there was yet another storm brewing overhead.

The Tulsa branch of the Oklahoma Corporation Commission is in an old school building near the west edge of town. We headed for the coffee shop to discuss our strategy and to look at Mike’s exhibit.

“What do you think?” Ron asked after I had studied the map in silence for a solid ten minutes.

“There’s a little bust in the contouring,” I said.

Irv grabbed the map out of my hand and said, “Where?”

I showed it to him. “It’s not a material bust. Just something I’d have probably done myself if I had been contemplating marriage and honeymoon in Jamaica.”

John, our attorney, appeared concerned and Irv asked, “What’ll we do?”

“I can correct the contour with a pencil but it changes the map’s interpretation. I don’t think that it would be to your benefit,” I said.

“We can ask for a continuance,” John said.

“I don’t think it’s that big of a deal,” Ron said. “Like Eric said, the bust isn’t material. The other side probably won’t even notice it.”

“What are you grinning at?” Ron asked me, seeing the smirk on my face.

“Mike, the opposing attorney used to work with me at Texas Oil & Gas. If he or his geologist notices the bust they’re going to scream bloody murder.”

“So? What can they do about it?”

“They’ll pick us apart,” John said. “Maybe we should call for a continuance.”

“Nah, we’re here. Let’s do it,” Ron said. “If things get nasty then put me on the stand.”

“Is that all right with you, Eric?” asked Irv.

“Hey, I’m just a hired gun. You tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll give it a shot, but – “

“But what?” Ron demanded.

“Mike is an attack dog. If he smells blood, he won’t stop until he has us gutted and quartered.”

“I say we’re here and we should put on our case. What we’re asking for is the right thing. That little bust in the map is immaterial.”

“I think Nixon said the same thing about the Watergate Tapes,” John said with a grin. “But hey, it’s your call. Eric and I are both just hired guns.”

“Don’t give me that malarkey,” Ron said. “We need to get a ruling on this hearing today. Let’s go for it.”

“Fine,” I said, “But I think we should disclose the error and explain why it has no relevant meaning.”

“It’s such a minor error, they’ll never notice it,” Ron said. “Let’s don’t show our hand before it’s played.”

I had a lump in my throat as I was sworn in before the judge. I knew that there was a narrow line I had to traverse without telling a lie. I also felt a little dirty because I intended to testify only to what was positive about our case and say nothing about what was negative about it.

John understood my quandary and questioned me about the exhibit without asking me to stretch the truth. Shortly after he finished, I sat facing the doggedly resolute eyes of Mike, the opposing attorney. The first words out of his mouth were, “Mr. Wilder, did you notice that there is a geologic bust in your exhibit?”

“Yes, but it’s not material,” I said, protesting.

Mike slammed his hand against the lectern. “Not material? Judge, this exhibit is a total fabrication meant to showcase their argument in the best possible light – a false light,” he added.

“Judge,” John said, standing. “May I approach?”

Mike and John stood in front of the administrative law judge’s bench, bickering back and forth when a bailiff burst into the courtroom.

“Judge, we have to evacuate to the auditorium. There’s a tornado bearing down on us.”

We had all heard the rain and hail pelting the windows. Now the wind had picked up and was rocking the walls. “Recess,” the Judge said. “Everyone follow the bailiff.”

A hundred or so of us sat for around thirty minutes in the auditorium of the old school building, expecting the roof to fly off at any minute. Finally the tornado passed but the storm continued, rocking the old building with rain and wind. Because of the continuing tornado watch, the Judge had little choice but to call for a continuance to the hearing. Ron laughed as we headed back down the Turner Turnpike toward Oklahoma City.

“John, I should have listened to your advice. We were getting our asses kicked in there.”

Talk of the hearing quickly changed to the tornado that barely missed us, and then to other things. I’m a boxing fan and as John began regaling us with tales again, I learned that he was once the manager of Sean O’Grady, Oklahoma City’s former world champ.

To put a cap on this story, Mike the geologist returned from his honeymoon and corrected the minor bust on his map. By the time the next hearing occurred, attorney Mike had lost all his explosive ammo and Ron and Irv prevailed easily.

Alas, Ron and John are no longer with us. Like my Dad, John suffered from Alzheimer’s and lived next door to him in Reminiscence before he died.

Seeing him there reminded me of the Tulsa tornado story. It also reminded me that life is good at throwing curve balls, and sometimes when it does, the only thing you can do is ask for a recess. If you don’t, Old Mother Nature may just request it for you.

Louisiana Mystery Writer