Apollo Gonzales's Blog: Moving Beyond Oil

Deepwater Dispatches: The Worst Possible Time

2010-05-04T02:33:54Z

I think it goes without saying that there is never a good time for an oil spill. Certainly, the "drill baby drill" crowd would agree with me on that. Yesterday, sheltered from the pounding rain in his boat Capt. Kip Marquize tells us why this disaster couldn't have happened at a worse time for the fishermen and shrimpers of the Gulf Coast.

Deepwater Dispatches (Part 1)

2010-05-01T04:56:34Z

The first thing you forget when you leave the Gulf Coast, where I grew up, is the humidity. It is also, the first thing you are reminded of when you come home. When I got the call that I was to pack up and head out to New Orleans I loaded my bags with long sleeve shirts and ties, the uniform of DC. I am drenched just sitting here, and my coaster doesn’t stand a chance against the sweating glass of ice water. My ties are not going to see the light of day.

I spent the better part of my youth on a different bayou, one ostensibly tamed by concrete and steel. The truth is, the climate, the mosquitos, the Gulf...they’ve been around long enough to not be fooled by a few office buildings or air conditioned rest stops. Whether you are from Houston (like me), New Orleans, Mobile, or Pensacola, you feel a kinship with your fellow bayou dwellers - we are a special breed who chooses to live in generally unbearable conditions for 9 months of the year.

New Orleans is buzzing tonight. Jazzfest is in it’s final days and people are tired from the 7 days of festivities, but it is still the talk of the town. Here in my hotel in Houma, the buzz is different. The bar is stacked shoulder to shoulder with men in shirts with faded screen print that reads “EPA”, “Coast Guard”, “DEQ”, and “NRC”. They are mostly silent as CNN reports the progress of the reach of the Deepwater Horizon disaster. The oil is almost here, and the way the wind is blowing you can bet it’ll be here soon. It is clear that CNN isn’t telling them anything they don’t already know.

I’ve seen this scene before, at hotel bars in Utah and Arizona, where wildfire fighters from around the country have come to do everything in their power to mitigate the disaster at hand without concern about who is to blame. These men at the bar tonight are fresh, they’ve only just arrived on the scene from all over the country. In that way they are like my fellow bayou dwellers, in it together, for better or worse.

The pictures of oil covered wildlife are making the rounds, and when I mention to my waitress the tendrils of oil making their way inland she sighs and asks, “How much more can we take?” It is the question, it seems to me, we should all be asking our leaders who support a policy of addiction to the fuel of the past.

I am steeling myself for the things I will see here on the coast, in the Gulf that taught me to swim, surf, and fish. I suppose there is no better inoculation than the damp night air and the sound of the bayou.

Is T. Boone selling you shinola, or something else?

2008-08-25T19:26:25Z

I grew up in Houston, Texas. Maybe that made me more susceptible than most to the romanticized idea of being a Texas oil man. At the age of 18, the same summer I graduated high school, I went to work for a family friend selling oil field supplies to oil companies in West Texas and Mexico. It was a dream job for me. I met some very wealthy men and heard stories about growing up dirt poor and making a fortune by pulling oil from otherwise worthless ground. Every year I went to the famed Offshore Technology Conference (OTC), where they would erect an offshore drilling rig in the parking lot of the Astrodome. The oil rig was just the start though, because oil companies offered helicopter rides onto the rig. Spending time with these men meant eating $80 steaks, wearing $300 Stetson cowboy hats, and in the case of the oil men from Mexico, riding in Suburbans retrofitted with bullet proof glass. In those formative years I jumped at the opportunity to sit with the Bush family at the ballpark to watch the Houston Astros, although I don’t think we ever exchanged a word other than hello.

No offense to my alma matter American University where I later earned my undergraduate degree, but I learned more in the 4 years working with oil men than I ever learned anywhere else in my life. I learned how to shake a man’s hand and look him in the eye. I learned how to make an honorable deal, and how to break that deal without losing an ounce of respect. I learned that for many business men, after family, money is the most important thing. I learned that you always have to listen very carefully to hear everything an oil man is telling you. And finally, I learned how to tell when someone is trying to sell you something other than the shinola you agreed to buy.

Very recently a west Texas oil man, T. Boone Pickens, has paid his way into the spot light. He is the very picture of the American oil man I imagined when I was younger. The accent and the cadence of his speech capture his audience instantly. The environmental community was captivated by Mr. Pickens when he said, in his first commercial regarding the oil crisis, “we can’t drill our way out.” Now, in Denver, during one of the most historic events of my lifetime, I am surrounded by some of the best environmental bloggers in the country. We bloggers pride ourselves in our independence and aversion to being co-opted by anyone, but guess who is a major sponsor here at the Big Tent? Mr. Pickens, has certainly made his presence known.

A couple of days ago, Mr. Pickens released his latest video and in opening lines he says, “I say drill, drill, drill.” The commercial has caused some buzz for sure, and the conversations about the value of the rest of the ad are varied. But here is what it boils down to – Mr. Pickens is a business man. His investments in the oil market are volatile, wind and natural gas are less susceptible to global market influences. Listen closely to his ads, he doesn’t want to get America off oil, just foreign oil. That’s it. Don’t let the pretty images of wind turbines fool you, and "clean natural gas" isn't as clean as you may think. Mr. Pickens is looking out for Mr. Pickens.

So while I admire Mr. Pickens for being a maverick all of his life, I know shinola from what he is actually selling. I just hope everyone else does too.