Part 3: Historic Oil Wells of the Little Spokane River Valley

(all rights to this material retained by author) 

A Review of the Historic Oil Wells

of the Little Spokane River Valley

&

Regions Around

(part three)

by

Wally Lee Parker

… topsy turvy land ...

            At least three geologic factors fueled the oil speculations sporadically flaring up and down Washington State’s far eastern counties.  One was the verifiable existence of both shallow and deep — though not necessarily extensive — deposits of natural gas.  Another was the existence of workable seams of coal where a bed of ancient rocks surfaced along the eastern slopes of the Cascade Mountain range.  And another was the simple fact that a vast swath of the state’s older geologic history was hidden beneath much younger outpours of lava — outpours of basalt.  Except in those instances where erosion had scoured through these overbearing flows, no one was certain what lay beneath this basalt — though the normal scientific expectation would be strata of even more ancient rock such as the coal bearing sandstones abutting the Cascades.  Uncertainty as to the exact nature of the lands buried beneath the geologically recent Columbia Plateau flood lavas left open the possibility that the deep geology of these hidden lands would be of a type likely to contain oil — a possibility that appeared enhanced by the proven existence of coal and a form of natural gas.

            As for the early history of verifiable petroleum discoveries in the state, Information Circular No. 29 from the Washington State Division of Mines and Geology, published in 1958 under the title “Oil and Gas Exploration in Washington, 1900-1957,” explained, “Oil was first reported in Washington about 1883 along the Pacific Ocean beach on the west side of the Olympic Peninsula, where there are outcrops of sandy shales with a kerosene odor.  At certain times of the year and at certain places, small amounts of … paraffin base oil (would) seep from the outcrops.”

            Regarding natural gas specifically, the report continues, “One of the earliest indications that gas occurred in the state was found by chance in Whatcom County in 1893.  A man named Clark is reported to have struck a match to light his pipe while digging a water well.  Gas that had seeped into the well was ignited by his match, causing an explosion.  The occurrence of gas stimulated drilling near the Clark water well, but results were apparently disappointing because the test well was abandoned.”

            The numerous waves of exploration, justified in part by these discoveries, are summarized as follows; “Prior to 1940 very few wells were drilled as the result of sound geologic investigation.  Many wells, especially on the west side of the Olympic Peninsula, were drilled on the strength of nearby oil or gas seeps.  The great majority of the early wells, however, were drilled at sites selected by unscientific methods of exploration, and some of the wells were part of out-and-out stock swindles.”

            In 1913 the Conservative Land Investment Company of Spokane was drilling for water “on the northeast limb of the Rattlesnake Hills anticline” in western Benton County — Benton County is in the southern part of Washington State where the Columbia River makes its last great turn to the west, and in doing so becomes the border between Washington and the State of Oregon from that point to the Pacific Ocean.  According to the Division of Mines and Geology publication, the company’s well was located “18 miles northeast of Grandview and 16 miles west of the Columbia River.”

            A description of the Conservative Land Investment Company appeared in the November 1, 1908, issue of the Spokesman Review.  The newspaper said the company owned “great tracts of irrigated land and timber interests,” and reportedly had title to “22,600 acres of land on the east slope of the Rattlesnake Hills, close to the North Coast Railroad route.  The new town of Benton, on this ground, is to be at the junction of the main line of the North Coast and Walla Walla branch.”

            Five years later the railroad’s town had been platted, and the land development company was sinking a well deep into its Rattlesnake Hills property.

            The company reportedly struck gas at 705 feet.  The pressure upwelling at the time of discovery was between 5½ and 7 pounds per square inch.  By the time extensive commercial use of the gas from this first and the many following wells drilled over the next decade and a half was actually begun, the pressure had dropped to about 2 pounds per square inch — the majority of the ongoing outflow having been allowed to waste away into the atmosphere.

            This was not unusual.  In Bulletin 102 (part 7), United States National Museum (Smithsonian Institution), 1918, in a section titled Natural Gas: Its Production, Service, and Conservation, the author’s following comment was noted.  “In my own State of West Virginia only eight years ago not less than 500,000,000 cubic feet of this precious gas was daily escaping into the air from two counties alone, practically all of which was easily preventable by a moderate expenditure for additional casing.  In reference to natural gas, the great and pressing necessity is to stop its appalling waste …”

            An article in the March 18, 1915 issue of the Spokesman-Review noted the intent of another Spokane company to drill for gas and oil in other parts of Benton County.  At the conclusion of the article former Washington State Governor Marion E. Hay, who appeared to be financially involved with this proposed drilling, is quoted as saying, “While I am not an experienced gas well man, this well (apparently referring to the Conservative Land Investment Company well in the Rattlesnake Hills), because of the fact that it has been flowing over two years at a steady rate, is not a pocket strike.  The recent well struck south of Kennewick and other lesser gas flows through Benton County lead one to believe that there is gas and oil to be struck in this county.”

            As the Washington State Division of Mines report notes, “Gas production (at Rattlesnake Hills) started in 1929.  At one time 16 wells were in production.  The gas was piped to seven lower Yakima Valley cities during the field’s productive period.  Output gradually declined until production ceased in September of 1941.”

            The lack of pressure at the Rattlesnake Hills wells was the most likely reason for the end of commercial production.  As the Division of Mines explains, “By 1933 the pressure had decreased to zero and a central compressor plant was built to maintain a vacuum on the field.”  The literature explained that by 1936 an “approximate 7 pound vacuum” was needed to extract the gas from the wells.

            In the early days of oil and gas development, one of the problems was access to or the creation of infrastructure.  Once a corporation had obtained oil or gas, the raw material had to be moved to the point of use.  The normal means of bulk transport for oil was in railroad tank cars.  These were taken directly to the crude oil customers — be those refineries or end users.  But natural gas was a much more difficult substance.  Piping the fuel in gaseous form directly to the point of use was necessary.  If the point of use was a city, a distribution system within that city needed to be developed.

            As a speculative venture, liquid petroleum required much less initial capital investment to realize a profit than natural gas or coal.  This suggested that if you wanted to get rich without investing your own money or labor too heavily, you needed to strike oil — preferably not too far from a railroad — while convincing others to pay as much of the exploratory and developmental bills as possible.

            Because the profit would be readily at hand if oil was struck, oil was what everyone wanted to find.

            The above noted Spokane-Benton County Natural Gas Company — according to Washington State Biennial Report’s #15 & #16 — filed for corporate status sometime after September 30, 1916, and then, due to the corporation’s failure to pay its annual license fee, on July 1, 1919, it was stricken from the list of corporations authorized to operate within the state.

            According to newspaper accounts, the Spokane-Benton company’s original stated intention was to drill for natural gas at Rattlesnake, and then develop a pipeline to deliver that gas to Spokane.  Whether they could have arranged for distribution within the city through the coal generated gas system the city already had in place is questionable.  The city’s system, in existence as the Spokane Falls Gas & Light Company since at least the early 1890s — probably since 1892 — produced gas by heating coal in an oven to drive off the gaseous volatiles — volatiles which were then collected, compressed, and piped throughout the city for lighting, cooking, and heating.  The coal was obtained from mines located on the eastern slope of the Cascade Mountains, near the little town of Roslyn.

            In his 1922 book, General Economic Geology, William Harvey Emmons dated the coal bearing formations at Roslyn as “Eocene” — the Eocene beginning about fifty-five million years ago and ending roughly fifteen million years before the massive floods of Columbia Plateau lava began, or about thirty-three million years before the human era.  Emmons also noted that Roslyn’s coal, mined from seams interbedded with sandstone, was a “good coking coal of bituminous grade” — coke being the solid remains after coal is heated in an oven and the volatiles baked out.

            In a November 14, 1916 article in the Spokane Daily Chronicle, Herbert C. Harris, a “geologist and mining engineer” later identified as president of the Spokane-Benton Natural Gas Company, said, “It is entirely feasible to pipe gas to Spokane” — approximately 140 miles separate the Rattlesnake Hills and Spokane — “and we could furnish it for $4 a horsepower year.  The value of the gas can be readily estimated when I say that 1000 feet of this natural gas is worth as much for fuel and power as over 1600 feet of the coal manufactured product.”

            Regarding the different heat values derived from the two forms of gas, in an advertisement appearing in the March 23, 1917, Spokane Daily Chronicle the promoters for Spokane-Benton clarified their understanding of the facts.  And in this same advertisement — while playing loosely with the known facts — the company made it clear that it felt the greater potential for return would come from the oil it was sure to find, rather than any exploitation of the already proven deposit of natural gas.

            “Benton County is a land of fossils, oil sands and seepages.  A land of anticlines and domes that cover vast fields of oil and gas.  The discovery well flows 312,000 feet of gas per day, coming up through about 300 feet of water.  This holds back the flow of gas, and experts have estimated that the well would flow about 1,000,000 feet of gas if the water was cased off.  This flow of natural gas has a heating value above a thousand British Thermal Units.  City gas averages about 600; so this well flows enough to light the city of Spokane at the present rate of gas consumption.  It would supply with gas all the towns between Ellensburg and Walla Walla.  We have one of the greatest markets in the United States for natural gas here in the Inland Empire.  There is an unlimited store of nature’s fuel and light in the Benton County field, say the best petroleum engineers.  But what if we get oil — what then?  Millions, that’s all!

            Washington State’s Division of Mines and Geology Information Circular No. 29 suggested that Rattlesnake Hills’ natural gas was a “peculiar occurrence” in that it came from “porous basalt flows.”  Being an igneous rock, geologist do not normally considered basalt itself a natural container for gas, coal, or oil — though seams between lava flows are a different matter.  The gas was found at two levels — 700 feet and 1,200 feet.  In 1958 the Standard Oil Company of California abandoned a Rattlesnake Hills well — one begun in 1957 — after reaching a depth of 8,418 feet.  They reportedly were still drilling through lava rock when they stopped.

            As for the chemical nature of the gas, the Division of Mines concluded that it was “a high-methane type and had none of the heavier fractions that are commonly found associated with a petroleum-derived gas.”

            And regarding the original source of the gas, the Division of Mines offered two hypotheses in their 1958 paper.  One suggested that the gas “originated as the result of decay of vegetable matter in inter-basalt sediments” — meaning in soils and such thickened into interbedding seams during the hundreds of thousands of years that often passed between major volcanic floods.  The other was that beneath the lava floods might lay the same formation of sandstones from which the seams of Roslyn’s coal were being mined — even though those mines were some 90 linear miles northwest of the Rattlesnake Hills.  This seemed to suggest that the gas trapped at Rattlesnake might be much older than the lava flows within which it had collected — that the trapped gas might be as old as Roslyn's coal.

            Whether the scientific ability and sophisticated test equipment need to discriminate between the kinds of natural gas associated with oil, associated with coal, or derived from more immediate vegetal sources was available to the “experts” and the “best petroleum engineers” reportedly working with the Spokane-Benton County Natural Gas Company is not currently known — though the technological ability to perform such test does appear to have existed in 1917.

            What was known since the 19^th century is that almost the entirety of southeastern Washington State is covered by hundreds of feet of flood basalts of relatively recent origin — relatively recent in the geological sense.  This made any speculation as to the nature of the older land beneath just that — speculation.  Such didn’t detour the Spokane-Benton County Natural Gas Company.  At the end of March, 1917, they ran this add in Spokane’s Spokesman-Review, under the title “Topsy Truvy Land.”

            “If the Benton County fields were turned upside down, what then?  If the strata was turned over and over again until what was down below was placed on top?  If the Eocene sands were exposed to the surface we believe we would see lakes and rivers of oil — greenish, heavy parafine oil — from which would arise vapors rarefied into natural gas.  Shining ponds of oil would dot the surface here and there.  Banks of wax would dam the streams.  And in favored places the hydrocarbons that make gasoline would collect in limpid pools.  We could then drive up on our modern six and fill a tank of joyful go-so me gas.  And as for oil — common lubricating stuff — we could perhaps scoop it up just like that.  All this, we believe, we could see if the oil and gas fields of Benton County were turned turtle before our eyes.”

            Because the advertisement used the term Eocene — thereby placing “topsy turvy land” in the same geological epoch as the coal seams at Roslyn — it’s possible the company’s promoters were consciously implying some type of association between Rattlesnake’s gas field and Roslyn’s coal beds.

            In other words — by implication — where there was natural gas and coal, there was bound to be oil.

            The Spokane-Benton advertisement of March 29, 1917, spelled it all out.

            “If our eyes are good eyes and have been tested out in looking for opportunities, we can see all the above without turning it (the land) over.  Good eyes take a look at the gas well and then talk it over with themselves like this:  Here is an enormous gas flow.  It is oil gas, coming from the oil of course.  The gas is worth the money anyway; but then we have a big chance to strike the oil.  The company has 2,000 acres of land.  They have no bonds and no debts … A good eye would talk to itself in about that manner.  Then it would say to its friend, the pocketbook, buy some of it before it goes up out of sight.  And good friend pocketbook would invest at once.  Now the question is; have you a good eye?  Some have one good eye and some have two.  But one good eye is good enough to see a good thing.”

            The Spokane-Benton company continued to advertise and presumably sell shares of its stock into 1918.  Other companies, both new and long established, continued to promote efforts to pipe gas from Rattlesnake to Spokane throughout the 1920’s and beyond.  But no pipeline was ever laid to Spokane.  And no oil was ever extracted from Benton County.  

... to be continued ...

Part 2: Historic Oil Wells of the Little Spokane River Valley

(all rights to this material retained by author)

A Review of the Historic Oil Wells

of the Little Spokane River Valley

&

Regions Around

(Part Two)

 by

Wally Lee Parker

  

… known for floating oil and gas stock …

             Scores of petroleum prospecting companies were formed to exploit the major and minor oil excitements that flashed across eastern Washington State in the early decades of the 20^th century.  Most of these, within several years of filing for incorporation, were stricken from the State’s biennial records due to their “failure to pay” the “annual license fee.”  As for why these corporations proliferated and dissolved as readily as snowflakes, in the State’s Seventeenth Biennial Report (October 1, 1920 — September 30, 1922), Washington’s then Secretary of State, J. Grant Hinkle, wrote, “There are very few of the States which do not now have Securities Acts, commonly called “Blue Sky” laws.  Thus far the State of Washington has never passed such a measure, although three attempts have been made.  The State of Washington is the easiest State in the Union in which to do corporate business.  It is the only State in which for Forty Dollars a corporation can qualify regardless of its capitalization and proceed with the sale of stock without having to give” the State “any account whatever … as to its activities or methods of conducting business.  For this reason, the State … is well and favorably known for floating oil and gas stock, and … is being exploited each year by these stock jobbers …”

            Without sufficient manpower or legislative recourse, there was little the state’s government was able to do regarding patently fraudulent operations.  Federal charges of using the U. S. Mail to defraud could occasionally be brought.  But even that was rare.

            Early newspapers and magazines often carried solicitations outlining the easy riches to be earned by investing in these speculative corporations.  As Secretary Hinkle explained, there were few rules these advertisements needed to follow.  He noted that “Domestic corporations must name their capitalization and the number of shares into which it is divided which virtually gives a par value to their shares.”  But even this could be turned to the promoter’s advantage.  “Corporations are invariably entered with capitalization running into the millions, for the reason that it cost no more under the present laws to file a corporation having fifteen million dollars of capital than if the same corporation has only fifteen hundred dollars of capital.”

            The previously mentioned Clayton Oil Company was incorporated with a Capital Stock of one million dollars.  In its advertisement it listed a par value of ten dollars per share of stock — meaning the company was implying a guarantee that it would not sell any of its stock below that dollar amount (though any company could in theory sell shares for more than the stated par value, and the first public offerings of many corporations were — despite the implied par value guarantee — deeply discounted below the advertised par value).
            To figure out how many shares in all the Clayton Oil Company was offering — how many slices the company was being divided into — a potential investor needed to divide the listed Capital Stock by the stated par value.  This would break down to one-hundred thousand shares, which, in total, would equal 100% ownership of the company.  So, for ten dollars anyone could buy one one-hundred thousandth of the corporation.  If all one-hundred thousand shares of the company were sold at par value, said sale would raise the indicated one million dollars of capital.

            By stating Capital Stock and par value, the Clayton Oil Company was simply complying with the law in a manner that suggested great wealth — although the initial value of the company wasn’t one million dollars.  It was essentially zero.

            Normally the only way an oil company’s stock would become valuable was for the company to find oil.  At that point the investors could make money two ways.  They could draw an income from the dividends produced by the sale of oil, or the investor could sell their stock at whatever the going rate was for the now successful oil company — which assumedly would be more than the ten dollars per share originally paid.  If the company didn’t strike oil, the stock — minus any resalable assets the company may have accumulated — would become valueless.  And likely the company, essentially abandoned, would be allowed to dissolve due to the company’s “failure to pay” its “annual license fee.”

            The Clayton Oil Company wasn’t likely to sell a million dollars’ worth of stock.  And it didn’t have to.  If the company was a legitimate concern — or wanted to appear to be a legitimate concern — it only needed to gather enough money to begin drilling, and then do so.  In 1921 that would have likely been in the low thousands of dollars.  When that money was burned through, an attempt could be made to sell more stock and continue drilling.

            Of the dozens of eastern Washington oil wells drilled, none produced oil.  And some of the oil companies dissolved before even beginning to drill.  That’s not to say these companies — whether drilling or not — failed to make money.  Promotional fees often consumed as much as 15 or 20 percent of every dollar of stock sold.  Within these promotional fees were the commissions paid to “stock jobbers,” — the people attempting to sell the company’s securities locally, nationally, and internationally.  Then of course there were the often healthy monthly stipends paid the company’s officers and board of directors.  And just as now, there were the assumedly justifiable executive expenses — things like travel, hotels, and meals.  All told, the intimates within many of these companies, which collectively consumed hundreds of thousands if not millions of investor dollars, appear to have done quite well — though we can’t be sure since, as Secretary Hinkle noted, within Washington State they operated “without having to give any account whatever … as to … activities or methods of conducting business.”

… to be continued …

Historic Oil Wells of the Little Spokane River Valley

(all rights to this material retained by author)

A Review of the Historic Oil Wells

of the Little Spokane River Valley

&

Regions Around

(Part One)

by

Wally Lee Parker

  … an excitement …

            The March 28^th, 1901, issue of the Spokane Daily Chronicle reported that, “Another oil district has been found that from reports received promises to excel anything yet located in this section of the country.  On Wild Rose Prairie oil has been discovered that can be taken up by the bucketful and the scent of oil can be noticed for quite a distance from the spring.”

            This article was describing one small part of what might properly be characterized as a general “excitement” over the rumored prospects of paying quantities of oil and natural gas underlying a large swath of Washington State’s far eastern counties — including Asotin, Whitman, Spokane, and Stevens.  The 1901 excitement spilled over into Idaho — especially around Lewiston — and also into Oregon.

            The Chronicle’s article continued, “The place on which the strongest indications have been found is owned by Wilbur H. Lewis, and he has been aware for some time that there was something the matter with the water in a spring on his farm 15 miles north of Spokane.  He attributed it, however, to the presence of substances from the pine trees and gave the matter but little thought till he heard of the Rosalia finds.”

            In fits and starts over the next 43 years three exploratory oil wells were punched down in the vicinity of the above noted find on Wild Rose Prairie — Wild Rose being a gentle rolling segment of the southwestern corner of eastern Washington’s Little Spokane River Valley.  According to information published by the Washington State Department of Natural Resources in 1983, the last Wild Rose well was drilled in 1944, and was reported by the driller to have reached a depth of 3,600 feet — the last 600 feet in granite.  The term “driller,” as we understand it, is something of a misnomer since the Department of Natural Resources described the method used to sink all three of Wild Rose’s wells as “cable tools.”  This is an ancient technology in which a weight suspended by cable or rope is repeatedly raised and dropped to pound a shaft downward.  It would likely be safe to say that by the 1940s the cable tool system for oil exploration was essentially obsolete, having slowly been replaced by improvements in the nearly as ancient rotary drill.  This is not to suggest that the reported depth of the last Wild Rose well was beyond the reach of a sufficiently large cable tool rig.  However, the idea of pounding the last 600 feet through granite — considering that most competent geologists will agree that the chances of finding oil once you have struck what is clearly determined to be solid granite bedrock is zero — suggests something less than total accuracy as far as the driller’s assessment as to the nature of the rock being passed through; or something less as far as the driller’s overall competence as an oil prospector is concerned.

            As for conformation that an oil well was in fact being drilled in 1944, the “Shavings from the Mill” column in the Deer Park Union’s December 21 issue for that year stated, “David (Slim) Cox, a former mill employee, suffered quite severe burns on both hands and his face last Wednesday when water got into the boiler he was firing, causing it to explode.  He was working at the oil well on Wild Rose Prairie.”

            Since steam engines were commonly used to power these early “cable tools” oil rigs, this item falls right into line with the other data.

            Regarding the first two Wild Rose oil wells — those of 1901 and 1911 — the Department of Natural Resource’s “Information Circular” only states “details unknown” as to depth and such.  Though some information was printed in the area newspapers — the Spokane Daily Chronicle and Spokesman-Review — said information often appears to have been biased by a strong promotional motivation on the part of the companies sponsoring the drilling.  In fact, it appears likely that the news releases were on occasion written — partially or solely — by the promoters themselves.

            The wells on Wild Rose were not unique — either as to their lack of actual oil produced, nor as to the longevity of the expectation that they would eventually produce oil.  The 1901 excitement was the first of two major and many minor oil expectations to sweep through the area — the second of the major excitements occurring in 1921.

            Just as before, the 1921 oil excitement covered a broad band of counties from south to north, and also spilled into adjacent states.  This time the Little Spokane River Valley’s speculative excitement reached beyond Wild Rose to touch the valley’s northwest corner and the little town of Clayton.  The August 12, 1921, issue of the Spokane Daily Chronicle related that “over 100” of Clayton’s “residents” had gathered at the local grange hall to hear promoters representing the Clayton Oil Company describe the underground riches just waiting to be exploited.  One of the speakers was Harold P. Collins, geologist for the oil company, who is reported to have said, “The oil in this country has been formed from the marine life which once existed in the Gordon Sea that covered the country east of the Cascades,”

            Collins went on to note, “In this district we have a long anticline running up into Canada.”  Though often inaccurately used when describing local geology — as it is here — oil promoters loved the term “anticline,” since successful oil wells were often associated with that particular geological feature.

            Mr. Collins concluded by stating, “We can predict a slow-bearing sand, with long-life wells.  This is because the anticline is sharp on the western side, where it comes into contact with the older granite formations, and is sloping to the east side.  With this formation the sand is invariably slow-bearing.  The wells will run as high as 500 barrels and will be put on the pump, but they will yield for a long time.  If the anticline were sharp on both sides we would have gushers and short-lived wells.”

            Despite his remarkably detailed prediction, no oil was removed from the single well subsequently drilled just east of Clayton by Mr. Collins’ company.

            From 1901 on, geologist employed by the state and federal governments were cautioning that despite claims made by geologist hired by oil promoters — or people claiming to be geologist who were themselves oil promoters — the region’s geological formations as then understood did not favor the discovery of oil or natural gas in paying quantities.  These cautions were largely ignored.  And yet, after over a hundred years of exploratory drilling throughout the state — with the exception of some relatively short lived commercial natural gas production and one poor producing, short lived oil well on the Pacific coast — the government’s early assessments are the only ones that seem to be holding accurate.

            The stories of the several oil excitements of Clayton, Wild Rose, and the rest of the region are complex in detail, but simple in that the only oil profits produced were those pumped from the pockets of the investors to the pockets of the promoters.

… to be continued …

"Annie" in 3-D: at Spokane's Civic Theater

“Annie” In 3-D

— at Spokane’s Civic Theater —

by

Wally Lee Parker

            This last Sunday afternoon we went to a matinée showing of the Spokane Civic Theater’s production of Annie.  I’m not a big fan of Little Orphan Annie — or at least I wasn’t.  Probably because I saw the lifeless 1982 movie version of the original 1977 stage play — at least as much of that film as I could tolerate.  But that was a stage production translated into film.  Maybe better said it was a stage production half-heartedly spilled onto film.

            Having attended around two dozen or so Civic Theater productions now — including the Civic’s excellent 1996 rendition of Lost in Yonkers — I’ve come to the conclusion that something very vital doesn’t translate when scripts intended to be played live before relatively small audiences are converted into celluloid.  Lost in Yonkers — also made into a movie — is a fairly good example of that desensitization (though far from being the worse).  And I’m not just talking about the fact that stage productions are naturally three dimensional — meaning a form of 3-D without the eyestrain induced headache.  Unless a movie production begins by taking the essence of the stage script and rewriting it specifically for the camera (think 1978’s film version of Grease), the sad remnants are only going to be alive in the Frankensteinian sense — meaning the movie’s likely to be a lumbering monstrosity with its “vital force” erased.

            Jim Kershner, the Spokesman-Review’s longtime theater critic, said in his write-up of the Civic’s 1996 staging of Neil Simon’s Lost in Yonkers, that it was “technically an amateur production.”  He then went on to say that the Civic’s rendition was “actually superior in many ways to the Broadway Touring version.”  With my community college education, I’m just not sure how one differentiates between amateur and professional theater — except maybe ticket price.  Kershner, who’s seen a lot of both kinds of theater, seems to be suggesting that the proof is in the pudding, not the price.  I know it cost relatively little for a front row seat at the Civic.  (All the seats cost the same.  If you want the front row you’ll need to buy your ticket early.)  I do know that sitting close enough to the stage to see the expressions on the actors’ faces is important.   I do know working class people can’t afford to go to professional plays and sit close enough to really see.  It’s been my experience that sitting fairly close makes it more likely I’ll become absorbed into the play — and absorption is a part of the alchemy of stage magic.  If you’re in the twenty-fourth row of a 3,000 seat amphitheater, you might as well go to the movies.  So — I’m all for amateur theater if it allows me to participate as an audience member should.  And the Civic has always been good about inclusion.

            Not to say there weren’t problems with the Civic’s Annie.  Some words, spoken or sung by the young girls, and, on occasion, even the women wearing electronic assist, dropped below audible level.  Movies solve that kind of problem with post-production fixes.  Actors in live productions need to compensate for the lack of overdubs and re-dubs with technique.  But even with the best of those, having spent four years of my much younger days not that far from the painfully loud dry-planers of Deer Park’s sawmill, my ears are not always up to it.  Then too, girls as young as the actresses in Annie seldom have the lung capacity and projective range to make everything loud.  So I’m going to do something anyone attending live theater needs to do on occasion (at least the amateur kind of theater where you don’t need to do without a month’s worth of suppers to buy the tickets), and that’s give the actors a pass for effort.  The kids were good.  They were putting their hearts into it.  And heart is one of those things that seldom come across in a thoroughly homogenized Hollywood adaptation.

            Another thing Hollywood loses is spontaneity.  It would be easy to think the theater should have no spontaneity either.  After all, it’s all written down beforehand as dialog and set directions.  Just follow the directions, and as any good cook knows, everything will turn out perfect — just like pictured in the cookbook.

            In what galaxy does that work?

            So — the character Annie goes twirling across the stage and slams into a heavy wooden desk.  Was that in the script?  No.  But Annie — played by ten year old Sophia Caruso — just winced, then smiled, then carried on.  Now that’s heart.

            When tap-dancing — keeping rhythm with Daddy Warbucks (Daddy being played by the always excellent Mark Pleasant) — those metal tipped soles would occasionally slide across the stage, threatening to spill Annie on the floor.  Not a trace of fear, and the dance would clatter on.  Now that’s acting on the fly — the spontaneous kind.

            Back at the orphanage, all the little girls were down on their knees, pounding out a rhythm with scrub brushes against the floor and metal mop buckets.  It was perfect.  And then they jumped up.  Wooden mop handles snapped rhythms on the floor.  And through it all, never a self-conscious glance to the side.  They were looking out at the audience.  These kids — third, fourth, fifth graders — they didn’t need to see what the others were doing because each knew they were doing their own part right.  You could tell by the grins.  From our place in the fifth row, those grins were easy to see.  

            Maybe it’s just the parent in me, but when the girls in the orphanage crawled to the top of the stage’s bunk beds, did anyone else in the audience want to tack on some side-rails, or throw extra pillows on the floor.  Those weren’t images up there.  Those were real kids.   

            Perhaps the actors would disagree, but to my mind it takes an inordinate amount of courage to be on that stage.  It’s a crucible for excruciating embarrassment.  And I always worry that something is going to go wrong — even if the actors don’t worry.

            It’s called empathy — something today’s culture, with its love of sadistic reality shows, severely lacks. 

            The truth is everyone in the theater is an active participant in the play — even those who only watch and react.  Because of that, the theater is alive.  Not simply live.  It’s really alive.  The fact that filming a performance or recreating a play as a film seldom seems to carry that spark with it proves that it’s the participatory aspect to the theater that adds that magic ingredient.  It’s the play washing out over the audience and splashing back across the stage that adds that communal sense of rapport.  A movie is just a dry image incapable of responding in return to the audience’s response.  No emotional reverberation.  No 3-dimensional immediacy.

            And there’s always the hazard of accidental events that no amount of stage direction or rehearsal can remove.  Thusly necessitating the axiom, “The show must go on.”

            If there was something to dislike about the performance of Annie, it came from a few, select members of the audience.

            My God, the perfumes men and women drench themselves in are supposed to be a sexual attractant, not an aromatic weapon.  It’s hard to be attracted when you’re being suffocated.  A little bit is a tease.  But when the people around are gasping for air — take the hint.

            Then there are those individuals that find it absolutely essential they run a continual commentary about what’s happening on the stage.  Does the theater need to add more inclusive phrases alongside its “Please turn off your cell phones” reminder?  Things like, “Uses perfumes in moderation.”  And “Save your comments and witticism until after the performance.”

            The theater is so temporal, it’s sad when someone’s thoughtlessness distracts from the moment.

            Speaking of temporal: In this last Sunday’s Spokesman-Review Jim Kershner noted the impending retirement of the Civic Theater’s scenic and lighting designer Peter Hardie.  One thing I don’t believe Kershner mention in his article is that Hardie is also an actor.  I still recall the audience reaction to his excellent rendition of the lead character in the Civic’s production of Moliére’s Tartuffe.  That was back in 1993.  The entire play was spoken in rhyme — but any consciousness of that oddity seemed to dissipate after the first dozen stanzas.  It was magical.

            That’s the only regrettable thing about live theater — when the performance is over — or an actor’s career — everything that has transpired lives solely in memory.  Nothing of real substance lives on — like it would with film.  And that’s what makes distractions from the audience — distractions such as toxic perfumes and chronic nattering — so irritating.  The parts of the play missed can never be replayed.  Theater is totally in the moment.  If members of the audience aren’t respectful of that moment — aren’t respectful of their own part of the theatrical experience — it’s an insult to all those that love the theater.

            The Civic has two productions of note scheduled for this next season.  One is Grease.  It appears — or so I’ve read — that the movie version was far removed from what first appeared on the stage.  It will be interesting to see whether it’s the original stage version or one of the several revival stage versions that the theater intends to produce.  The other is The Producers.  This play has an interesting history in that it was originally a movie (Mel Brooks, 1968), then a stage play (2001), and once again a movie (2005).  The last film version, with Nathan Lane, Matthew Broderick and Uma Thurman, suffered to great extent from the lack of intimacy that makes these things extraordinary on stage.  But if the Civic manages to add back the magic, and the world doesn’t end before the September opening, this play is likely to be something spectacular.

            Just to be on the safe side we already have our season tickets and seat reservations — fifth row from the front.

Historical Fragments #4: Notes for "26 Missions."

Historical Fragments #4:

Notes for "26 Missions"

— An Enlisted Bombardier —

by

Wally Lee Parker

(member: Clayton/Deer Park Historical Society)

(all rights to this material retained by author)

— Click Here to View the First Page of the "26 Missions" Series. —

            Robert Willis Grove entered the service on October 8, 1941.  From late August, 1942, until the summer of 1943, he was with VIII Bomber Command (later known as the 8^th Army Air Force) in England.  From November 24, 1943, until August 3, 1945, he was in training as an Air Cadet.  On August 4, 1945, he was commissioned as a 2^nd Lt. United States Army Air Forces.

            The official documentation on hand tells us nothing of Willis Grove’s activities within the Army Air Forces between his date of enlistment and the date of his first advancement in rank in the summer of 1942.  An accounting between those dates should list his place of basic training and the various aircrew specialty schools he attended immediately after basic.  There is some possibly that his service records as either an enlisted man or his later records as a commissioned officer, if any such records have survived the system, would have those items listed.  However, it is my understanding that said records, if existent, can only be released at the request of the immediate family.

            What we do have is document ‘W. D., A. G. O. Form No. 58,” which certifies that “Private Robert W. Grove, 19060476, 92^nd Bombardment Group (H), AAF,” has been advanced to the rank of “Corporal, 407^th Bombardment Squadron (H), AAF.”  The certificate finishes by stating, “Given under my hand at Sarasota Army Airport, Sarasota, Florida this first day of July in the year of our Lord on thousand nine hundred and forty-two.  James S. Sutton, Lieutenant Colonel, AAF, commanding.”

            The 92^nd Bombardment Squadron (H) was brought into existence on January 28, 1942, and activated on the 1^st of March, 1942.  The (H) within the Squadron’s name stood for “Heavy” — referencing one of the army’s two types of four engine bombers in service at that time, in this case the B-17 (the other being the B-24).

            In his book “The Mighty Eighth in WWII,” Brigadier General J. Kemp McLaughlin, United States Air Force (Retired), recalls his arrival on the last day of April, 1942, at the 92^nd Bombardment Group’s headquarters at MacDill Army Airfield on the west coast of Florida — the airfield itself being situated at the southern tip of a peninsula within Tampa Bay.  Arriving as a newly minted 2^nd Lieutenant, Kemp was assigned to the 92^nd’s 407^th Bombardment Squadron.  In May the 407^th Squadron was repositioned a little further down the coast at Sarasota Army Airfield.

            Kemp writes that in the middle of June the 407^th was ordered to redeploy men and equipment north to Westover Air Base in Massachusetts.  On several of the ferrying flights Kemp was copiloting for Lieutenant Eugene Wiley of Denver, Colorado — the same Eugene Wiley whose propellers would later chew the tail off Lieutenant “Jimmy” Dempsey’s B-17 during the initial stage of the 407^th’s first actual combat mission.  And on each of the two above noted ferrying flights, according to the then 2^nd Lieutenant Kemp, on approaching New York City, Lieutenant Wiley buzz the Empire State Building with his B-17 — a stunt officially frowned upon.

            Despite Wiley’s delight at hot-rodding his four engine bomber, the reports regarding Lieutenant Wiley and Dempsey’s above noted mid-air collision over the water between England and France make it clear that the accident resulted from a compounded series of circumstances neither Wiley nor Dempsey initiated.

            As for Willis Grove’s listed position of bombardier on Dempsey’s aircraft during that mid-air incident, our assumption is that Grove was first attached to the 407^th Bombardment Squadron sometime between March 1^st and July 1^st, 1942 — most likely closer to the former.  The question none of this answers is when Willis Grove would have received his Military Occupational Specialty classification of enlisted bombardier.  Did he receive the schooling necessary to be classified as such prior to assignment with the 407^th or after assignment with the 407^th?

            Within the available literature there is quite a bit of ongoing confusion between the terms “enlisted bombardier” and ‘togglier” — confusion that results in the insistence by some that these terms are interchangeable.  The term togglier came into common use later in World War II and designated a member of the aircrew assigned the task of flipping the switch used to drop the bombs.  Although somewhat more complicated than suggested, reports from airmen who had that job indicate it only took one or two days of special training to become a togglier.  Essentially the togglier’s job during the bomb run was to sit in the nose of the aircraft and watch the lead bomber.  When the bomb bay doors on the lead aircraft were opened, the togglier opened the doors on his aircraft.  When the lead bombardier dropped his bombs, all the other bombardiers or toggliers in the group dropped theirs.  Before and after the actual bomb run, the togglier would resume his usual position on the aircraft — which appears to have normally been that of gunner.

            Various visual systems seem to have been used to designate the lead bomber other than position since that designation could, due to circumstance, change during the course of an attack.  Also systems such as the firing of specifically colored flares or painting the lead bomber’s bombs a bright color have been mentioned as visual aids for the other bombers within the group.  These are operational details that appear to have evolved over the course of the war — since wars tend to be learn-as-you-go experiences.  This means that different sources from different units during different time-periods can be quite inconsistent as to their descriptions of a typical bomb run.

            What does seem to be consistent is that having a group of 18 to 36 bombers flying in tight formation while each aircraft’s bombardier independently sighted and maneuver toward the target was infeasible.  Since only the lead aircraft actually used a bombsight to pinpoint the target, any shortcoming as to the number of qualified bombardiers within the formation could be made up for by designated toggliers.  Since said toggliers could be enlisted members of the aircrew, confusion has developed between the assigned position of togglier and the MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) of Enlisted Bombardier.

            It’s well documented that prior to the beginning of World War II enlisted army airmen were trained in the art of aerial bombardment.  Sources seem to suggest that between December of 1941 and the spring of 1942 a decision was made to discontinue the training of enlisted bombardiers.  After that rather ambiguous time frame it appears all new army bombardiers were expected to be commissioned officers.

            It also appears that the use of previously trained enlisted bombardiers continued throughout the war, primarily in small tactical operations in which individual aircraft were expected to select and bomb targets of opportunity within the designated area of operation.  As for enlisted bombardiers assigned to the massive VIII Bomber Command, a directive in place as of the summer of 1942 specifically forbid they fly as bombardiers.  No documentation has yet been found for the rationale beneath this policy.

            Regarding the training required to become an enlisted bombardier, War Department Technical Manual TM 12-427, “Military Occupational Classification of Enlisted Personnel — 12 July 1944,” describes the duties of MOS 509 — Bombardier — as, “Releases bombs on enemy targets from a bombardment airplane.”  So far it sounds exactly like a togglier.  But then the MOS goes on to say, “Adjust bombsight for such specific conditions as ground speed, elevation, and drift.  Identifies target and sights it through optical system of bombsight when pilot begins the run, releasing bombs when target is seen in correct relation to appropriate markings on bombsight.  Corrects bombsight adjustments when course is altered.  Reports effect of bomb hits to airplane commander.  Inspects and makes flight adjustments to bombsight and bomb release mechanisms.  Fires aerial machine guns.  Reads maps to identify and locate ground targets.”  And finally, “Must be physically qualified for high altitude flight.”

            This not only describes the same set of duties required of a commissioned bombardier, it also describes a set of skills not likely to be learned in a one or two day togglier’s class.

            To clarify it even further, the index of War Department Technical Manual TM 12-427 has two listings for “Bombardier.”  Under “B” we find “Bombardier — SSN 509 — page 67.”  Under “E” we find “Enlisted Bombardier — SSN 509 — page 67.”  It should be noted that both index references send the reader to the same MOS on the same page.  It should also be clarified that the initials “SSN”, when used in Technical Manual TM 12-427, stand for “Specification Serial Number.”

            All the above would suggest that the term “enlisted bombardier” was commonly used within the service when a specially trained and recognized bombardier wasn’t a commissioned officer.  That and the fact the Technical Manual TM 12-427 is specifically titled “Military Occupational Classification of Enlisted Personnel.”

            There’s no “specification serial number” for togglier in this army manual — no SSN for the term togglier or any of the several other arguable spellings of that term.  The general consensus among those that have looked into this is that the term togglier wasn’t recognized as an occupational specialty by the Army Air Forces.  All this would imply that any suggestion that enlisted bombardiers and toggliers were the same thing is incorrect and somewhat disrespectful since it discounts the two to three months of very intense training enlisted bombardiers underwent to earn their bombardier wings — a special insignia common to both enlisted and commissioned bombardiers; a special insignia that unit assigned toggliers would not have been permitted to wear.

            As for Robert Willis Grove’s entitlement to wear those wings, we have his son’s few recollections of the stories his father told, and two bits of physical evidence.

            First, this image of five names clipped from a two page set of orders dated 7 March, 1945 — orders transferring all the within listed airmen to a school for pilot training near Glendale, Arizona.  Reading across the list, first comes the trainee’s current rank, then, in parenthesis, the new student’s current specialty as signified by his MOS/SSN number, and lastly his name and military serial number.  Reading down the list of MOS numbers for the five airmen shown, we see; “612,” Airplane Armorer-Gunner; “757,” Radio Operator-Mechanic-Gunner, AAF; “509,” Bombardier; “750,” Airplane Maintenance Technician; “114,” Machinist.  This would suggest that the Army Air Forces considered Staff Sergeant Grove’s military specialty to be enlisted bombardier as of March 7, 1945 — as we contend he had been considered since at least the time of his first uncompleted combat mission in October of 1942.

Original document courtesy of Gordon Grove.

            Next is an undated photograph showing a platoon of aviation cadets at Luke Field, Arizona (most certainly from 1945).  Robert Grove is in the front row, fourth from left.  Of the 27 Air Cadets shown in this photo, Grove is the only one wearing campaign ribbons and wings.  An enlarged clip of Cadet Grove suggests to anyone familiar with Army Air Forces aircrew wings that Cadet Grove’s wings are those of a bombardier.  The wearing of these items for this photo appears to be within military protocol as it has been explained to me.

Photo courtesy of Gordon Grove.

Willis Grove's wings and ribbons.
Clipped from above photo.