It’s 1976, south of Immokalee, Fla.

Rig No. 16, owned by Progress Drilling, was drilling a 16-inch hole to 1,800-ft., set to a 13 3/8-inch surface pipe. Bill Cropper was the day shift driller, and then 19-year-old Bob Parker was his derrick hand.  

Bill was a fast driller, and he knew if he wanted to drill this hole fast but he couldn’t take the time to let it circulate clean before making connections, and for that kind of drilling he needed thick mud so that the cuttings would stay suspended in the hole, and not sink to the bottom while he and his crew made connections.  

Bill wanted his clean mud to always weigh at least nine pounds per gallon, and he wanted it so thick that the son of God was not the only one who could walk on it. Some drillers call high viscosity mud “Jesus Mud.” Bill called it "Jesus and everyone else’s mud,” and if a gallon of it didn’t weigh a minimum of nine pounds he could and would run you off.  

Since this was the first string of casing, the drill pipes were being installed as singles, sucked up through the V-door, and there was no need for Bob to be in the derrick at the time. Bill and the roughnecks would make a drill pipe connection in about three minutes, start the mud pump, put the table in gear, throw the brake handle up, kelly down another three minutes, and repeat. Off to the left of Bill about 30 yards away, next to the mud pit was a pale tan cloud of dust.  

You couldn’t see it for the dust cloud, but in the middle of it all was a super sack of cheap bentonite hanging from a loader bucket above a mud hopper, and Bob Parker was controlling the flow of bentonite from the bag into the hopper with ungloved hands, no hard hat, and not wearing a respirator of any kind.  

Present day, Pine Island, Fla.

Bob is close to 70 years old, and he's supposed to be enjoying his second year of retirement. I called him recently just to say hello and ask if the fish were biting. I knew we wouldn’t be talking about fishing for long, and the conversation would turn to him telling me a story that I probably already heard him tell about one of the many wells that he drilled.  

He bought his retirement home on Pine Island, and a skiff rigged up nicely for snook, and trout fishing. He said that he hasn't been fishing and told me that he has Stage Three lung cancer. I didn’t want to hear that, and later I got to thinking about Bob, how we met, how those oil wells in Florida connected us. 

My step dad “Driller Mike” also worked that oil field at the same time as Bob did, and how even though when I met him I had around forty years of drilling experience he was still able to teach me a few good things. I thought about how many other drillers learned tricks that Bob taught, and how those other drillers, and myself passed those tricks down, to be passed down again, and again.  

July 2019, Ft. Lauderdale, Fla.

It was my second day working for Youngquist Brothers. I think I was drilling a 56-inch hole to about 350 feet, with mud to set 48-inch casing. On my first day another driller, who was working the night shift named Bob Acord walked me around the site, showed me the basics of how to run the rig, watched me drill the last five or so feet of the rod he was drilling on, and make a connection.  

He said: “I think you know what you're doing, if you have any questions the driller on the other rig is Bob Parker. Walk over and ask him for help. See you tonight, and good luck. I’m going home.”  

I needed plenty of help those first few days because it was an all-electric rig capable of pulling 500,000 pounds, with two mechanical control centers filled with VFD’s. Something was always tripping out, and needing to be reset. Bob Parker and I became friends immediately, he loved to talk about the old times. He told me a story once about a rig hand that was working opposite of his shift on those oil wells in Florida, the guy was named Tex, and one night Tex shot a man in the head at a bar.  

Tex had long hair, a Fu Man Chu mustache, and road red Honda motorcycle. Bob also had long hair, the same style of mustache, and rode a red motorcycle, but his was a Kawasaki. One morning before sunrise when Bob was riding in to work on the long dirt road that cut through the farms owned by ranchers that weren't happy about oil wells being drilled on their farmland, he looked in his rearview mirror and saw three sets of head lights gaining on him fast.  

Bob thought to himself “those ranchers are after me, I better boogie to the rig where I'll be safe!” He twisted the throttle, bringing all 750 cubic centimeters of his bike to life. He was in fact losing them until the spot in the road where it curved to the left, he lost traction and boogied right into a pile of dirt. He laid there for a few seconds stunned from the wreck, realized that he was uninjured, remembered that he was being chased, and stood up to face the ranchers and whatever afflictions they were planning to bring down on him.  

He hoped that causing him to wreck would be enough for them. It wasn't long before they got to where he was. They quickly exited their trucks with guns drawn and yelled out:  

“F.B.I., put your hands behind your head and turn around Tex!”  

Bob did as Tex was told to do, they handcuffed him, and all the while he was telling them who he was and that he wasn’t Tex. They let Bob go and he was able to ride his bike the rest of the way to the rig, where he told his story to Bill, and explained to him that he didn’t much feel like working after that ordeal.  

Bill said: “Who's going to mix mud? If you don’t work today, don't come back tomorrow. There’re three other boys who want your job!”  

He should have gone home, and quit drilling altogether, he might have been better off today.  

But I don’t think the world would be.  

Bob Parker has drilled hundreds of large diameter deep municipal water wells and Class 1 injection wells in Florida and many oil wells in Texas. He once built his own well drilling rig to drill residential wells in Ft. Myers, Fla. He gave his whole life to the well drilling industry, so that the rest of the world could have oil to burn, water to drink, and have a place for ‘it’ to go when they flush the toilet.  

In return, he got three divorces, cancer, arthritis, lost his hearing, mistaken for a murderer named Tex, and retired nearly broke. This has been a difficult story for me to write. I’ve been writing it for two months now. I called Bob again, and when he answered the phone he said, “Hey old man, I don’t feel like talking this chemotherapy has me feeling really bad.” 

I replied: “Hang in there, Cat Daddy, I’m praying for you.”  

It’s all that I could think to say, and I hung up feeling like I was losing my brother or my father. I called him again even more recently, and he wasn’t doing good, but better than he was the week before. I only met Bob seven years ago, but it seems like I’ve known him for a lifetime.  

Well, in a way I have, because every driller I have ever known is Bob Parker, as am I and you if you’re in this industry as well. We all do this job not because it's going to make us any more than an average income. Not because it's easy, because it's not. We do it because the world needs us to do it. Most of us have a dream of someday retiring, and spending a few years fishing, or hunting, and watching our grandkids grow up.  

For too many of us that dream never comes true or gets stolen from us like Bob’s did.  

So be careful when you work today. Some of the dangers we face are obvious like slips and falls, caught betweens, falling objects, pinch points, and line strikes. But some aren't obvious. So, in honor of my friend Bob and this being safety month, please do the following:  

• Wear a respirator when you mix mud, or cement.  
• Wear rubber gloves when you use WD- 40, or PB blaster,  
• Wear long sleeves in the sun.  

What you do today or did yesterday will affect your tomorrows.  

When you see that young helper mixing mud without a dust mask, tell him about Bob and bring him a mask.  

Thanks for taking the time to read this story. Please say a prayer for Bob if praying is something you do.