This quarter’s blog is a bit different than the ones before. I am writing this to share the story of Bud. Bud passed away on July 1st at 41 years of age – far too early. But he left an indelible mark on those around him, and I want to help his story live on – even in a small way – through this post.
Bud and I met about 10 years ago, but he had taken a long and winding path, that deeply shaped his character, to that point. He grew up outside San Antonio, Texas, a military brat. He was recruited to play baseball in college but quickly left to join the military himself. He enlisted in the Marine Corps and served multiple tours overseas during the time of the US’ wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. He was drawn back to the states in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, when he was hired to help support recovery efforts. After his time in the military, he decided he was ready to give college another chance, so he enrolled and began his studies in Biology. He paid his way through college by working at a “hotshot” business (pick-up / flatbed trucks delivering equipment to oilfield locations on-demand) and as an athletic trainer. After graduating, he, like many other veterans, found his way into the Oil & Gas industry working for Halliburton. It is not uncommon to find military veterans in Oil & Gas because there are many parallels – hazardous work, very remote locations, rigid protocols working in teams, etc. He managed offshore drilling processes for Halliburton before finding his way to Shell, supervising its well construction operations. This is where our paths crossed.
Bud could be misperceived based on his physical appearance – burly, scruffy, and mostly-tattooed – but was a kind and gentle soul whose only real goal was to leave the world a better place than he had found it. After realizing that his career in traditional energy wasn’t creating the impact he desired, he left to become a helicopter pilot in the Northwest, with the aspiration to support search and rescue and forest fire-fighting activities. He had just completed a significant milestone at the time of his death and had been spending his free time in Idaho volunteering for Habitat for Humanity. He loved animals and had a long history of adopting dogs, which went everywhere with him, including to the rig site. I struggled to keep track of all of them, but a few of his most recent were Harley, Ranger, and Bear. His dogs were more than companions to him, they were really an extension of his being. Their joy was Bud’s joy and their pain was Bud’s pain. Bud extended this same warmth to his colleagues – he truly worked for the people around him, above all else. Until you gave him a reason not to, he treated everyone at work with the same deep respect – he looked you in the eye, shook your hand, and you knew that you had his full commitment. This extended from senior management at Shell to the new hires, and crew supervisors on the rig site to the “greenhat” trainees. In an industry that can be very hierarchical and macho, he epitomized servant leadership and spoke truth to power (often, to his own detriment). A special example of this is the bond he built with one of our roughnecks, named Juero. Juero was our derrickman, the worker who manned the top of the rig, one of the most dangerous occupations on the wellsite. He wore just one sticker on his hardhat, which read “Father at Work.” He barely spoke English, but that didn’t inhibit his contributions to our teams on site – he was a hard worker who did things the right way and supported however he could. Bud quickly recognized this and the two formed a special friendship that lasted years that Bud worked in the desert. Bud didn’t see Juero as a cog in the drilling machine, or a means to an end, but a colleague, a friend, and a father. Each “hitch” (two-week work stint in the desert), they’d talk about Juero’s family and aspirations. Bud fostered many such relationships on the wellsite and he led with this care and kindness in spite of the struggles and setbacks of his own that he grappled with over the years. Bud was one of the most generous people I had ever met in terms of his time and resources. Him giving his time and resources was one way he made his desire to connect to the people around him, known.
Bud was full of life, his energy was infectious, and the way he cultivated it was by giving it to and taking it from the people around him (his Monster Energy consumption didn’t hurt, but we will leave that for now). He used to brag, in jest, about how good he was at finding awesome friends but I think the core of that was how open he was, and how he really gave everyone a chance. He didn’t care what you were or what title you held – he cared only about how you showed up and treated the people around you. He was the type of person you could bring anyone to, and know that Bud would give them a fair shake. He was an incredibly active being, and true to form he loved just about everything that moved – including his trucks, his motorcycles, and ultimately helicopters. While he epitomized absolute commitment, he had a gift for keeping things light even in the most tense of circumstances (and there were plenty on the wellsite). One of my favorite Bud traditions was his habit of sneaking funny pictures of his work colleague friends into his presentations at Shell’s ”Foremen’s Meetings” (imagine a meeting of 20 – 30 rig site supervisors in the desert about wellsite safety, interrupted by a picture of one of them in overalls sporting mutton chops). I don’t know if this was his way of entertaining his friends or dissuading management from asking him to make presentations, but it was effective in both cases. There was a long list of such harmless antics.
While Bud was a proper goofball, he had an incredible performance drive and was always pushing himself and the people around him to be the best versions of themselves. One of his most recent efforts to this end was to do 40 ten-mile runs in his 40th year. I don’t think he quite got there, but he came close. Bud’s physical fitness – formerly an elite athlete and combat veteran – became a recurring challenge for him over time. He’d often bring his bench press to the well site (remember, this is the middle of the desert). He underwent disc replacement in his back, and a second time after one of the replacement discs had eroded, which nearly, completely, immobilized him before and during a work assignment in Australia. But he was resilient and would always get back on the horse in spite of setbacks. I believe that his drive to be better, and make those around him better, was also what made him an unbelievable mentor. For no reason other than his desire to connect and support, he was an incredible coach for young professionals at Shell. He had a special sense of when to push, and when to nudge his mentees out of their comfort zone, but also when to support and serve as the safety net that they needed. In a job that often – unpredictably – required decisions with significant financial, safety, and environmental implications, this was a gift and how he helped his mentees grow without sacrificing the wellbeing of the rest of the people on the wellsite. He was very competent technically but the most important lessons he taught to those around him were how to show up and lead, particularly in difficult circumstances. He led with a strong solutions orientation and amongst his greatest lessons was to show how “you don’t get what you don’t ask for.” Oil & Gas can be grueling and intimidating, and he was the perfect coach for early career professionals in this context. Bud spoke almost entirely in hyperbole, which was always entertaining and made for good banter, but I believe representative of just how ambitious he was. It was amazing to watch him learn with his mentees; as passionately as he gave to others, he knew his own opportunities for growth and worked on himself.
Bud had a special ability to make those around him feel “known.” He was an older brother to me. His passing has me saddened that the world didn’t get more of Bud, and that he wasn’t able to experience the world in a way that he wanted to, but motivated to live the way that he did and taught. We should all aspire to be and find friends like him. I miss and think about him a lot, and now will remember him.