Overload (19 page)

"Can you prove that?" a reporter from the San lose Mercury asked.

Van Buren shook her bead. "Unfortunately no one had the foresight to take

air samples before drilling began. So we can never compare the 'before'

and 'after,' and we're stuck with the critics."

"Who are probably right" San lose Mercury said sardonically. "Everybody

knows a big outfit like Golden State Power bends the truth now and then."

"I'll take that as a joke," the p.r. director responded. "But one thing

is true. We try to meet our critics halfway."

A new voice said skeptically, "Give one example."

"There's one right here. It has to do with the smell. Because of the

objections I told you about, we located two recently built power plants

on ridges. There are strong air currents there which dissipate all odors

quickly."

"So what happened?" Nancy Molineaux asked.

"There have been even more complaints than before-from environmentalists

who say we've ruined the skyline."

There was mild laughter and one or two people wrote in notebooks.

"We bad another no-win situation," Van Buren said. "GSP & L made a film

about our geothermal generating system. When we started, the script had

a scene showing bow a hunter named William Elliott discovered this place

in 1847. He shot a grizzly bear, then looked up from his rifle sights and

saw steam gushing from the ground. Well, some wildlife people read the

script and said we ought not to show a grizzly being killed because bears

are now protected here. So . . . the script was rewritten. In the film

the hunter misses. The bear gets away."

A radio reporter with a tape machine going asked, "What's wrong with

that?"

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"The descendants of William Elliott threatened to sue us. They said their

ancestor was a famous hunter and a crack shot. He wouldn't have missed the

grizzly; he'd have shot it. Therefore the film maligned his reputation-and

the family's."

"I remember that," the L.A. Timesman said.

Van Buren added: "The point I'm making is: In advance of anything we do-as

a public utility-we can be certain we'll be kicked in the butt from one

direction or the other, sometimes both."

"Would you prefer us to weep now?" Nancy Molineaux inquired. "Or later?"

The TV cameraman rapped on the bus door and was readmitted.

"If everyone's ready we'll move on to lunch," Van Buren said. She motioned

to the bus driver. "Let's go."

A feature writer from New West magazine asked her, "Any booze, Tess?"

"Maybe. If everyone agrees it's off the record." As she looked around

inquiringly there were calls of "Okay," "Off the record," and "That's a

deal."

"In that case-yes, drinks before lunch."

Two or three in the bus gave a ragged cbeer.

Behind the exchange was a piece of recent history.

Two years earlier GSP & L bad been generous in supplying food and liquor

during a similar press tour. The press representatives had eaten and

imbibed with gusto, then, in published reports, some bad sniped at GSP & L

for extravagant entertaining at a time of rising utility bills. As a

result, food supplied to the press nowadays was deliberately modest and,

unless an off-the-record pledge was given, liquor was withheld.

The stratagem worked. Whatever else the press criticized, they now kept

silent* about their own care and feeding.

The bus traveled about a mile within the geothermal field's rugged terrain,

over narrow roads, uneven in places, winding between wellheads, generator

buildings and the ever-present maze of hissing, steaming pipes. There were

few other vehicles. Because of danger from scalding steam, the public was

banned from the area and all visitors escorted.

At one point the bus passed a huge switching and transformer yard. From

here, high voltage transmission lines on towers carried power across the

mountains to a pair of substations forty miles away, where it was funneled

into the backbone of the Golden State Power & Light electric system.

On a small, asphalted plateau were several house trailers which served as

offices, as well as living quarters, for on-site crews. The bus balted

beside them. Teresa Van Buren led the way into one trailer where places bad

been set on trestle tables. Inside she told a Nvhitecoated kitchen helper,

"Okay, open the tiger cage." He produced a key

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and unlocked a wall cabinet to reveal liquor, wine, and mixes. A moment

later a bucket of ice was brought in and the p.r. director told the

others, "Everybody help yourselves."

Most were on their second drink when the sound of an aircraft engine

overhead became audible, then grew quickly in volume. From the trailer's

windows several people watched a small helicopter descending. It was

painted in GSP & L's orange and white and bore the company insignia. It

alighted immediately outside and the rotors slowed and stopped. A door

at the front of the fuselage opened. Nim Goldman clambered out.

Moments later Nim joined the group inside the trailer. Teresa Van Buren

announced, "I think most of you know Mr. Goldman. He's here to answer

questions."

"I'll put the first question," a TV correspondent said cheerfully. "Can

I mix you a drink?"

Nim grinned. "Thanks. A vodka and tonic."

"My, my!" Nancy Molineaux observed. "Aren't you the important one, to

come by helicopter when the rest of us rated a bus!"

Nim regarded the young, attractive black woman cagily. He remembcred

their previous encounter and clash; also Teresa Van Buren's assessment

of Ms. Molineaux as an outstanding newspaperwoman. Nim still thought she

was a bitch.

"If it's of any interest," he said, "I had some other work to do this

morning, which is why I left later than you and came the way I did."

Nancy Molineaux was not deterred. "Do all the utility executives use

helicopters when they feel like it?"

"Nancy," Van Buren said sharply, "you know damn well they don't."

"Our company," Nim volunteered, "owns and operates a half-dozen small

aircraft, including two helicopters. Mainly they are used for patrolling

transmission lines, checking mountain snow levels, conveying urgent

supplies, and in other emergencies. Occasionally-very occasionally-one

will convey a company executive if the reason is important. I was told

this session was."

"Are you implying that now you're not so sure?"

"Since you ask, Miss Molineaux," Nim said coldly, "I'll admit to having

doubts."

"Hey, knock it off, Nancy!" a voice called from the rear. "The rest of

us are not interested in this."

Ms. Molineaux wheeled on her colleagues. "Well, I am. I'm concerned about

how the public's money is squandered, and if you aren't, you should be."

"The purpose of being here," Van Buren reminded them all, "is to view our

geothermal operations and talk about . . ."

"No!" Ms. Molineaux interrupted. "That's your purpose. The press decides

its own purposes, which may include some of yours, but also anything else

we happen to see or hear and choose to write about."

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"She's right, of course." The comment came from a mild-mannered man in

rimless glasses, representing the Sacramento Bee.

"Tess," Nim told Van Buren as he sipped his vodka and tonic, I just decided

I prefer my job to yours."

Several people laughed as the p.r. director shrugged.

"If all the horseshit's finished," Nancy Molineaux said, "I'd like to know

the purchase price of that fancy eggbeater outside, and how much an hour it

costs to operate."

"I'll inquire," Van Buren told her, "and if the figures are available, and

if we decide to make them public, I'll make an announcement tomorrow. On

the other hand, if we decide it's internal company business, and none of

yours, I'll report that."

"In which case," Ms. Molineaux said, unperturbed, "I'll find out some other

way."

Food had been brought in while they talked-a capacious platter of hot meat

pies and, in large earthenware dishes, masbed potatoes and zucchini. Two

china jugs held steaming gravy.

"Pile in!" Teresa Van Buren commanded. "It's bunkhouse food, but good for

gourmands."

As the group began helping itself, appetites sharpened by the mountain air,

the tensions of a moment earlier eased. When the first course was eaten, a

half-dozen freshly baked apple pies appeared, accompanied by a gallon of

ice cream and several pots of strong coffee.

"I'm sated," Los Angeles Times announced at length. He leaned back from the

table, patted his belly and sighed. "Better talk some shop, Tess, while

we're still awake."

The TV man who had mixed Nim's drink now asked him, "How many years are

these geysers good for?"

Nim, who had eaten sparingly, took a final sip of black, unsweetened

coffee, then pushed his cup away. "I'll answer that, but let's clear up

something first. What we're sitting over are fumaroles, not geysers.

Geysers send up boiling water with steam; fumaroles, steam onlymuch better

for driving turbines. As to how long the steam will last, the truth is: no

one knows. We can only guess."

"So guess," Nancy Molineaux said.

"Thirty years minimum. Maybe twice that. Maybe more."

New West said, "Tell us what the bell's going on down there in that crazy

teakettle."

Nim nodded. "Tbe earth was once a molten mass-gaseous and liquid. When it

cooled, a crust formed which is why we're living here and now and not

frying. Down inside, though-twenty miles downit's as damned hot as ever and

that residual heat sends up steam through thin places in the crust. Like

here."

Sacramento Bee asked, "How thin is thin?"

"We're probably five miles above the hot mass now. In that five

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miles are surface fractures where the bulk of the steam has collected.

When we drill a well we try to hit such a fracture."

"How many other places like this produce electricity?"

"Only a handful. The oldest geothermal generating plant is in Italy, near

Florence. There's another in New Zealand at Wairakei, and others in

Japan, Iceland, Russia. None is as big as California's."

"There's a lot more potential, though," Van Buren interjected. "Es-

pecially in this country,"

Oakland Tribune asked, "Just where?"

"Across the entire western United States," Nim answered. "From the Rocky

Mountains to the Pacific."

"It's also one of the cleanest, non-polluting, safest forms of energy,"

Van Buren added. "And-as costs go nowadays-cheap."

"You two should do a soft-shoe routine," Nancy Molineaux said. "All

right-two questions. Number one: Tess used the word 'safe.' But there

have been accidents here. Right?"

All the reporters were now paying attention, most of them writing in

notebooks or with tape recorders switched on.

"Right," Nim conceded. "There were two serious accidents, three years

apart, each when wellheads blew. That is, the steam got out of control.

One well we managed to cap. The other-'Old Desperado' it's known as-we