Now it is the 9th of April – the two month anniversary of the extraordinary Celebration of Henry’s life on the 9th of February. To those out there still with me – last night I returned from running away to Hawaii with Peter and family. I was home by 4:40 pm, and in Pocola, about 30 minutes away, by 6 pm for eight year old Hunter’s baseball game. (Today he brought me his uniform shirt – he wants a patch on it, over his heart, that will read: Henry Cook 14 Dodgers). For those confused: Gil Hodges, the highly respected and gifted Dodger first baseman, wore number 14. Henry’s number at Dodger Camp all those twenty five years was 14. The campers chose their numbers reflecting their admiration for their personal Dodger heroes. Henry wore a T-shirt right up until three months ago that reads, “Hey, Veterans Committee. WAKE UP!” There are some who know that this is code for: elect Hodges to the Hall of Fame at Cooperstown – where he rightfully belongs; this according to die-hard Dodger people.

I just now rose from this machine and got that shirt out of Henry’s drawer, to smell it. When Henry was on the rigs for those lengthy assignments early in our marriage, I would sleep with his unwashed pillowcase on my pillow – because it smelled like him. Oh dear, I can smell that I have washed this shirt since he wore it last, it smells like Bounce…did not mean to get too soupey here…this is so public, over the web…

4About Henry’s Celebration. As we were planning, it became apparent that, as much as many wanted to attend, no drillers were coming – due to many reasons. We received several long phone calls from drillers, and lovely letters and cards and emails, but there was to be no driller physically present, as far as I knew. (Much to my surprise and grateful delight, a weary and disheveled David Layton, who had driven an eight hour trip in about six hours, appeared Friday night during The Gathering, and was there for most of Saturday’s events, the Celebration and at the Cemetary – he could not come, but he did anyway. Old Drillers just cannot be apart.)

About three days before the 9th, I called Mike Miller in California, a driller and friend who had keep in touch with us since Henry’s initial surgery in February of 2005. As the end drew near, Mike told me he would come if he could. When I called, he and Delorise were quite ill, and he had just the day before mailed a lovely letter about Henry since they were too ill to come. Mike recovered pretty well in another day or so, and Delorise was still very ill, but insisted that he come, she was well enough to stay alone, and Mike came! arriving in Fort Smith just the day before. I had asked that he speak at the Celebration, representing The Drillers. He was very humble about this, plus what he would have said he sent in the letter – typewritten on crisp parchment paper. He sent the original, and made no copy. No computer for him! He’s been there, done that, and now he and Delorise live a life of serene simplicity.

Mike was at a loss, what would he say? Mike was in our kitchen the morning of the 9th. He nibbled at breakfast. Gamely he put on his leather aviator jacket Henry had handed down to him years ago.

(Aside here: Henry ordered that jacket, it was waiting in Auntie’s closet in Arkansas, for nearly a year and a half before he returned to the States to try it on. {Another aside. Yes. Eighteen months. Henry went on vaction only when forced to - or during baseball season, which ever came first. At one time he was told he had accrued more unused vaction time that anyone in Aramco had up until then - I think it was about six months. The kids and I had visions of traveling the world for a full half year. It was not to be, with kids in school. Henry unromantically, in the classic sense of that word, took the monetary payoff.} Back to the jacket story. Too small. He called the company, I think it was L.L. Bean, and explained the problem of ordering here and living there, and they said, no problem, send it back, we will send you the next size up. It fit. He loved that jacket, but in a few years he grew through the mid-section, losing the lean trim body that a pilot’s jacket required. He became Big Henry. Mike had been a Navy pilot in his other life before Aramco, and still maintained the lean body, and one day it dawned on Henry to will that jacket to a real aviator.)

Mike prepared to attend the Celebration at 11 am. At 9:30 am, the mail came – amongst the magazines and bills we found Mike’s letter!!!! Saved. He spoke easily now, using the letter, somewhat verbatim.

So, I called him again about three weeks ago, asking him if it would be alright to put his letter on Henry’s website. Since those at the Celebration heard it, I thought it would be nice if the rest of you could read it. Mike agreed – said he wrote it for our family and we could do with it as we pleased. With his permission, here it is:

Reflections on a Singular Man

In looking back over my life, who would have thought that a moderate desire to play softball would enable me to ultimately enjoy a successful career in Saudi Aramco’s Drilling Organization…yet I have no doubt that this is true.

It was in Abqaiq, early summer 1975, that I first met an individual whom I would in later years come to regard as extraordinary. This individual was Henry Cook, at that time a Superintendent in the Onshore Drilling Department. I had worked for Schlumberger as a logging engineer and thus knew a crown from a cellar, but had little appreciation for what it meant to be a ‘driller’ in the Aramco context. I can draw on no anecdotal reservoir to bring life to Henry’s experiences during drilling’s ‘glory days’.

He was without question a force on the ballfield, not by virtue of a particular prowess but by presence…Henry commanded respect without conscious effort.

I entered the Drilling Organization in 1980 and left Saudi Aramco in 1985, having risen to the position of Drilling Superintendent by that time. Henry was Manager, Offshore Drilling at that time in Ras Tanura and my contact with him was peripheral in those days.

Fast forward to Fall, 1989…Saudi Aramco is cranking up drilling activity and needs superintendents. My name is mentioned to Henry and the rest is history. My wife Delorise and I went to Houston for the interview, and I will never forget how the initial exchange went; I phoned Henry’s room and said something like, “Hi, Henry…it’s Mike Miller.” His response was, “Let’s eat!” I knew at that instant that all was right in my world. Later that evening he remarked that he intended to interview Delorise, not me, since I was a ‘known quantity’.

Delorise is nervous in new social situations, and at first felt very intimidated by Henry, but by the end of the evening she had been put at ease and knew that she had met someone very special. To this day, she speaks with great affection about how Henry drove us around Houston looking at homes, how Henry took an interest in her quilting artistry and saw to her enrollment in a needlepoint class shortly after we arrived in Saudi, and how, in her words, Henry seems to treat womankind as Southern Ladies.

Working for Henry was a privilege; in retrospect, it was clearly my best work experience at any time in my life. I would come to learn that this man was utterly trustworthy, and would likely support his people even beyond what they might deserve.

For me, trying to ‘know’ Henry was enigmatic; here was stoicism with humor, aloofness with warmth, but above all the presence…no matter who else was in the room, when Henry appeared you knew that someone had arrived. In the military context this might be referred to as a quality of leadership. Whatever it is, Henry possessed it in abundance; he has the totality of my admiration, respect and affection. Who was Henry Cook? He was the individual that we, in our best of hours, could only hope to emulate…a singular man.

May he rest peacefully as he so surely deserves.

Mike Miller

bye for now..Bonnie and the Cook Family