Paging Mr. Clampett
When I grew up in Los Angeles, it always seemed both astonishing and mundane to me that my home town was one of the world’s greatest oil-producing regions. Adding Texas-type mineral riches on top of gold, agriculture, housing, movies and aerospace seemed like gratuitous good fortune, like a Hollywood star’s preposterous new contract. Yet petroleum production is the grimiest of industrial enterprises and glamorous only in Gothic terms; native industries were called upon to hide the “Big Oil” shoot on the back lot using marvelous, kitschy sets.
Current crude oil prices are driving old fields back into production, and the L.A. Basin still holds an estimated 2/3 of its reserves. If those reserves are opened up (gently) some funds would become available for expanding production under California environmental standards. (”Whaaa!” I hear neocons say, “strict eco-standards are costly and meddlesome!” Why, then, have Cailfornia’s auto and air standards been adopted worldwide? Answer: most people want the same air quality that rich folks do.) Perhaps we could find a way to artificially create contained underground reactions, or build big fuel-cell power stations powered by crude oil right out of the well next door. Now consider the new economic and political landscape created by America’s second largest city and biggest industrial region becoming a net energy exporter.