Louisiana Economy on Bumpy Road as Oil Drilling Slows

U.S. 90 snakes its way along Louisiana’s coastal area from one end of the state to the other, and the signs of the times are easily found.

“For Sale,” says one.

“Closed,” says another.

“Calm Seas Never Made Good Sailors,” says a third.

From New Orleans to Lake Charles, U.S. 90 is the aorta of Louisiana’s offshore oil industry, the lifeline of a peculiar business that offers work and wealth to those willing to live afloat 50 miles out in the Gulf of Mexico.

In good times, the locals will tell you, the oil booms were so lucrative that company officials would drive up and down U.S. 90 offering hitchhikers well-paying jobs on offshore oil derricks. Thousands of people lived on the sea at one time, working hundreds of rigs.

But in these times, when a barrel of imported oil costs as little as a case of imported beer, the giant offshore oil rigs have been anchored inland, and the supply boats that fed the rigs’ workers and materials have been tied up three abreast at dockside.

Businesses along U.S. 90, bars and restaurants and oil service companies, have taken a beating. Roustabouts and day laborers have hitchhiked out of town. Roadside shrimp stands accept food stamps. And the offshore oil economy is a shambles.

Russell Billiot worked his way up to captain of a 185-foot-long supply boat serving offshore oil rigs. Work was in seven-day shifts, seven on and seven off, and the money was good.

“I worked myself up from 30-foot crew boats to 185-foot supply boats, and was making $100 a day,” Billiot said. “It was fun.”

Now Billiot mows lawns wearing a work shirt he bought at a used clothing store, a shirt that says “Troy” at the breast. It is tough finding work in Houma these days, and he will never make the kind of money he made working the oil rigs. But Billiot says his taste for the offshore life is gone.

“I’ve seen it up and down but it’s never been this bad,” Billiot said. “It’s too up-and-down for me. I wouldn’t go back.”

Changed Church Services

At the First Presbyterian Church, on U.S. 90, the schedule of services includes a financial planning seminar. Two of the six members of the board of advisers have been laid off, the Rev. William Lindner says, and the congregation is facing new challenges.

“Everyone is touched by the oil field. We’ve found a real need, and we wanted to minister to that,” Lindner said. “I sense depression amongst a lot of folks. . . . In Houma, there’s a sense that oil giveth, and oil taketh away.”

About 30 miles east down U.S. 90 in Gibson, James Gilmore suddenly finds himself as a one-man operation. Oceanonics Inc., an offshore surveying firm, has laid off all of the employees under Gilmore, and his pay has been cut in half.

“I haven’t had a single crew working here this year,” Gilmore said. “Last year I had to turn down work because I couldn’t get enough equipment or people. This year, it’s nil.”

When business does pick up, skilled surveyors will be hard to find, Gilmore fears, because many have found jobs elsewhere.

“In this area, everything is hurting because people have left. Even the barber shops are hurting,” he said.

New Business Hurt

Peggy Champagne opened CPL Supply Inc. on U.S. 90 in Morgan City two years ago to sell hardware and equipment to the offshore drillers and service companies. Business was good--until December.

“Somebody just shut off the tap,” Champagne said. “In December, sales fell 50%, and then stayed like that. . . . We definitely went in at the wrong time.”

There are days, she said, when she doesn’t know if she can meet the payroll. But as the family business celebrated its second anniversary in mid-May, hopes were growing that a turnaround was on the way. Business had picked up 10% or so in the last month, and the price of oil was inching up on the spot market.

“We keep thinking that if we can make it now, God only knows what the limit is” when the offshore business booms, she said.

CPL lies on a strip of U.S. 90 fronting the Intercoastal Waterway, where the giant offshore rigs are tied up and the major manufacturers are idled.

For Sale, Closed

In a four-mile stretch of the road, 24 businesses appear closed. Many have “For Lease” signs, some “For Sale,” some simply say “Closed”--shades drawn, lawns shaggy.

The only thing up these days at the Winn-Dixie grocery store on U.S. 90 in Morgan City are the job applications, and manager Mark Guillot is not hiring.

“Look at all the empty buildings up and down the road. They weren’t that way six months ago,” said Guillot, whose sales are down 10%.

At the Blowout Lounge, a crusty waterfront joint with a crude rendition of an offshore rig ablaze painted on the front, the regulars nurse beer knowing that they cannot afford many rounds these days.

The lounge is typical of the bawdy, brawling life style of the offshore roustabouts and roughnecks, the tattooed laborers who form the backbone of the drilling business.

Gary Smith has his unemployment checks mailed to the Blowout. He collects $105 a week in unemployment compensation, and $10 a month in food stamps.

“It used to be you couldn’t even sit in a bar and have a beer before somebody would want you to get back out to work,” said Smith, who worked as a boat hand.

Boats in Bankruptcy

Out front, boats worth $2 million apiece are tied up three and four abreast. Many are now in bankruptcy proceedings, says the former captain of the “Decathalon” who draws half his pay now to stand guard over the dock. He says he does not want to be identified because “an ex-wife who’s looking for me thinks I’m in Tennessee.”

Lindner shrugs, recalling the festive, feisty heyday of the offshore industry, “when winos would hitchhike into Houma and be offshore within an hour making more money than I’ll ever make.”

Like politicians and Chamber of Commerce officials, he sees a silver lining in the dark cloud, a chance for the local economies to kick their addiction to oil and find more stable industry.

But few along the Louisiana coast see salvation coming quickly.

“My prayer is that Houma will survive, and will be better for it,” Lindner said.

“Calm Seas,” as the sign says, “Never Made Good Sailors.”