No Goblins Got Ellen on 11th Floor--Visiting Standard Oil Headquarters over a century ago

More than 100 years ago, the Standard Oil Company of Indiana (later Amoco Corporation, now BP) published an article in the April 1922 issue of their company magazine, the Stanolind Record, written by a young woman who worked in the company's La Crosse, Wisconsin office and the adventure she had visiting the home office in Chicago as well as the big refinery in nearby Whiting, Indiana. It provided an interesting look at the way companies that were considered progressive for the era were run. 

The Chicago headquarters at the time was located at 910 South Michigan Avenue, where they would remain until the company moved to a modern skyscraper built nearby in the 1970s. Over the years the company merged its operations with American Oil Company and would use the Amoco brand, officially changing the corporate name to Amoco Corporation in 1985. It merged with British Petroleum (BP) in 1998. The Whiting refinery, originally built in 1889, is still in operation as a unit of BP.

Here is the article as it originally appeared on pages 5-6, a piece of history that I feel should be preserved.

NO GOBLINS GOT ELLEN ON 11TH FLOOR

Fair Visitor from La Crosse Finds "Sacred" Precincts Hospitable

      Miss Ellen Wood, employed in the La Crosse office of the Standard Oil Company (Indiana), recently visited the Home Office, Chicago, and the refinery at Whiting, Ind. Learning of the trepidation with which Miss Wood had ventured upon the Eleventh Floor, and the surprise she received, we asked her to write an account of her "adventures".--EDITOR

  Editor, Stanolind Record: I shall be glad to write what I can for the benefit of those who have not had the wonderful opportunity of visiting the Chicago office and Whiting refinery.

   Being young and alone, and standing in some awe of the Home Office, I hardly knew whether to venture there or not. I had a letter to Miss Burns, who was formerly employed at LaCrosse and is now secretary to Mr. Allan Jackson, but Miss Burns was on the Eleventh Floor, where the Board of Directors meets and where several members of the Board have their offices! To me the Eleventh Floor seemed a sacred precinct where no ordinary mortal dared venture. I do not think I am the only one who has that impression--in fact, I know I am not, for when I left LaCrosse some other employees laughed at my idea of getting a pass to visit Whiting and doubted if I would even be able to get the the Eleventh Floor.

   However, I took the elevator to the Fourth Floor and tried to look brave when I asked at the information desk if I could get to see Miss Burns. The cordial affirmative reply I received surprised me, especially when I was told to go right up, without a bodyguard or anything. This in itself, was a little alarming, however, for I felt in need of a bodyguard when I ventured into the "sacred precincts". Every second I expected to have someone appear and demand: "Here, what are you doing here?"

   Imagine my delighted surprise when I was received with cordial courtesy and conducted immediately to Miss Burns. She arranged for me to see some old LaCrosse acquaintances who are now in the Home Office, and when I expressed curiosity as to the room where the Board of Directors meets, she led me right in there. I know now that I could have seated myself in one of the chairs and pretended for a moment to be Chairman of the Board without anyone punishing me for it. Miss Burns told Mr. Allan Jackson, head of the sales department, of my desire to visit Whiting, and he not only procured for me a pass but arranged for me to have dinner at the refinery the next day so I would have time to see the whole plant. The "goblins" of the Eleventh floor are certainly the most gentlemanly, cordial goblins I ever heard of. I guess our superstitious awe of the Eleventh floor is because we do not see often enough the people who inhabit it.

   The Home Office was fine to visit, but to one accustomed to working in an office there was not much that was new, except that everything was on a larger scale than in is at LaCrosse. At the refinery, however, everything was strange.

   At the Whiting office I was given a pass to any part of the works, and as it had started to snow, Mr. Glair, assistant superintendent, took me to the yards in one of the new Dodge coupes. We drove past the stills where gasoline and other products are extracted from the crude oil. I visited the plant where the wax is separated from the oil. At this place everything was oily and slippery, and I tell you I put on my non-skid chains for it would have been terrible to have had it appear in the Stanolind Record that I couldn't stand up when I got to Whiting. What would the folks have said back home?

   The candle shops were among the most interesting features of the plant. Everything was explained in detail and I think now I would make a fine candle salesman, for I know how the many colored candles and all the rest are made. Christmas candles for this year were started the day after Christmas and Eastertide candles are being turned out by the thousands. There was one girl in this building whom I cannot forget. She was packing parowax. I was told she packs a thousand pounds an hour, and the way her hands flew was better than any movie. 

   At the can house all the containers are made for oils and greases sold in small quantities. It is wonderful to know that they depend on no outside concern for all these things. The city of Chicago could be almost furnished with ice if the freezing plant were used for that purpose.

   Last, but not least, I visited the Community House which is under construction. The only thing lacking is a golf course and a skating rink and the latter might even be made out of the swimming tank. There is a wonderful auditorium, gymnasium with a running track, hand-ball court, bowling alleys, reception rooms, each having a fireplace, and davenports will be added later. Doesn't that sound like home? This place, as well as the whole refinery must be seen to be fully appreciated. I sincerely hope to have the opportunity of visiting Whiting again when the weather is not so much like a blizzard. One day is only a start in such an impressive plant.

   One place I didn't find is where water is mixed with the gasoline!

   Hoping I have not tired you and that something may be of interest, I remain.

Respectfully, ELLEN WOOD. 

Fresh-killed chicken.

Fifty years ago, Mobil Oil Corporation ran a series of rather graphic, sharply-worded advocacy ads in newspapers about unsafe driving and young people, with the slogan, "We want you to live." Many decades before anyone conceived of the current problem of texting while driving. Nonetheless, the ads are very much worth taking another look at.

This one, titled "Fresh-killed chicken," featured a depiction of a deceased young man, face-down on the pavement, wearing a "Jets" jacket. It ran in the Minneapolis Star and other newspapers across the United States on October 10, 1966.

Bravo.

Let's hear it for the winner.

That's him lying there--the dead one.

Or is he the loser?

You can't tell. Not that it matters very much. Because in the in the idiot game of "chicken," two cars speed straight for each other. Head on.

With luck, one car steers clear in the nick of time. Without luck, neither car steers clear. And the winner and the loser are equally dead.

Some "game."

It took God Almighty to stop Abraham from making a blood sacrifice on his son. What do you suppose it will take to make us stop sacrificing our children?

We who bear them in sterilized hospitals, stuff them with vitamins, educate them expensively, and then hand over the keys to the car and wait with our hearts in our mouths.

Too bad we educate them only to make a living and not to stay alive.

Because right now--this year--car accidents kill more young people than anything else. Including war. Including cancer. Including anything.

Yet we allow it.

Incredibly enough, fewer than half the young people who get drivers' licenses every year have passed a training course.

Which leaves well over 2 million (!) youngsters who get licenses every year without passing such a course.

And this is the price we pay: 13,200 young people between 15 and 24 died in automobile accidents in 1965. (The exact number for 1966 isn't in yet; it will probably be higher.) It's a gruesome answer to the population explosion. And if we all sit still about it, we ourselves are "chickening out."

Yet we mustn't frighten out youngsters; they're frightened enough. We must teach them.

Does your school system have a driver training course? Are there books in your school library or public library on driving? (did you know such books exist? Do they know?)

Are requirements for getting a driver's license in your state tough enough? Are your radio and TV stations paying any attention to the problem? Your newspapers?

Does anyone in your community give awards for good driving? The PTA? Or the Boy Scouts? The Chamber of Commerce? the churches or synagogues?

What kind of a driver are you yourself? Do you set a good example or a poor one?

Would your company insist on a driver training course before they'd hire someone?

Would your schools insist on a training course before they'd turn a youngster loose?

Would it help?

Yes it would. Education works. Drivers in large truck fleets are trained to drive safely. And some of them have dropped accident rates to only about half that of the general public.

It would cost little or nothing to get these things going. And we haven't a minute to spare. It's blood that we have on our hands, not time.

We at Mobil sell gasoline and oil for our living to the living. Naturally, we'd like young people to grow up into customers. But for now we'd be happy if they'd simply grow up.

Mobil. We want you to live.