There were reluctant murmurs of assent. Tunipah, as everyone around the table realized, could prove the most controversial of the three developments now being discussed. It was also, in several ways, the most vital of their plans.
Tunipah was a wilderness area near the California-Nevada border. It was neither inhabited-the nearest small town was forty miles distant -nor favored by sportsmen or naturalists since it held little of interest for either. 'tle region was difficult to get to and no roads, only a few trails, traversed it. For all these reasons Tunipah had been chosen carefully.
What Golden State Power & Light proposed to build at Tunipah was an enormous generating plant, capable of producing more than five million kilowatts of electricity-enough to supply six cities the size of San Francisco. The fuel to be used was coal. This would be transported by rail from Utah, seven hundred miles away, where coal was plentiful and relatively cheap. A rail link would be built-to the main line of the Western Pacific Railroad-at the same time as the plant.
Coal could be North America's answer to Arab oil. Coal deposits within the conterminous United States represent a third of the entire world's known supply and are more than enough to satisfy U.S. energy needs for three centuries. Alaska is believed to have another two thousand years' supply. Admittedly, coal presented problems. Mining was one, air pollution another, though modern technologies were at work on both. At new electric utility plants in other states, smokestacks a thousand feet high, supplemented by electrostatic filters and scrubbers that removed sulfur from smokestack gases, were reducing pollution to acceptable levels. And at Tunipah, what pollution there was would be far removed from inhabited or recreation areas.
Something else Tunipah would do was to permit the closing of some of GSP&L's older, oil-burning plants. This would further reduce dependence on imported oil and produce big cost savings, present and future.
Logic favored the Tunipah project. But, as all public utilities had learned from experience, logic didn't rule, nor did the greater public good if a handful of determined objectors-no matter how warped or unqualified their judgments-decided otherwise. By the use of slow, procedural tactics applied with ruthless skill, a project like Tunipah could be so long delayed as to be, in reality, defeated. Those who consistently opposed any electric utility expansion made effective use of Parkinson's third law: Delay is the deadliest form of denial.
"Is there more discussion?" J. Eric Humphrey asked. Several of those around the conference table had begun stuffing papers into briefcases, assuming the meeting to be almost over.
"Yes," Teresa Van Buren said. "I'd like a nickel's worth."
Heads turned toward the public relations vice president, her short, plump figure thrust forward to command attention. Her normally unruly hair was more or less tidy today, presumably in deference to the occasion, but she still wore one of her inevitable linen suits.
"Twisting the Governor's arm the way you plan, Eric, and stroking other egos around the state capitol is okay," she pronounced. "I'm in favor of it. But it isn't enough, not nearly enough to achieve what we want, and here's the reason."
Van Buren paused. Reaching down beside her seat, she produced two newspapers and spread them on the conference room table. "This is this afternoon's California Examiner-an early edition I had sent inand this one, this morning's Chronicle-West, which you've undoubtedly all seen. I've been through both papers carefully and there's not a word in either about last week's power outage. For one day, as we know, the subject was big news, the next day minor news; after that it disappeared. And what's true of the press is true of other media."
"So what?" Ray Paulsen said. “There's been other news. People lose interest."
“They lose interest because no one keeps them interested. Out there" -Van Buren waved an arm in the general direction of the world beyond the conference room-"out there the press and public think of an electric power shortage as a here-today-gone-tomorrow, short-term problem. Almost no one is considering the long-term effects of power shortages which we know are getting closer-drastically lower living standards, dislocation of industry, catastrophic unemployment. And nothing will change that outside, uninformed thinking unless we make it change."
Sharlett Underhill, executive vice president of finance and the other woman at the table, asked, "How do you make anybody think anything?"
"I'll answer that," Nim Goldman said. He snapped down his pencil. "One way is to start shouting the true way things really are, not holding back-and to go on shouting loud and clear and often Ray Paulsen said sardonically, "In other words, you'd like to be on TV four times a week instead of twice?"
Nim ignored the interruption. He went on, "We should, as company policy, keep on proclaiming what everyone at this table knows: That last week our peak load was twenty-two million kilowatts, and demand is growing by a million kilowatts a year. That, assuming the same growth rate, in three years We'll be short on reserves, in four years we'll have none. So bow will we manage? the answer is: we won't. Any fool can see what's coming-three years from now, blackouts every time It's hot; and in six years, blackouts every summer day. We have got to get some new generators built and we have to tell the public the consequences of not building them."
There was a silence which Van Buren broke. "We all know every word of that is true, so why not say so? there's even an opportunity next week. Nim has been booked for Tuesday on the Good Evening Show, which has a big following."
Paulsen grunted. "Too had I'll be out that night."
"I'm not at all sure we should be that forthright," Sharlett Underhill said. "I need hardly remind everyone we have an application in process for a rate increase and we desperately need that extra revenue. I don't want to see our chances of getting it jeopardized."
"Frankness is likely to improve our chances," Van Buren said, "not diminish them."
The finance vice president shook her bead. "I'm not so sure. And something else I believe is that the kind of statements we're talking about, if made at all, should come from the chairman."
"For the record," Eric Humphrey put in mildly, "I was asked to appear on the Good Evening Show and I deputed Nim. He seems to do that kind of thing quite well."
"He'd do a whole lot better," the PR vice president said, "if we gave him carte blanche to issue some plain, ugly warnings instead of insisting on the 'moderate line' we always do."
"I'm still in favor of a moderate line." This time the speaker was Fraser Fenton, who held the title of president, though his main responsibility was for the utility's gas operations. Fenton, thin, balding and ascetic, was another veteran.
"Not all of us," he continued, "accept your gloomy view, Tess, of what's ahead. I've been thirty-four years with this utility and I've seen problems come and go. I believe we'll get around the capacity shortage somehow . . ."
Nim Goldman interjected, "How?"
"Let me finish," Fenton said. "Another point I want to make is about opposition. It's true that right now we encounter organized opposition to everything we try to do, whether it's build more plants, increase rates, or give stockholders a decent dividend. But I believe most, if not all of that-the opposition and consumerism-will pass. It's a fashion and a fad. Those involved will eventually become tired, and when that happens we'll go back to the way things used to be, when this utility and others did pretty much what they wanted. That's why I say we should continue talking a moderate line, and not stir up trouble and antagonism by alarming people needlessly."
"I agree with A that," Stewart Ino said.
Ray Paulsen added, "Me, too."
Nim's eyes met Teresa Van Buren's and he knew their thoughts were the same. Within the public utilities business, Fraser Fenton, Ino, Paulsen, and others like them represented a cadre of entrenched executives who had grown up in their jobs during easier times and refused to acknowledge that these were gone forever. Mostly, such people attained their present eminence through seniority, never having been subject to the tough, cutthroat competition for advancement which was a norm in other industries. The personal security of the Fraser Fentons et al had become wrapped around them like a cocoon. 'His status quo was their holy grail. Predictably, they objected to anything they saw as rocking the boat.