Wood, Lakes and Rock – Woolaroc
Jan 1926 about three months before he officially unveiled his lodge, Franks first shipment of animals – a herd of wild buffalo arrived at the ranch. He already had cattle and a herd of a dozen buffalo, he wanted more. The new buffalo came from Pierre South Dakota. A herd of 183 buffalo were shipped 120 for Frank and 10 for Waite Phillips his brother, in the mountains of northern New Mexico. (53 others dispersed to Millers Bros 101 Ranch)
The Kansas City Star Sun, Nov 21 1926
Kansas City Missouri
What will Frank Phillips, millionaire, do ultimately with the 3,600- acre ranch which he established in the Osage hills near Bartlesville, Ok.!
Just this–in Mr. Phillips’s own words, simple enough: “After this project is completed. I expect to endure after my lifetime, whole ranch over to some organization, probably for the State of Oklahoma operate it an a wild game preserve.”
This Frank Phillips is thinking of Oklahoma, where he achieved his millions in oil.
When he established the ranch he was pleased find a fault running through the structure.
“I made sure there would never he any oil on the ranch,” said this man who has been gleaning millions from oil fields.
(By a Staff Correspondent.)
BARTLESVILLE, OK., Nov. 20.-In the Osage hills, about seventeen miles southwest of this busy oil city, there is a rugged, although restful, retreat from the mauling of industry and business.
It is Woolaroc lodge, set in the middle of a 3,600-acre ranch established by Frank Phillips, multimillionaire of Bartlesville. The Frank Phillips ranch is in a rough section of the Osage country. One might easily imagine the rocky, wooded area to be untrammeled by the white man’s exploring feet so quiet and so remote does the broad acreage lie. Woolaroc lodge is crested upon a hill lop, mirrored in a crystal lake which sparkles like great diamond about one hundred feet below level of the pine log cabin, This is Rock Lake, fed by crystal springs. It is one of five lakes on the ranch and will be one of nine spring fed lakes when Mr. Phillips completes his project.
It is a splendid time to visit the ranch and Woolaroc lodge when the distant hills are splashed with autumnal pigments. Gossamer veils of purple cling to the trees and eminences that thrust into the sky at the horizon.
“The Expression of an Ideal. The Prank Phillips ranch is the expression of an ideal in the life and career of the owner–a desire to build something monumental to the spirit of the West, particularly the West of the battle, the Indians and wild birds and animals that used to roam this country. It is more than the playground a rich man. It typifies America’s pioneer life.
Mr. Phillips’s own life has been dramatic because it has been crowned with success achieved entirely by his courageous attacks upon the citadels of fate; his crashing will and acumen in business. He goes at high tension early and lat. From conference to conference, from one task to another as the head and guiding genius of the Phillips Petroleum Company. He swings briskly along. His personal fortune has been estimated at from 30 to 40 million dollars. Phillips Petroleum would outweigh many times the personal fortune Frank Phillips.
Mr. Phillips keeps his ranch and Woolaroc lodge in private since it is very personal to him and to his family, Woolaroc lodge, his home, where at can be at ease, stretch his legs into a pair of leather boots, put on a wide hat and stroll over the whole place, alone or among companions, just 25 the mood may seize him. Of course, there is another home where the Frank Phillips family lives in Bartlesville–a big mansion, which just about fits into the popular mind’s idea of a rich man’s home. Large rooms, spacious halls and winding stairs are in this city home.
“Here is a little place I built some time ago,” was the way Mr. Phillips introduced the Bartlesville home early one night as he and a visitor rolled up to the big house in the Phillipe limousine.
It is not in any undemocratic spirit that Mr. Phillips desires to keep his ranch for himself and away from public exploration. Indeed, the work he is having done in the ranch is still under way and could not be submitted for public inspection. And chiefly, it is the one place where he may refresh himself from his work, so privacy is maintained that he may be alone.
It was with all good feeling, but with a bit of reluctance, that Mr. Phillips consented to The Star’s correspondent accompanying him on his afternoon trip to the ranch. Every day he spends about two hours there after he has handled the work in his office.
Mr. Phillips in Action.
Before leaving his office in the First National Bank budding in Bartlesville, Mr. Phillips had talked with the company’s office in New York by a private long distance line, had signed scores of letters, dictated to his secretary, sided at the regular 11 o’clock conference of executives, and before departing for the ranch called one of the officers. “That matter we were discussing can go over until later.” (and he named the date after a calculation on a calendar.) “Handle it then, will you?” he spoke to the officer in clear accents as one might remind a friend of a golf engagement.
Quite by chance, and not from Mr. Phillips, it was learned later the oil chieftain was issuing instructions for the handling of a deal involving about 2 million dollars.
On the floor of the car was a pile of newly purchased garments including several outing shirts of soft, comfortable cloth, roomy collars. There was to be no bothering with changing buttons when Mr. Phillips donned those shirts. They had pearl buttons for fastening the collar at the throat–just the kind of shirt that seems to say, “It’s a fine autumn day. Put me on and take a long hike.”
“I am taking these out to the ranch,” Mr. Phillips said, pulling at his white collar and making a wry face. “I don’t believe I’ll ever get used to wearing a white stiff collar. Pinches my neck.”
The ride to the ranch along a wandering graded road, which soon is to be for paving, was delightful. The scenery slipped past like the flashes a movie view. It is all cattle country. No cotton in this section. At the edge of Bartlesville are some veteran oil wells, among the first sunk in the Bartlesville field. The wells still are pumping. Several miles out Phillips points to the first field opened by the Phillips company.
On the way, Mr. Phillips puffed at a cigar contentedly.
“There used to be a time when I handled all the details of my company, but I’ve got away from that now,” he said. “I go to my office in the mornings that is when I am in Bartlesville -and handle questions of policy in the business and turn the details of the company’s over to my executives who have been with my company many years. That gives me a chance to get out on the ranch and roam around for a couple of hours every day. I have decided that I will never retire from active business, but that I shall not be a slave to my desk.”
The Man Who Makes Wall Street Listen
It is difficult to get this super-leader of the oil industry to discuss his career. He balks at any account of his life, his spectacular and daring success in the oil business which made him one of the wealthy men of the nation, who sits in the counsels of the mighty in Wall street. A leading question can be spotted afar by Mr. Phillips. He would rather talk about the rolling hills out yonder in the Osage country, about his plans for the ranch.
Somehow it was no easy task to associate the dramatic moments of man’s career with the figure he presented in that limousine. Leather boots and a western hat and a leather coat buttoned well up around the chin. What had they to do with millions in oil? One wondered.
But to know the life of Frank Phillips is to correlate present standards and ideals–even with his, the dynamic American energy that motivated him from his early years. Frank Phillips is all American, western American, robust and scintillating, filled with the glory of achievement, of doing things himself, of making his own destiny. He has crammed a lot of living into his life. He prefers to idealize the Oklahoma he knew twenty-two years ago when he settled here, coming from Nebraska. The vigorous men he met then -Indians and whites -are the ones he cherishes cherishes on the long list of or friends. He found the leather boos and the wide hats and the leather coats the apparel of the men who were striking out for fortune in those first days of adventure. And Frank Phillips will wear them on his ranch where he has made a pledge to himself that the ideals of western life will be preserved.
Mr. Phillips will be 53 years old November 28. He is tall, well proportioned, nervous with energy. He wears glasses. Expressive gestures are made with the hands in his conversations. His voice is deep and he knows how to emphasize his words.
When he was 14 years old, the youth Phillips left his home in Greeley County, Nebraska, and for a time worked at any job that could be had. Once he had a chain of barber shops. Mr. Phillips later gained experience in banking and engaged in that business when he went to Bartlesville. He organized a bank which later was to become the First National Bank, of which he still is president.
The Phillips Petroleum Company which operates in all major oil fields of the mid-continent field, was organized in 1917. There are other Phillips names that stand high in the oil game. Waite Phillips, a brother, who lives in Tulsa, built up a fortune of 40 millions as a producer. Another brother, L.E. Phillips, general manager of the Phillips Petroleum Company.
The Only Entrance.
When the limousine arrived at the entrance to the Frank Phillips ranch, Mr. Phillips remarked: “This is the only opening in eleven miles fence.”
The 3,600 acres of the ranch have been inclosed with a wire fence attached to metal posts. The fence extends into the ground to prevent animals from burrowing under. The entrance is of native brown limestone piled up in two portals. An attendant lives in a cottage at the gate. A winding road leads to Woolaroc lodge, past one of the artificial lakes, which is fed by a spring. There are sixty-three springs on the ranch. Barriers of thickets frame each side of the road.
At the top of the hill the car is stopped at the lodge. Everywhere “ranch idea” dominant. The lodge built of logs, the drives and walks of brown stone, the garage and servant quarters all of logs- everywhere ruggedness and roughness. And step inside, please.
There are two large rooms, at a glance; they are about 75 feet long and 35 feet wide. One is a living room and reception room. The other is a dining room and is doubly interesting because it is a replica of the log house in which Mr. Phillips was born in Greeley County, Nebraska. He was the first white child born in Greeley County. His father was the first county judge, and held court in the room which was reproduced lodge. Mr. Phillips thanks his mother, Mrs. L.F. Phillips, for the suggestion that he reproduce the room of his birthplace in Woolaroc lodge. A few days ago Mrs. Phillips journeyed to Bartlesville to attend a reunion with her “boys,” who have gained millions since they left their home. Mrs. Phillips lives in Gravity, la.
The floors in the lodge are hardwood and polished. Trophies hang everywhere on the walls. Many of them are gifts from Indians. There are also trophies from the hunt. There are ten bedrooms, each with a modern bath and each room has a cedar closet. No better accommodations could be had anywhere in the best hotels in the great cities. There are electric lights from an electric plant on the ranch. There is hot water from a heating plant. Oil paintings of four chiefs of the Osages hang on the walls: Chief Ni-Kah-WahShi-Tunka, Chief Bacon Rind, Chief Pawhuska and Chief Not-Afraid-of-Pawnee. It is known that Phillips has signed leases for some 25 million dollars with the Osages in the development of oil lands.
Carrying Out His “Ranch Idea.”
There are stuffed squirrels, chipmunks and other animals hands. Across the top of the room great logs are stretched as girders. Gray squirrels, stuffed, of course, are perched on those logs. A player piano stands in a corner. It is an expensive type of instrument. Mr. Phillips has covered it with a veneer of bark. A cabinet phonograph also is veneered with bark. Just Mr. Phillips’s way of carrying out the “ranch idea.” He will not permit fine dishes the place. There are no glasses for table service. The “ranch idea” is carried out even in the serving of coffee and tea in enameled ware.
There are 536 wild game and animals on the ranch, obtained by Mr. Phillips from all parts of the world. Here is an invoice:
Buffalo, 130 head. Demoiselle. Alaskan reindeer. Japanese chickens. A hybrid buffalo, Pheasants. Elk. Sarus cranes. Miscellaneous goats, Turkeys. Japanese Siki deer. Vulturine guineas. Mule deer. White peafowls. Ostriches. White swans. Pronghorn antelope. Wild ducks (pin. toned). Red Deer, Siberian white deer. Wild geese (pin toned) White tail deer, Zebras. Wild turkeys (pin toned) Black Swan. Blue peafowls.
Incidentally, one of Mr. Phillips’s ostriches ate some fresh cement from a workman’s cement mixture recently. The cement hardened in the bird’s neck and that was the end of Mr. Ostrich.
Mr. Phillips has spent about ½ million dollars so far in developing and beautifying his ranch and lodge. There is no telling how much more will be spent or how much more work Mr. Phillips will have done on the estate, since be is his own architect and works out the details as he gets the inspirations for plans.
Some time ago J.C. Nichols of Kansas City was a guest at Woolaroc lodge with a group of Kansas Citians. Mr. Nichols suggested a rock and gravel drive which Mr. Phillips had built through the ranch was not properly constructed to conform with the general landscaping. So. Mr. Phillips had workmen busy early next day taking up the road and getting ready to resod the place. Mr. Nichols also made several suggestions for the layout in the yard around the lodge, including the landscaping in front of the garage and servants’ quarters.
Chief “Woolaroc’s” Tomb.
In many places over the ranch Mr. Phillips has preserved Indian hieroglyphics and “picture”‘ writing. However, the most important Indian “find” on the estate is a crypt in the rock cliff overlooking the lake in front of the lodge. One passes down stone steps and turns sideways go through a narrow passage and then.–
Look into that hole – -way back yonder. A skull and bones.
“That’s old Chief Woolaroc in there.” Mr. Phillips declared. “That stone there (he aimed a boot toe) used to fit into the opening of that tomb.”
On the face of the stone was “sign” writing with a row of trees, another figure representing the dragon fly and another series for rocks. Trees means woods. Dragon fly means lake. Rocks self- explanatory. All right, now the words “woods lake rock” is worked out of the “signs.” From the first few letters of those three words the old chief, Woo-la-roc, got his name. At least, that is the legend that Mr. Phillips has worked out on his ranch.
Let’s wander down to the water’s edge and inspect that rough building of stone. A complete bathhouse, with equipment that many exclusive eastern beaches would envy. And by all means take a drink of the spring of eternal youth around yonder on other side of the lake. The water bubbles from the ground. Mr. Phillips has had tested. It’s good, he says. Tastes good, too. Just hang the cup on that small crotch of a tree thrust into the cement for that very purpose.
Way over there beyond the lake one could see some men at work threshing oats. The oats were being hauled to stone barn. There are several riding horses in the stable for Mr. Phillips’s use, and for his friends.
Barbecues of buffalo meat are a feature of Frank Phillips’s entertainment at the ranch. The hides are tanned and heads mounted for further adornment of Woolaroc lodge.
Inside the lodge after the walk Mr. Phillips talked for a while about his purpose in founding the ranch.
“This isn’t all a dream about something- a place where I can fritter away time and spend money. The great difficulty with the American people today is they are getting too far away from the fundamental things in life. They are getting away from the soil and from the basic things that made home-life pure and happy. Today the home is not keeping pace with the growth population, particularly among those home owners who have no intention of making the home real place of enjoyment.
“I have gone back to my home town several times, and things seemed wrong to me. Something the matter? I decided the trouble all was with me and that folks in the little home town were the ones who were remaining steadfast, while I was getting away from those fundamentals. That’s what I’m going to do here on the ranch. “Build an ideal of the middle West life, log house, rugged place for a cabin, a wild animal and game preserve. All part of the Frank Phillips ‘back to Nature plan.”
And Frank Phillips can coin epigrams. One of his choice lines was given The Star’s correspondent just before they parted:
“The reason why so many humans don’t get on in the world is because they belong to the Spit and Whittle Club. No advancement in that club whatever.”.
The Daily Oklahoman 01 Aug 1993, 90 head of buffalo for Phillips Woolaroc herd
Mr. Phillips has entertained friends from places in the world at his ranch. A large tent is the barbecue “stand.”
For many years, Phillips sent out invitations for “Cowthief and Outlaw Day,” an old timers’ picnic when genuine outlaws came out of hiding and ate with the local law and citizenry. It was said that Phillips gave the outlaws a two-hour start when the picnic was finished, to give them a chance to get back to their hideaways. As soon as miles of high fencing was installed at the. compound, Phillips had 500 wild and domestic animals brought in primarily for show but also for some breeding and the sale of the young. The largest animal purchase he made was of 90 buffalo in 1926.
2016 The ranch recently purchased four new ones from Ted Turner. (young bulls)