Harry Mayne

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Harry Mayne
W. H. Mayne headshot.jpg
President year 1968
BSc Geological Engineering
BSc university UT Austin

W. Harry Mayne (April 29, 1913-April 7, 1990) was an American geophysicist, who invented the Common Depth Point (CDP) stacking method of signal enhancement, and served as the 1968 SEG President. Harry was awarded SEG's highest honor, the Maurice Ewing Medal, in 1983.

Biography[1] [2]

A year ago, the members of an "expert panel" called to advise on a critical exploration decision - their task completed - were each given a small plaque. It was unofficial, not a token for their service but a colleague's mirthful lampoon of their enthronement as "experts." One of the plaques hangs in an office at Geosource Plaza in Houston, surrounded by prestigious awards, none of which, however, describes nearly as well as the spoof the professional standing of the occupant, W. Harry Mayne:

World Class Geophysicist

Few in the international seismic exploration community will fail to associate his name with CDP, i.e., Common Depth (or Reflection, or Mid-) Point data stacking. Of these interchangeable terms, it should be stated at the outset, the inventor has a definite preference for the original, and now rarely used, CRP. Says Mayne: "Someone confused the situation by calling it 'depth,' but it stuck. Really, had I thought of it, 'midpoint' is more descriptive of the precise geometry of the method, but I still call it CRP most of the time." (Consonantly, so it will be in this story.)

If in the tradition of physicists and their laws, and mathematicians and their formulas, it had been dubbed the "Mayne method," what a fitting homophone it would be, to describe the main signal-to-noise enhancing technique in seismic exploration. One which, allowing ample margin for the exception, is being used by 99 percent of the seismic crews worldwide. And in recognition of which SEG has exhausted its repertoire of honors, culminating with the Maurice Ewing Medal in 1983. This was preceded by Honorary Membership (1978), the Reginald Fessenden Award (1965), plus the distinction of serving as SEG president in 1968-69. Other tributes include the select William Smith Medal of the Geological Society of London. He was the third recipient, and second explorationist to merit it, following King Hubbert, of oil reserves forecast fame.

The eminence of CRP has somewhat overshadowed the fact that Mayne holds 24 additional US patents for sundry electronic devices; as for their foreign counterparts, there are so many Mayne doesn't keep tabs any longer. Between 1939-57, for example, he designed a series of amplifiers for Petty Geophysical Engineering (since 1973 Petty-Ray Geophysical under the Geosource corporate banner), Mayne's first and only employer. In and out of the company, his instruments became known with a familial prefix: Harry's Model F - the most sophisticated vacuum tube amplifier for seismic use ever; or Harry's TA - one of the first transistor amplifiers, developed with colleagues John Tolk and Art Hasbrook.

Mayne has developed improved accelerated impact seismic sources with coupling means, new methods of pattern shooting (e.g., the Geomax array, based on the J. O. Parr Jr. and Mayne technique described in Geophysics, July 1955), magnetic tape processing equipment for CRP, and more. There was even a stint in the medical electronics field; a certain photoelectric hypoxia-warning device which could have conceivably vied with CRP in immortalizing Mayne's name. All that remains, however, is his stupendous knowledge of blood oxygenation, and an interesting example of cross-disciplinary cooperation.

"Post-WWII, the US Air Force brought in a number of German scientists," remembers Mayne. "Wernher von Braun, who would play a leading role in rocketry and space exploration, was among them, as well as MDs and physiologists to do research in pulmonary and neurological aeromedicine at the School of Aviation Medicine at Randolph Field in San Antonio. The Petty company had considerable expertise in electronics and they came to us to discuss the possible adaptation of some of our technology to the then emerging field of medical electronics.

"This is how I got appointed to work with those doctors in instrument design. Their idea - on which I got a long-since expired patent - consisted of a little photo-electric cell and a light which was attached with a clip to the ear's cartilage. The light traversing the cartilage's blood column would actually change color depending on the oxygen concentration, which causes a very perceptible color change in the blood. Below 70 percent, which is considered the lowest safe oxygen saturation in the bloodstream, an alarm would be triggered warning the pilot that the cabin's oxygen supply was inadequate. What precluded the general use of this device was the simultaneous move of the aviation industry to flight ceilings of 40,000 ft and above to altitudes at which explosive decompression makes any remedial response on the part of the flight crew impossible, and so, adequate oxygen supply had to be ensured with automatic systems."

Thus, Mayne's warning device became old ?aborning? in 1950 as the aerospace industry was topping its own marks at an accelerated rate. Conversely, in the geophysical scene the decade was sluggish. Technology had to catch up to Mayne's coeval CRP invention in providing the necessary support systems to implement it. Likewise, Vibroseis and digital data processing (see The Leading Edge, December 1983 and February 1985) were conceived in the '50s to come of age in the '60s - their success greatly influenced by CRP, and vice versa. The triad would shape seismic exploration into its present format.

What Mayne had accomplished - albeit too soon - was a critical refinement of the prevalent practice in poor reflection quality areas of attenuating random noise by the brute force process of stacking signals using multiple receiver or source arrays. By establishing coincidence of the reflected signals, noise was identifiable relative to the reflections. Long wavelength noises were attenuated by adding more receivers on each trace, or adjacent traces. One problem remained. As arrays became longer, what was gained in noise attention was lost in definition of the geological objectives as the averaged subsurface increased. Everyone was well aware of this seismic Gordian knot. Mayne just took Alexandrian action about it after working in a poor shooting area somewhere in Texas.

"A massive caliche surface was producing a ground roll of unusually high velocity," explains Mayne. "Using an array 600-1,000 ft long would have attenuated it, but I was afraid that the adjacent traces (or the extremities of the long arrays) I wanted to add wouldn't have the same signal. This would smear the geology of the low-relief structure we were trying to map. It wasn't rare to compromise as we did: choosing a marginally acceptable array length, knowing that data quality would suffer.

"The question was how to attenuate long wavelength noise without obscuring the very geological detail we were after. I tried to find a different way of adding traces, that is, with signals representing the same geology, but with greater effective length. Finally the answer I came up with was to add only those traces which were successively recorded from sources symmetrically located on the opposite side of the same mid-point. And there it was - common reflection point stacking."

A patent on the basic concept was filed July 1950. It wouldn't be published until January 1956, which didn't much matter, for according to Mayne: "It was purely a paper idea. Of course, a patent requires that there be a workable method; it doesn't have to be a practical one, but there must be a method. Well, CRP's was impracticaly laborious at this time. The process visualized consisted of taking a paper record and regularly digitizing the amplitude of each one of the traces, putting a number down on a piece of paper in a column for each trace in a CRP gather. Then, each trace column had to be time-shifted to make the reflections coincident. Then all those events that occurred at a given time were added, and the sum graphically plotted on another graph. Imagine doing this for every trace of every record in a 24- or 48-fold CRP stack. It was a wild idea, which worked - on paper."

Reducing it to practice depended on the maturation of still callow technology. First, magnetic tape was required to record electrically reproducible data. In the 1950s, however, adaptation of the advances made during WWII in magnetic tape recording to geophysical work wasn't high on the commercialization list of equipment manufacturers. Second, CRP needed a machine capable of reproducing, time-shifting, and summing the traces ... a tall order.

Optimists willing to concede that such essentials were forthcoming, were nonetheless disheartened by the method's field costs. "As initially conceived," Mayne says, "CRP used shotpoints no more than 440 ft apart, preferably 220 ft. In standard practice, however, shotpoints were spaced perhaps a quarter of a mile (1,320 ft) apart. Available acquisition systems were limited to 24 channels. This meant that CRP could only be implemented 12-fold, or 1,200 percent, by shooting a hole about every 220 ft. That was six times as many shots per mile as the conventional techniques, and nobody thought it would be economically viable. Well, then again, my classic response was that there's nothing more expensive than a lack of data after doing all the work."

Not until mid-1958 would CRP prove practicable as the hardware it needed gradually emerged out of its own drafting boards. "Think 10 years ahead," Mayne advises young would-be inventors - obviously subscribing to the Jungian maxim that without playing with fantasy no creative work is ever bred. Realistically, if among the many aspiring inventors to whom he offers this gratis hint, there were but one whose imagination to envision demands still a decade away could render a contribution matching Mayne's, exploration geophysics should be gratified.

Early Years and Education

One wonders: Granting above-average acumen to a representative number of scientists and technicians in any given discipline, why ever so few are responsible for the major strides. Not even the psychological ken dares a pronouncement. Studiousness, being one of the premises from which supposedly those isolated inventive minds hatch, explains Mayne only partially. Surviving snapshots of young Harry in post-ball game disarray, somehow fail to convey the image of an inordinately bookish character. On the other hand, Mrs. Grace Mayne being Austin's first and then only high school instructor of solid geometry may account for her son's keenness in that field (as evidenced in his conception of CRP, primarily a geometric idea).

Harry skillfully dodged her class - standard faculty-progeny procedure - for years but it was a college entrance requirement he finally had to take. In geometry he earned an "A." The subliminal lesson, which he evidently suspected, was that just keeping up with the best of his class wouldn't do; at least not in mom's class. It is likely that this uniform requirement for high standards in the classroom as at home formed a solid basis for his next academic step, the University of Texas at Austin - and beyond.

Harry's interests, however, had not been unduly detoured from the game of football. He excelled at it in high school and in his own backyard, tackling cousins and neighbors with equal gusto all in the name of "practice." So, a fair assumption would be that his choice of university was influenced not only by its hometown location, and by its superior electrical engineering curriculum, which he was to pursue, but also by its football team, the Texas Longhorns, which as its very name boasts was (and still is) bullish on its prowess. Harry juggled books and pigskins aptly to make the team. Once in, he went so far as to defer some of his senior year classes to as not to infringe on the full term of his athletic eligibility - rules then precluding anyone with a degree from further participation in varsity sports. Rather than cutting his football career short, he cheerfully took on the double load of obtaining bachelor's and master's degrees in tandem. This maneuver, apparently of no ill-effects careerwise, enabled him to leave his name indelibly recorded in Longhorn chronicles - and in those of the arch-enemy Aggies of Texas A&M.

Within memory, neither had ever tied or been defeated by the other when playing on their homefield. This changed when the visiting team's place kicker, Mayne, befell A&M's Kyle Field in 1933. True to tradition the Longhorns were trailing 10-7 very late in the game. Time almost out, Mayne was yanked from the bench on which, as a specialist player, he was normally parked. (For those in the know of American football regulations, in pre-free substitution days anyone called in for a specific play had to remain for the duration of the quarter, even if, his mission completed, he had no role in the strategy of - and perhaps would be a liability to - general play. Ergo, specialists were sparingly used, as in Mayne's case, in do-or-die situations.)

Thousands of eyes riveted on the Aggies' thirty-yard line as he readied to dispatch the ball through the goal posts for an evening three points. It was good! (Why else dwell on it 52 years after the fact.) A tie - amounting to a moral victory - that raised roars of cheer from Longhorn followers and, also, Mayne's already high standing on campus.

Varsity football letters (once a coveted cloth initial of the university, proudly stitched on the sweaters of the school's best athletes) were but one of Mayne's extra-curricular achievements. He was president of the student branch of the American Institute of Electrical Engineers, student assistant of the Electrical Engineering Department, and member of the scholastic fraternities Tau Beta Pi, Eta Kappa Nu, and Sigma Xi. Also, foresightedly, Mayne had applied himself in the budding field of electronics, which he felt would open doors at General Electric, Westinghouse or other major enterprises. Unfortunately, potential employers had the Great Depression blues.

Even with Mayne's endorsements, the marketability of college grads was most important considering that one-fifth of the US work force was idle. Luckily for him, a friend happened to mention a young, oddball industry - seismic exploration - which defying the mood of the times was on an upswing. Mayne's chances of finding access to such a bonanza were enhanced by his degree. Since there were no geophysicists formally trained as such (geophysics being but an "option" of geological engineering in the early '30s) electrical engineers were especially valuable to further exploration technology. And so Mayne's job hunt was expedited - a mere letter to the president of a geophysical contractor in San Antonio offering his services.

Petty Geophysical Engineering Company

On June 19, 1935, days after obtaining his degree, he landed a job as assistant observer for Petty Geophysical Engineering Company. A monthly salary of $125 was generous compensation for a novice of 22, but proved a bargain for the company which had unwittingly entered an ongoing association with one of geophysic's brightest stars.

Six months later, Mayne - now an observer - left for Cuba on a four-month exploration program. After returning to the US, he worked with crews in Texas, Oklahoma and Louisiana until September 1936. Then, two opportunities presented themselves simultaneously. One was a promotion to observer-field manager on a Petty crew soon to depart for Venezuela - of considerable appeal to Spanish-speaking, adventure-seeking Mayne. The other was an invitation from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology to pursue a tuition-free doctorate as a student instructor. No contest, Mayne didn't care to become "an educated bum," as he now somewhat apologetically admits having declared long ago when obtaining a Ph.D. was regarded as the dilatory tactics of the less industrious. Furthermore, he explains, "By then I was too involved in geophysics, and the bottom line was that MIT didn't remotely offer the romance that going to Venezuela held for me."

Not that Mayne had unreasonable expectations. It was, he knew, hard duty in the purlieus of civilization. The social highlight was fraternizing with contrabandistas who sporadically sponged food off the crew in exchange for the American cigarettes they smuggled into Venezuela. An assignment to Trinidad followed.

After 2-1/2 years, sated of "romance," Mayne requested a transfer to headquarters. He arrived there in January 1939 to assume his new post as research and field service engineer at Petty Laboratories. The city frills of San Antonio had an appreciative patron in one who had been deprived of them for so long. He especially enjoyed an occasional evening at the movies.

For Mable Taylor, a nurse supervisor at the Robert E. Green Hospital, a good show was not only enjoyable, but needed escapism after a crisis-filled shift. On one such occasion she happened to sit next to an old high school acquaintance from her native Austin. After 11 years of separate meanderings, she identified Harry instantly. "We hadn't been friends, really, but our parents were," says Mable. "His mother had been my teacher for years, and my father wouldn't buy a car from anyone but his, Mr. Clyde Mayne."

Harry, too, was as quick to recognize her, even in the dim theater light, as he was remiss of having failed to appreciate - while in the dark teen-ages - Mable's Grecian symmetry. Now it was obvious it warranted further observation in broad daylight. Surely she wouldn't refuse a date to a friend of the family, he assumed - correctly. "Six months later," remarks Mable with the ready smile that accompanies most of her memories, "I dyed all my white nurse shoes brown and black, and began a new career as Mrs. W. Harry Mayne."

Only such hearty dedication would endure what was to come. "Harry was setting up crews in those days. He'd give me a call from the office and announce we were leaving. Not a clue as to where. It was always short notice, sometimes a matter of hours, in which I had to pack for whatever type of weather, cancel appointments, give away perishable food, and believe it or not, I thought it was a lot of fun."

The traveling pace was eventually slowed down by the birth of a daughter, Judy, and by Mayne's advance through corporate ranks leading in 1958 to the vice-presidency of technical services. By then, commercialization of CRP had become imminent. Even seemingly unrelated developments were ensuring its success. Continental Oil's unveiling of Vibroseis at this time, for instance, meant that the multiplicity of source points CRP required would be feasible without the proportionate increase in cost, the major bugaboo while dynamite was the only energy source.

Magnetic tape recording was becoming commonplace; Petty had fielded units since '55. Yet it had been to no avail to CRP for lack of the transcription and correction capability the method required. This sent Mayne to several instrument manufacturers to propose the creation of the unit he had envisioned five years before, one capable of correcting, transcribing and summing CRP data. It was still ahead of the times. Says Mayne: "I ran into difficulties trying to make them see the need for transcribing the corrected data onto another tape. Nobody seemed to understand that traces from different tapes, acquired at different times, had to be stored in some medium which would permit their replay for the essential completion of the method - summation after correction.

"Only a newcomer in the geophysical instrument business, the Texas Division of Brush Electronics, agreed after long negotiations to enter a development contract with Petty in late 1955. Two years later, and after a price escalation to over double the original quotation, Brush came up with the MRA-2, the first CRP data processor."

Timing couldn't have been worse. A severe recession in the exploration industry made it self-defeating for a contractor to ante up the final price - a quarter million dollars - for an untried instrument designed to perform an unaccepted process. Frustration was heightened by a circular conundrum; per Mayne: "The effectiveness of CRP couldn't be proven without the machine, and we couldn't afford the machine unless the method proved economical."

Texaco would save the day in late 1957 by asking Petty to relinquish the prohibitive order. (The MRA-2, of which the oil company took delivery, remained a credit to Mayne and collaborators, being in continuous use until the mid-60s when digital technology eventually outmoded it.) Texaco's purchase "tickled me to death," Mayne admits. "I was scrambling to show that CRP was an economical proposition, and if we couldn't afford it at the moment, at least someone else was going to prove my point. Shell Oil, too, bought several processing units patterned after the MRA-2 prototype."

Meanwhile, Petty's quest, this time for an affordable system, continued. They soon focused attention on an instrument called "Decatrack." Manufactured by Techno Instrument Company of Los Angeles, under license with Conoco, it had been conceived in the early '50s by Bill Doty, the co-inventor of Vibroseis, as part of the computation for data obtained with that new acquisition system. The nitty-gritty of Decatrack was the compositing of traces - as was CRP's - and its playback characteristics suited the method's processing requirements. Although Decatrack was designed to be truck-mounted and process records obtained with mechanical vibrators, Petty successfully adapted it to some of its own lab equipment for dynamite records.

The Applied Magnetics Group then began producing a similar device, "Sigma-Flux," which Petty also acquired to handle the growing load of CRP data. The definitive, pre-digital answer to CRP processing, however, would come in late 1962. It was a system jointly designed by Mayne and JLee (actual spelling) Davis of Pure Oil, the company which built and financed it. The Pure CRP processor remained state-of-the-art until the end of the analog era.

Common Reflection Point becomes a reality

As the CRP technique became finally demonstrable, its potential impact hit home. A fair evaluation comes from a former skeptic, none other than Bill Doty. Only reluctantly did he attend a showing of actual field results before the compatibility of his own contrivance, Vibroseis, and Mayne's was apparent. Doty candidly admits: "I was stunned. The evidence was compelling that CRP was a powerful technique. And I recall that mixed with the excitement and appreciation for its importance to petroleum exploration, there was self-reproach - How had we failed to perceive this in our own research efforts?"

Some had not. Shell Oil and Phillips Petroleum had begun experimental field work on a version of "CRP," the latter as early as 1953. Mastermind of the Phillips method was Harold Mendenhall. His patent application was ready for filing when Mayne's was issued in 1956. Only days later, and unaware of this, Mayne happened to pay Phillips headquarters in Bartlesville, Oklahoma a professional visit.

"No sooner had I entered the building than I was given the message that Mendenhall wanted to see me - urgently. We were acquainted but we had no common business to discuss. I rang his office several times, he kept on paging me, and we missed each other all morning, until I just went to his office. Never mind hello, as soon as he saw me he exclaimed: 'You just beat me out of a $100 patent award, you ... [genealogical reference deleted].' Then is when I first learned about this application. We compared notes, and sure enough, his idea for data-quality enhancement in poor shooting areas was essentially the same as mine."

Even the terminology was akin. "I liked multiple coverage better," says Mendenhall, "but at Phillips we usually referred to it as CRP." Later, as the method was embraced by other companies, in-house neologisms unavoidably proliferated. To the point that in Experiences with Multiple Coverage Seismic Methods (Geophysics, April 1967), authors Mendenhall and W. H. Courtier, opened with a clarification:

'Multiple coverage' refers to a seismic method known as Common Depth or Datum Point (CDP), Common Reflection Point (CRP), Common Bounce Point, Roll Along, or perhaps other similar names all of which employ the principles outlined by Harry Mayne ...

Phillips, being self-sold on the idea, naturally became one of the first licensees of Mayne's method, and so was Shell. Widespread acceptance, however, was not evident until the 1960 SEG Annual Meeting in Galveston, when licensing picked up at a furious pace although industry awareness at that point was entirely the result of word of mouth. Only in view of such general interest did Mayne first "get the message that some kind of formal introduction was in order."

His presentation, Common Reflection Point Horizontal Data Stacking Techniques, captured an avid audience at the following year's meeting in Denver. Publication in Geophysics was in December 1962 - a curious inversion of a latter trend to publish first, implement later. The delay was, in Mayne's self-effacing manner of speech, "Due to a bit of indolence on my part." In all probability he was also awaiting a substantial body of experience to accrue which would enable him to convey not only high-flown theory, but practical advice as well.

To this end, the field results obtained by early believers Pure Oil, El Paso Natural Gas, and Texasgulf Producing were invaluable. They proved - as Mayne unabashedly stated in his 1962 paper - that CRP was enhancing signal-to-noise ratios "well beyond the saturation point of conventional pattern methods." And in closing, based on observations from a variety of terrains ranging from Colombia, South America, to the Powder River Basin of Wyoming and Montana, he listed five technical precepts (and an assurance), which 23 years later bear reproducing with a brief update:

Because of improved attenuation of 'ground roll' and other extraneous low-frequency noise, wider-band filters can generally be used. They are preferable because reflection character and apparent damping are improved, and the required correction precision is somewhat reduced. (Wider-band filters have become almost universal.)

Spreads should be as long as practicable. Not only are they more efficient from a production standpoint, but data quality is enhanced. Detector stations should be at least 220 ft apart, and 440 ft is desirable if conditions permit. The longer spreads are much less vulnerable to multiple reflections and complement the multiplicity obtainable with conventional pattern arrays. (Spreads haven't yet ceased to become longer.)

The most effective shot and detector patterns permitted by economic considerations should be employed. The added multiplicity available with this technique should be used as a supplement to normal good practice and not in substitution thereof. (A matter still needing continual reminders.)

Preliminary traverses in an area should be recorded with greater multiplicity than may be necessary. Test processing can then be performed to select the most economical arrangement. (Rarely done any more.)

Corrections for moveout, weathering, and elevation must be accurately determined and precisely applied. Careful editing of corrections, and deletion of obviously poor data can be of great benefit. (A source of great programming activity in data processing.)

As for the assurance:

Approximately the same daily production can be maintained using this method as would be attained with conventional operations. (CRP now is conventional seismic operations.)

It has been, in fact, since the late '60s, when the last few skeptics adopted the method. Arguably, yet another synergistic development - digital recording and processing - may have helped win them over. Yet others were soberly weighing the seemingly panacean powers of digitization. Mendenhall, for one, cautioned in his 1967 paper:

We object to seeing a seismic contract which contains the word 'digital' as the only technical specification ... It seems to us that many geophysicists react like automatons when presented a set of new equipment and terminology.

We do believe in the potential of digital technology. It cannot be achieved, however, until the old fundamentals of 'blocking and tackling' [refer back to Mayne's third point, above] are properly executed.

CRP was a crucial agent in the success of digital technology. According to a vignette Mayne wrote for Geophysics in the Affairs of Man (Pergamon Press, 1982):

The widespread use of the CRP concept also provided the masses of data required to make digital processing attractive, and digital processing soon developed the capabilities of routine velocity analysis and automatic determination of static corrections. Both these latter capabilities enhanced both the effectiveness and the convenience of the CRP method.

The stage was set for a new brand of geophysics. In the estimation of the book's authors, Bates, Gaskell, and Rice:

Up until about 1970, the two most important developments in reflection seismology are considered to have been magnetic recording (analog and digital) and Mayne's introduction of CDP processing. In the latter case, as experience built up, it was evident that almost all 'poor' seismic areas yielded improved data once the CDP method was employed. As a result, the technique essentially made all previous seismic data obsolete for petroleum exploration purposes. Since that time, much more sophisticated digital processing techniques have also made earlier digitally-processed CDP results obsolete.

Mayne's landmark method continues to be the basis from which novel techniques of economic continuous subsurface coverage depart. To the inventor, this evolution is "a source of great gratification," in which he, however, doesn't bask. Retirement in 1978 as Geosource's corporate director of new technology was merely a change of title to consultant of new technology development - hardly honorary for he maintains a 9-5 work schedule. But at least in the age which calls for the formality of a retirement at 65, there was one concession.

"Mable finally agreed to let me grow a beard," jokes Mayne. "I had been wanting to ever since it became acceptable to wear one in an office environment, but she threatened to leave me every time I brought it up. Later I made the mistake of asking her in front of other people what had changed her mind, and she retorted: "Now you're old enough to wear one."

His beard, a handsome frame to a kindly face, makes him only more readily identifiable to - well, one way to put it is - Mayne's fans. There is no particular age, or nationality group, just as their ways of showing appreciation vary greatly. For example, during an intermission at last year's Awards and Music gala in Atlanta, a young student from a Far Eastern country tapped Mayne on the shoulder asking if he would do him the honor of posing with him for a picture (right there, by the aisle) - obviously a prized trophy to take back home. Dignitaries have shown equal spontaneity. As Mayne was introduced - sans preambles about CRP - to one of the first delegations of Russian geophysicists to visit the US, each delegate promptly returned the business cards Mayne was handing out, requesting an autograph.

Noblesse oblige. Still, despite a generation's time of such impromptu shows of admiration, the oft-referenced, much-in-demand, warmly-applauded Mayne can't hide a momentary Who-Me? reaction. Something all the more engaging in one of unimpeachable world class ranking.


  1. Proubasta, D. (1985) Harry Mayne: The inventor of Comon Depth Point The Leading Edge, 4(7), 18-24.
  2. Awards Citations of SEG (1998) SEG Press, Tulsa, Oklahoma

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