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Editor’s Note: (There are spoilers for the first episode of “Landman” in this article.)
The screen flickers with tension as Billy Bob Thornton’s Tommy Norris, the central figure of Taylor Sheridan’s “Landman,” sits across from a cartel soldier, a bag over his head and a smirk on his face. With the cool detachment only Thornton can deliver, he quips: “Ours is just bigger.” He’s not talking about bravado; he’s talking about oil. This scene may ooze adrenaline, but it’s not just a clever bit of writing — it’s a reflection of the complicated, often misunderstood role of real-life landmen, who tread a fine line between resource extraction and environmental stewardship.
While Sheridan and co-creator Christian Wallace aim to inject realism into “Landman,” the gritty Texas landscape on screen is only part of the story. What happens when you strip away the Hollywood drama? Who are the landmen really, and what do they do?
To better answer this question, we turned to the American Association of Professional Landmen (AAPL) to find out. With nearly 12,000 members, the organization represents an eclectic mix of professionals who navigate the intricate world of mineral rights, lease agreements, and energy production. The job may not come with the bravado of Thornton’s portrayal, but it’s no less intense.
This was the general consensus, anyway, given how much curiosity has been circling around this profession since the announcement of the show’s production. At a gathering of landmen and energy pros in Fort Worth at the AAPL headquarters at 800 Fournier, the atmosphere was abuzz. In fact, a few scenes for this new series were filmed in these very offices to add authenticity to the production.
And if anyone knows about the authenticity of what a landman does, it’s AAPL president Nancy McCaskell. Besides being the president of the AAPL, McCaskell is the founder of Mason Borough Energy, LLC. For 40 years plus, McCaskell has been proud to say she is a landman.
“A landman is just short for land manager,” she explained. “I know the term has been misinterpreted for years, but it's a title you earn, and I am happy to say I’m still a landman.”
As the crowd begins to grow on the first floor, we find a quiet area to talk upstairs; one that looks very reminiscent of what most people would picture a landman office to look like. This oval shaped office was adorned with golden drapes that covered floor-to-ceiling windows; with a row of shell-shaped chairs making a line up to a large conference table.
This is where McCaskell talked about getting her start in the industry.
“I was working on graduate degrees in English and philosophy,” McCaskell says. “But I decided I didn’t want to do that anymore. My mother said, ‘There’s this thing called a landman. You drive around, do research—I bet you’d be good at it.’”
Turns out, her mother was right.
Fast-forward to today, and McCaskell’s job description is worlds away from her beginnings. “If someone had told me when I started that we’d be drilling wells thousands of feet down and then laterally for miles, I’d have said they were crazy,” she says. “And yet, here we are. We do it every day like it’s nothing.”
It’s not just the technology that’s evolved. The landman’s world has expanded beyond oil and gas to include solar, wind, and even carbon capture.
“Our work is about energy security,” McCaskell explains. “We don’t pull oil and gas out of the ground or harness the wind. What we do is make it possible. We negotiate with landowners, secure rights-of-way, and enable the infrastructure that powers everything from a single lightbulb to a nation’s energy grid.”
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McCaskell lights up when discussing the show currently shining a spotlight on her profession. “Sure, it’s Hollywood—it’s not going to be entirely accurate. But it’s a chance to explain who we are and what we do,” she says. “Most people don’t even know this job exists.”
And yet, the importance of her work—and the work of landmen everywhere—is undeniable. McCaskell recounts one of her favorite stories, a testament to the landman’s pivotal role in history.
“During World War II, in less than 365 days, we laid a pipeline from Longview, Texas, all the way to New York. That pipeline delivered oil to the allies. Over 9 billion barrels of oil were consumed during the war, and Texas provided 7 billion. That’s why we won the war," she says.
Her pride in her profession is palpable, and she makes a compelling case for its future. “This isn’t just a job; it’s a calling. Whether you’re working on oil and gas, wind, or solar, you’re part of something bigger than yourself. You’re helping ensure that when someone flips a switch, the light comes on—and it’s affordable.”
For McCaskell, that’s what being a landman is all about: lighting the way forward, one deal at a time. And after 40-plus years, she’s still as passionate as ever. “I’ve been lucky,” she says with characteristic humility. But luck, it seems, had little to do with it.
One of the most significant challenges landmen face is educating landowners about mineral and surface rights. Unlike on “Landman,” where the distinction is summed up in one pithy line, these rights often require hours of explanation.
“It’s not uncommon for a landowner to think they own everything beneath their property,” Kyle Reynolds, vice president of the AAPL and longtime landman says. “But in reality, those rights may have been sold off decades ago. That’s where we come in—to clarify, negotiate, and ensure everyone gets a fair deal.”
This balancing act between corporate interests and personal relationships is what makes the job both rewarding and stressful. Reyolds explains that much of his work involves acting as a bridge, ensuring transparency in a profession often viewed with skepticism.
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This means ethics play a critical role in this line of work.
The AAPL, founded in 1956, places significant emphasis on upholding the highest standards, according to its website. Their mission is straightforward: to promote sound stewardship of energy resources and support their members’ professional growth.
“I think from a high level, the landman is the problem solver for energy companies,” he continues. “Someone that communicates internally with different parts of the company, with your geologists, with your engineers, with your finance guys, but then also has to go talk to landowners, has to go talk to records folks at a courthouse to see who owns what.”
Unlike the high-stakes negotiations portrayed on “Landman,” the drama in real life is often quieter but no less impactful. Landmen navigate not only legal complexities but also the growing tension between energy production and environmental sustainability; a proverbial tightrope.
Taylor Sheridan’s “Landman” may introduce viewers to the world of mineral rights and oil rigs, but the reality is far more nuanced. It’s a profession built on trust, expertise, and a deep understanding of both people and the land.
So, while Tommy Norris may walk away from a cartel negotiation unscathed, the real heroes of this story are the men and women who ensure that deals are fair, ethical, and beneficial for all parties involved. As Reynolds puts it, “We’re not just oilmen or fixers. We’re problem-solvers. And that’s something worth celebrating.”
