Chapter 2
Semper Paratus! The tropical lush green paradise of Puerto Rico, it's warm friendly people, and beautiful women captivated me from the moment I stepped off the plane. The ocean breeze was refreshingly clean and I was truly impressed with the island's unique allure. I felt quite lucky to be stationed here and being a watersports fanatic, I planned to really enjoy my free time here.
Being a lowly seaman-apprentice however, I was assigned to do all the work that nobody of a higher rank would do themselves, mostly chipping, painting, cleaning, and general maintenance jobs on the base.
I knew that my SA
status was temporary and thus pursued these details without complaint as hundreds of other new arrivals did before me.
With only about 200 men and
women stationed here, everyone seemed to be on a warm friendly family basis and they made me feel welcome.
Like everyone else I took my turn doing
security gate and patrol duty which included two night shifts every week.
I had
joined the Coast Guard with the intent of making a career of it, and my mind was always at work trying to discover what role I could best play in the Coast Guard and how I could get there the quickest.
Truly, I was convinced that I
could accomplish any position within the service if I diligently applied myself towards that goal.
15
After
weeks
thought,
of
personal
I convinced myself
that I would most want to be involved
in
Coast
Guard
a
rescue
helicopter pilot and
although
Aviation
as
I did not have the required college degree I was told by the Education officer that there was
an
"Aviation
program that for
after
two
Cadet"
I could apply years
of
general service. So there is where
I set my
long-term
sights. But I surely had to get promoted
out
this
daily
maintenance regime which to me felt like a "make-busy" detail.
Within six
months I passed all the courses to get myself promoted to the next rung up the ladder as a "Seaman" or E-3.
Now I was eligible for other duty assignments
and I was no time in signing
up to work on the 30 foot rescue and patrol
boats that roamed about San Juan Harbor daily looking for a variety of federal pollution violations, checking to see that lighted buoys were working, and doing port security patrols. Tooling around in a boat with two other enlisted men and no officers sure beat the hell out of painting buildings in the hot Caribbean sun any day.
Occasionally we had the nasty duty of pulling
a “floater” out of the bay – a dead person who either committed suicide, was murdered and dumped in the harbor, or some drunk who fell off a cruise ship deck or private yacht. If the body had been in the water more than two days it was a 16
gruesome and smelly affair as decomposing human tissue is one of the worst odors I have ever smelled.
The veteran boat crew coxswains
had to initiate me into their tight-knit
clan of boatswain mates and they chose a way I will never forget for as long as I live. One day while doing routine harbor patrol while I was in training, it was suddenly announced that one of the channel marker near the
mouth of the
harbor
replace it with a new one.
buoys
had a dead battery, and we'd have to
I was appointed to perform
mounted the bow of our boat as we slowly puttered buoy.
lighted
the task and I
up to the fifteen foot
As we ever so gently made contact, I climbed aboard the buoy
with my tool belt despite choppy seas which made it a real challenge.
The
boys in the boat instructed to me to "sit tight" while they went back to pick up a new battery. Well, I sat tight for about three hours as the seas began rolling along with my stomach as the buoy bounced from side to side and it's red light came on right on schedule. battery, but after vomiting repair.
There was nothing wrong with the
for the last hour, it was I who was in need of
After I was mercifully retrieved
I was handed a cold beer and
accepted into the brotherhood of boatswain mates.
Within a few short months I became a proficient boat handler and became the only E-3 in Coast Guard history to become a rescue boat coxswain,
a
position usually reserved for a petty officer.
a
At age 18 I commanded
$300,000 lifeboat and crew of two as we responded to a variety of distress calls on Puerto Rico's northern coastline.
In retrospect,
I now question
our sanity at the time, going out in the worst possible sea conditions to assist others who never bothered pumps or life jackets.
to listen to weather
reports, carry sea
Back then however it was quite rewarding to scoop
someone out of the angry sea or get hugged by a boat captain whose ship
17
we saved from reef consumption.
For a bunch of young guys, it
was exciting and fun work. We patrolled in 30, 40, and 41 foot life boats similar to the one above. The work was very rewarding even in the worst weather imaginable.
The U.S. Coast Guard does some of the most valuable work for America – saving lives at sea, intercepting drug shipments, identifying and arresting major polluters, illegal whalers, international fishery poachers, and border security. In time of war the Coast Guard works for the U.S. Navy and over 3,000 coasties served in Vietnam. When oceans turn angry and you are stuck on one in a boat that is being battered by 20 foot waves, or a hurricane is within eyesight, the one thing you want to see most is a Coast Guard rescue boat or helicopter. I once recall rescuing a couple that was stranded at sea for almost a week and when we show ed up they hugged and kissed us like a big brother for almost five minutes/ They must have 18
said “Thank You” more than fifty times. But aside from high seas rescues, we also did some routine boring stuff as well like inspect cruise ships for safety violations, tow boaters who drank too much and drove their boat up on a reef, and play highway patrol on the water, stopping and checking the registration papers of vessels. You never know what you will stumble across – even human traffickers or someone smuggling liquor.
In the
Northern latitudes and arctic, Coast Guard ice breakers keep shipping lanes open and notify sea captains o any icebergs that may pose a danger. The patrol work is 24/7/365. This small outfit really earns it budget many times over and I was for the most part, proud to serve in the Coast Guard/
Although,
we
weren't
supposed
to
"fraternize"
with
officers,
I
befriended a few including a jovial and charming fellow named Frank Ballou, a career officer from the South who respectable socializing
rank of Lt. Commander.
by his mid fifties attained the We weren't
together so we often hid our friendship
allowed
to be seen
from others and would
often get together for a game of chess off base in one of the many tourist hotels on Condado Avenue Morro
fortress
fascinated
or on the massive lawns of
that guarded
San Juan's
me with his war stories and
father figure.
famous
port for centuries.
The
EI man
I truly admired the guy like a
He gave me great insight into the administration and politics
of the Coast Guard, the smallest of all the about 25,000
the
men and women.
military
I explained
branches
with
only
my career goals to him
and he guided me in the right direction and always kept me focused on advancement.
And getting promoted
matter of four ingredients; 1) Passing Coast Guard specified
Institute, 2)
Passing
number of months
in the Coast Guard was simply a correspondence on-the-job
courses
training,
in each rank (usually
from the
3) serving
a minimum
a
of six
months) and 4) obtaining the recommendation of the commanding officer.
19
Frank said I could be in flight school within two years and the days couldn't pass fast enough for me.
Frank was my secret friend and I have missed
him over the years.
My other friends could be counted on one hand and they were all lowly enlisted
men
like
myself.
My favorites
were
Don
Kayser
a fellow
buckeye from Toledo and Vince Brinker, a great surfer I met in basic training. Vince would teach me how to sail Hobie Cats, catch a wave and speak a little Spanish - just enough to flirt with the local women, and almost get me arrested.
Vince got me to memorize a few lines in Spanish and then
would take me to the beach in his 59Cadillac convertible to practice on a few beauties bathing in the sun. He had me convinced
that I was saying
something along the lines of "Hello there young lady, can I buy you a drink?" when in fact the real meaning of the words
he had me saying were "It
would be a real honor for me if you sat on my face and let me guess your weight!" Vince was truly a character and his calling in the Coast Guard for the next four years would be as a radio man, a position that required a fairly high security clearance. waves smoking
and
rolling
the
most
Vince's greatest talents however were riding perfects
pot was a two hour experiment
the worst headaches
joints
I ever
seen. Personally,
for me that resulted in one of
of my life. Vince fell in love with a beautiful island
girl named Priscilla Delgado who I assume he ran off and married because 20
I kept seeing less and less of him as time went on until he disappeared off the radar screen. Love does strange things to people you know.
Don Kayser and I shared a love for motorcycles weekends exploring the island on our Hondas.
and we often spent the
Don was a "Storekeeper" as
they're called in the Navy and Coast Guard which means keep
everyone
from uniforms
on
the
base
to toilet paper.
supplied
with everything
he
helped
they needed
Unlike the gregarious Vince, Don was the
quiet type but we just hit it off fine together.
Yet another
friend
I made
was
another
radioman
named
Patrick
Westphal, an introvert blonde hair blue-eyed teen who appeared to be the stereotypical All-American
kid next door. Pat often kept to himself but he
was always up for a good conversation or a game of pool or poker. me he wasn't a drinker
or smoker
so we often found ourselves
Like
in each
other's company. 21
But as I was making friends, I also made an enemy by the name of Chief Bass. Funny thing,
I never found
out his full name since everyone just
called him "Chief'. This guy ran the Public Works and motor pool sections on the base and he was always short of seaman to do his grunt work and it seemed he resented that fact that I was working on the boat crews and not
under
compound
his supervision matters
like most other
E-3s
on
the
base.
To
our personalities were like oil and water but since he
had the rank I did my best just to avoid him. When I couldn't,
it seemed I
always found myself with extra duty details like collecting trash or scrubbing urinals.
My savior from Chief
persuaded me to take
Bass was
on a collateral
under
his supervision
version
of a PR director.
a young
duty
as the
as the Public Information So between m y boat
Lt. Mike base
Crye who photographer
Officer, the military's crew and photography
details, I saw less and less of Chief Bass which was just fine with me.
In my pursuit of becoming a rescue helicopter pilot, I decided not to wait on the Coast Guard and signed up for private flying lesson at Isla Grande airport.
The lessons became my weekly highlight and also consumed most
of my meager Coast Guard wage.
But flying an airplane gave me a unique
thrill and the experience was worth every cent. hundred hours and soloed when
my instructor
I had logged about two Terry
Muniz
had to take
off for a “ family emergency” for several weeks. He never returned and I had learned he was arrested by the DEA in some drug sting. I learned to fly in the worst possible plane possible – A Grumman TR2 trainer which was underpowered and had the glide ratio of a rock. The low wing configuration made landing a nightmare. I was elated when I later got to fly high wing Cessna 172s.
22
About nine months after my arrival to the island I heard rumors that Don Kayser was under investigation since there was some pilferage going on in the Supply section.
I knew for sure that Don wasn't a thief and it angered
me to hear such slander.
I really don't know if he knew he was suspect, but
I never mentioned it to him. He was one of about si x people who worked in the supply section. The two highest ranking petty section
officer
in
the
supply
were two local Puerto Ricans named Chief Corretejer and Eddie
Villafaine. Fortunately one night I was assigned to the midnight watch and as I was making my security rounds,
I noticed
some
unusual
activity
going on near the entrance of the. Supply depot. There was a familiar car parked with it's lights off but motor running right in front of the supply office door. As I approached,
I found Chief Corretejer casually loading the trunk
of his car, and he smelled badly of rum (Puerto Rico is home to the world's best rum). "How and what are you doing Chief?" I asked. Startled, the Chief stumbled and groped for an explanation. "There's a party over at the officer's club and they ran out of some things" he replied. But glancing into the trunk of his car, I wondered aloud as to just how many cigarettes could be smoked at one party. The guy had loaded
about
cigarettes into his car. At $6 bucks a carton I figured
300
cartons
of
he was stealing
about $1,800 from Uncle Sam. But since he was actually in charge of the Supply Depot it would be easy for him to pull this off merely by editing his inventory
paperwork. "Chief, I think you should wait here a moment" I
told him as I went to wake up the duty officer who that night happened to be my friend Commander Ballou. As I was explaining the circumstances Frank, we walked
over to the supply depot together
Corretejer. But by the time we got there, only a Chief was gone. Only his still-burning c i g a r e t te
three
to
to confront Chief minute
butt remained
walk the on the
ground. 23
Frank and I then walked to the front gate and confirmed with the gate guard that the Chief was on and off the base in less than 35 minutes according to the log book kept at the gate.
Inside, I was elated that we had caught this
guy red-handed and that my friend Don would be totally vindicated of the gossip being spread behind his back. As I searched the gate area for the proper forms to report the incident, I felt Frank's hand on my shoulder as he guided me away from the gate area. "I’ll handle this Bruce, just resume your rounds". I didn't doubt him for a minute so I took his advice. But as I walked awa y, he added "Be sure you don't tell a soul about what you saw tonight,
ya hear?"
Puzzled,
I couldn't
help but ask why. "Because
I'm
going to handle this my way and you're going to have to trust me on this". And so I did.
I learned a t a subsequent whole matter.
chess game that "his way" was to ignore the
Chief Corretejer was never confronted much less charged
and when I protested, Frank explained
his inaction "Look kid, everyone
on the base knows the Chief has a drinking problem, and he was probably so stewed he probably wasn't thinking straight. He's got over 20 years in the Guard. and we can't let a few cigarettes come pension".
I was really disappointed
between
him and
his
to hear Frank talk like this and when I
told him so, he looked me straight in the eye and replied "This was the CO's decision not mine so don't get the wrong idea ya hear?"
The Commanding
Officer was Captain Parker,
a stern but quiet man who most admired
as an efficient administrator.
But after that chess game, I never looked at
Captain Parker with the same eyes again. supply section ceased with Chief Corretejer's
Amazingly, the pilferage in the transfer.
government crime I reported that was quietly covered
Thus was the first up.
There would be
quite a few more of much greater impact and significance. 24
Only a few weeks later a 65 foot sailboat called the "Double Eagle" was towed
into the base and docked
right next to our 30 foot patrol boats.
The twin masted boat had it's wooden hull painted a bright green with white trim. It was being confiscated and held as evidence for
smuggling
drugs. Less than one hundred feet away, the U.S. Coast Guard Buoy Tender "Sagebrush"
was also docked.
Jamie from the Sagebrush approached "Hey
Gorcyca,
wanna
Within days, a seaman named me and quite casually asked me
make a hundred bucks for an hour of your time?"
"Hows that?" I replied incredulously. "Well
I understand
that you speak
Spanish and Spanish is just what we need right now for a little business transaction in town". his friends
As he started to explain
anxiously awaiting my reply.
I noticed four or five of
When I declined
his offer he
countered with an increased offer of $500 and even $1,000 after I said no a second time.
Frustrated and perhaps a bit angry, Jamie left in a
huff and warned me "Keep your lip buttoned if you know what's good for you", His offer was to accompany him and his pals into town to visit a few pawn shops and drug peddlers to see if they would buy some of the things and drugs they stole off of the Double Eagle.
A few days later I heard one of them boasting at a bar how they made $80,000 off of the Double Eagle.
I also heard Pat Wesphal call -them a bunch of
thieves and threaten to call the police.
I sent Captain Parker an anonymous
five page letter about what took place, and once again, nobody was charged with anything and eventually a"
of the individuals were transferred out of
Puerto Rico, but not before Pat Wesphal was found dead in his quarters. Officially they said it was a "suicide" but even today I still have my doubts. Officially, I can't prove otherwise, but I do know from my conversations with Pat that his last days on Earth were filled with nervous fears of retribution. 25
When I started asking about the circumstances of Pat's sudden death, I noticed everyone felt annoyed and
uneasy and
Captain Parker got me
transferred to the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Point Warde, an 82 foot Patrol Boat that would take me hundreds of miles away from San Juan for weeks at a time. In days and months ahead they would probably wish they sent me to an icebreaker stationed at the North Pole.
But the Point Warde with it's crew of 7 enlisted men and no officers was nothing less than McHale's Navy and it was a real blast as we visited almost every island in the West Indies in pursuit of smugglers and conducted rescues at sea. Along the way we did plenty of deep-sea fishing and scuba diving. But the Point Warde was home-ported in San Juan and for every three weeks we spent on sea patrol we spent a week or two docked in San Juan, so I never really lost touch with my friends there or the problems on the base. San Juan is a major tourist destination with casinos, plenty of cruise ship parties, beaches full of tanned babes in tiny bikinis, so working there was almost a semi-vacation.
I served aboard the 82 foot Coast Guard Cutter Pointe Warde The Executive Officer on Base San Juan was a real arrogant jerk named George Garbe who I doubt was even liked by his own mother. He was
26
second
in command
under Captain
Parker and held the rank of Lt.
Commander at the time. George was the butt of many a joke but no one dared to test his authority since he was extremely strict, quick to punish, and always too serious. His ego was rumored to be bigger than Puerto Rico itself and if someone failed to salute him properly, forgot to say "sir", or even questioned one of his many daily orders, they found themselves But one
day Mr.
appeared
on the
Garbe found
me admiring
on report.
a boat that had suddenly
base that was parked on a trailer.
It was a green and
white 19 foot tri-hull Cobia speedboat with a huge 235 hp Evinrude engine on it - just perfect for water skiing. mind because
he walked
over
Garbe must have been reading my
and
asked
"Do
you
ski
Gorcyca?"
(Apparently enlisted men don't have first names in the presence of officers). "Sure do and you sir?"
I replied.
"No, I'm too old for that now but how
would you like to buy this boat?" "Really?" I asked just assuming he was the owner to make such an offer. "Yeah really - just make me an offer". asked him about a dozen questions about the propeller,
radio,
life jackets,
boat's
motor,
I then missing
etc. and surprisingly he didn't know any of
the answers. I would find out why in a few weeks.
After a bit of haggling
we agreed on $800 if the engine didn't start and $1,000 if it did - but it had to be cash. We shook hands and I handed him $800.
In less than a week the base mechanics had my outboard purring away and we wasted
no time in putting my new boat to good use as we water
skied for hours and trolled for babes.
I was impressed with the boat's
expensive radio, compass, and life jackets which were all government-issued items. Like all good boaters,
I had to get the boat registered and licensed
with the Captain of the Port. When I went to the COP office to register the boat BM1 Oscar Prieto asked me for the boat's title. I searched all over the boat and realized I never got a title. So I went back to Commander
Garbe
27
and asked for the title. He looked at me and just laughed as he replied "You're in the Coast Guard son, whose going to ask you for paperwork? It's been years since I had that boat titled and God only knows where all those papers are". I didn't dare challenge his answer but I sure didn't buy it for one
minute.
It didn't take
much
investigation
on my part to
discover the boat was actually confiscated by the Coast Guard and simply went unclaimed. Apparently old George
Garbe decided he could adopt it
as his own the day he saw me looking at it and sell it for his own personal profit.
Deep down I was a bit pissed at myself for being duped like that but my buddies and I were having too much fun with the boat to make that big of a stink about it.
But one day, I just couldn't keep quiet about this any
longer and went to see Captain Parker after I realized I would never be able to sell the boat without
papers and recover
my $800.
Captain
Parker
assured me that he would take care of it and he did - by transferring me yet again
85
miles
away
to the
Coast Guard
Borinquen on Puerto Rico's Northwest coast.
Air
Station
at
Punta
I eventually sold the boat to
another Coastie who didn't care much about the boat's family tree.
I
later heard that Commander Garbe sold yet another boat that wasn't his to sell but I figure one day he'll be held accountable
by yet a higher
authority than Capt. Parker.
The Coast Guard's famous motto is "Semper Paratus" which is Latin for "Always Ready" but frankly I was never ready for the surprises I found in the United States Coast Guard. Still more were yet to come.
If you want to negate the truth simply smear and discredit those who dare to speak it. - The Author © Cpyright 1995-2014 By Bruce A. Gorcyca – All Rights Reserved
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