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

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,

position usually reserved for a petty officer.

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,

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

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. "Ill 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.

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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