I was Rescued by the United States Coast Guard

 

 

 

I was rescued by the United States Coast Guard.  On an average day, in addition to all of the other duties and responsibilities - maritime law enforcement sorties, drug interdiction operations, pollution investigations, marine inspections, security boardings, and infrastructure waterborne patrols - assets of our nation's smallest military will preserve $1.2 million in property and conduct 45 search and rescue cases.  And ten lives will be saved.  Ten.  Each day.  Since 2000, each year, the Coast Guard saves more than 4,500 individuals.

But I'm not one of those.  No.  The Coast Guard saved me in another way.

A year ago this month, a substantial, often times burdensome, cornerstone ingredient of my life and who I had become as a person ended.  I had been a law enforcement officer for most of my existence on this planet.  And as most police officers will tell you, it was far more than a job.  It was a compass.  My morale bearing, which shaped my vision of life and lives.  My life and the lives of everyone I touched, both personally and professionally, and both good and bad.

It takes a certain kind of person to become a public servant.  You are giving yourself to others.  Every.  Day.  You experience the underbelly of society.  The sickness that plagues our world.  And yet, you continue to give, to sacrifice, to care, and to protect.  To do, what you believe, is the right thing.

When I was a freshman in college, I had competed in soccer for 13 or so years to that point.  As with being a police officer later in life, playing European football was who I was.  I loved playing it, just as I would revere my career in law enforcement years later.  But during practice one August afternoon, I felt excruciating, searing pain in the lower half of my right leg.  I dropped.  And that was essentially the end of it.  My soccer days were behind me.  I suffered an extensive linear tear of my gastrocnemius muscle.  Scar tissue developed as deep tissue massages by my team's trainer tried to keep it at bay.  But there were no more intense hill climbs or sprints.  Spirited practices or fierce games.  I had to hang up my cleats.  My days of playing the game I loved for years was no longer within my capacity.  Bullshit, I thought.  I was not ready to have it end.  It was my call to make when I wanted to make it.  Yet, there are some influences that are out of my control.  I could've limped along, but that wasn't my creed.  I wanted to be the best I could be in whatever I committed myself to.

And just like as that muscle rip was one of many I suffered while running up and down grass fields, I sustained injuries as well during my professional career running from call to call.  Hence, when I had to hang up my gun and badge, like the cleats and shin guards before them, I did so, not because I wanted to, but because I had to.  The time had come.  Policing is a young person's game.  All my traumas caught up with me.  Scars and fractures riddled inside me.

But serving others does not leave you.  It is you.  So, I needed something.  I could feel myself starting to drown in emptiness and loss.  By November 2019, I was wrapping up my sixteenth year in the Coast Guard Reserve and had stepped into serving again as my lifeblood.  The Coast Guard, as it has done longer than any other military branch in our country's history, threw a lifeline out and saved another.  This time, it was me.  I grabbed a hold of the opportunity to go on active duty and clutched it tight.  Although my CG career field has been and still is maritime law enforcement, I am gleefully performing other duties and responsibilities completely unrelated.  I provide direct logistics support to the fleet, like the mighty United States Coast Guard Cutter BERTHOLF, the first National Security Cutter (NSC) for a Coast Guard fleet undergoing an historic recapitalization of its surface assets.

The 418-foot NSCs are the most technologically sophisticated Coast Guard cutters performing critical missions worldwide, like in the South China Sea alongside our Navy sister ships.

This second wind for me is a godsend.  I help deter the Chinese.  Interdict drugs.  Ensure ports are secure and the boating public is safe.  I help save lives.  It's the least I can do with the United States Coast Guard rescuing me.  Like the fishing boat in the Bering Sea that calls for the mayday during a torrid storm, the Coast Guard came.

To those of you struggling out there or wandering aimlessly and hoping for a lifeline, keep your head up.  Keep treading water.  It'll come.

A Farewell Letter to My Brotherhood

On Sunday, 17 November 2019, I sent this email message out to the individuals I had worked with for the past 16 years...

This past Friday was my last day as a police officer.  Last night, I watched a documentary movie titled No Greater Love.  I don't know if any of you have seen it, but I recommend it as its message is about brotherhood.  Many, including me, have likened law enforcement work to military service.  As a matter of concept, police departments are paramilitary organizations.  Whether they are operated as such, well, that's a different issue.

The movie shares the story of a group of soldiers of the "No Slack" Battalion from the 101st Airborne Division while they are on deployment in Afghanistan.  I have never deployed overseas or into a combat zone and I am always indebted to those who have served and been there.  But to the few who I know, have talked to and are reservists or national guardsmen who are also police officers, they agree that being a police officer is consistently more arduous due to the day in and day out of dealing with other people's crises, stress, anxiety, and trauma.  The members of No Slack are brothers.  That is obvious.  They commit to risking their lives over and over while in combat.  But they are also clearly committed to each other when they are at home and struggling with their own individual challenges.  Combat, I can imagine using my cognitive reasoning skills, creates unique bonds.  You are surrounded by life and death and you rely on the man next to you.  You have to.  So, when those men return home, they again rely on their brothers to help them.  They care for each other.  They have to.

Law enforcement, for all intents and purposes, is akin to those issues faced by those servicemembers.  There can and, almost assuredly, will be countless times that you, as a police officer, will rely on the man (or woman) next to you.  You have to.  It only takes one moment for someone's life to change, forever, and that includes dying in the line of duty.  A police officer, however mundane the call for service is or the area that they patrol, exposes himself to potential danger.  As I'm sure you have all heard at one time or another during your tenure, there's at least one gun on every call for service, every traffic stop, every contact.  And those moments add up.  Some stay with you.  A few haunt.  It's during those "some" and those "few" when your brother or sister-in-arms needs your help.  They might need a simple pick me up or a more committed commitment.  But at some point, someone will need you.  And for the ones that do need your extended hand, do not expect them to call out and let it be blatantly known.  You will have to "see" them.  And to see them, you'll have to know them.  Individuals in a depressed state, whether acute or chronic, are sometimes too consumed by their helplessness to pick up the phone and say "hey man, can we get together?"  That's your job.  He's your brother, right?  Certainly, there were times, however slight or subtle, when you needed him and he was there for you...to back you up on a violent domestic or a high-risk traffic stop.  Those sounds of distant sirens getting rapidly closer never sounded so sweeter.  So, what's stopping you from doing the same for him when it's a little less dramatic of a situation?  The answer is nothing.

I spent over 25 years in law enforcement working with other officers from all walks of life with varying degrees of skill level and professional commitment.  I am proud of the things that I have accomplished and the dedication I conveyed during my career.  But there was always one thing that I struggled with while I was there...the absence of a dependable brotherhood.  Yes, there were some moments and instances where people stepped up.  But all too often, it was fleeting.  To be certain, there is accountability on my part.  I am sure I failed along the way at times.  And for that and for those for whom I did, I am remorseful.

So, I will leave you all with one last piece of humble advice.  Take it for what it's worth.  You must care for each other.  You have to.  And that means, more than not, that the caring happens beyond the call for service, the traffic stop, the contact.  It happens when someone is out due to an injury, illness at home, struggles with a spouse, or even the unexpected legal and administrative challenges at work...when that individual, who was your "brother" up until that moment, is fighting to "breath" and keep their head above water emotionally, mentally, and probably financially.  When the fear of loss is enveloping them, they could use that extended hand of yours.  And they might have to use it (that hand of yours) over and over and over.  Because the sense of abandonment is a shitting thing to someone who thought those unique bonds of brotherhood extended beyond that call for service, that traffic stop, that contact...and that it also went to when they're home alone looking for a purpose.

"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends"  John 15:13

Always, be well and be safe.

John