It was an interesting four years filling in the duties of public information, crime prevention, drug prevention and “Officer Friendly”. During this time, I was approached by one of the members of our Fraternal Order of Police lodge, who had noticed that I seldom attended meetings. In exchange, and so as to remain a “member in good standing”, I was asked to write articles for the F.O.P. magazine, which I did. There were occasions when I was featured in the press, TV and radio beyond the scope of my job. In fact, I was one of the senior public information officers in the county. Due to the inherent political edge to the job, there was a lot of rotation in the position.
All was well until I saw what I thought would be the ultimate job in the department. There was a posting for an opening on the marine unit. Generally, there are plenty of people who were willing to do this job. I was one of them. So, I put in my request. Several others debated putting in, but second-guessed that there would be too many other folks applying. When the smoke cleared, there were two officers who put in for it. It quite reminded me of the PIO position.
I heard that the other officer had extensive boating experience. As for me, I knew that the pointy end of a vessel was the front. I got through the initial interview by stating that my experience was, from a handling position, “under fifty hours”. More like under five, but who’s counting? Then, there was a committee hearing. There were three (or so) officers with boating experience, who were asking a vast array of nautical questions. It got into situational responses. There was one question regarding towing other vessels, in which you had to draw on paper what it was you would do. My approach may have been somewhat unique, but it worked for the board.
I knew that the other officer was going to get the spot, but I was told that I was second, and, by evaluation score, had missed the position by less than one point. That meant that I would be the only officer that could inherit the position for a year. But, once again, God smiled down. The officer who got the slot got with me shortly after the announcement. In secret, he told me “Hey, don’t worry. Within the next few months, I’ll be leaving for U.S. Customs. There is a position open now in West Palm Beach, but I’m holding out for Miami”.
One morning, as I was opening my office, I received a call to report upstairs. On the second floor, I entered the office of the number two man in the police department. Major Hardy advised me that there was an opening in the marine unit, and that it was mine if I was still interested. I managed to contain an outburst that would have been proportionate to the moment, and said something like “Oh, yeah, sure, why not”.
In anticipation of the position, I began training by taking the prerequisite class from the U.S. Coast Guard Auxiliary. This would cover the absolute basics in boat handling. I took the course with the Deerfield Beach chapter.
At the same time, the preacher from the church I was attending was in the class. It was one night, after the class, that he approached me. He said “I have a problem with you being a police officer. You have to carry a gun.” I explained to him that the gun helped offset the weight of the radio on my other side, which helped when I was chasing bad guys. He failed to see the humor, and stated that I might have to shoot someone, and therefore would be a murderer. I could have resorted to the Bible- specifically Romans Chapter 13, but instead, I gave him a scenario. “What if you came home after a hard day’s work, entered your home, and found someone attempting to rape your wife or daughter? What would you do?” “I would try to talk him out of it.” “OK and when that doesn’t work?” “Well, then I would have to call the police.” “So, when you can’t handle the situation, then you would call us to come in and do your dirty work?” “Well, yes, sure.” Based on this, and other situations, our family eventually left that congregation.
Having successfully completed the Auxiliary course, I was ready to transfer to the position. Now, regardless of one’s performance in any position, one can be only as good as he or she is trained. My training officer was great. Over the next weeks, I was shown how to operate a vessel, how to perform a myriad of functions including vessel stops, search and rescue missions, intelligence inquires, routine equipment, safety equipment inventories as well as paperwork related to the aforementioned. It was an eye opening experience, but one that paid off multiple dividends. My training officer left after a three-week period as a result of being hired by the U.S. Customs folks, of which he was the third officer to do so in short order. Two of the three recently “Customized” officers were assigned to the West Palm Beach area.
In the morning, they went in service from a launch site from the same boat launch as we did. It was a marina from which the “high rollers” kept their vessels, which had access to the ocean in relatively short order by way of canals and Lake Boca Raton. The Customs officers boarded their craft (a high end catamaran called “Blue Thunder”), and proceeded to the Bahamas, where they arrived around lunchtime. There, they checked in and then plotted a course to West Palm Beach and then returned to Boca. As for me, I was still in training. When I wasn’t involved in some form of enforcement, I was practicing the skills that had been taught me during training.
Initially, I was the only person on the marine unit. Our vessels were docked at a marina at the south end of the city. We patrolled t