The sun was rising fast in the east. The day started out like any other midweek morning. It was going to be a glorious fall day. The calendar date indicated that there were still a few weeks of summer weather left. But, by New York standards, summer is over Labor Day weekend. School is back in session, vacations are a memory, and the Yankees are in first place again. Before long, the trees will progress into their annual ritual and transformation to the brilliant oranges, yellows, and browns that let all know the harsh cold of winter is not far off.
Boatswain's Mate First Class (BM1) Kenneth Sill was at the helm of the United States Coast Guard Cutter (USCGC) Oak Island (WPB-1360). The Oak Island is one of many Island Class 110-foot patrol boats, built at the Bollinger Shipyard in Lockport, Louisiana. It is a modification of a highly successful British design. With excellent range and seaworthy lines, it is a very capable vessel.
The three primary missions of the Oak Island are maritime law enforcement, environmental protection, and search and rescue (SAR) duties. This morning, WPB-1360 was patrolling the waters just outside the entrance of New York Harbor, two nautical miles due south of the Rockaway Inlet. To the north, the large Ferris wheel at Coney Island was in clear sight. To the west, the twin beams of the Navesink Lighthouse in Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey, were also clearly visible.
“Skipper,” BM1 Sill called out.
With just a slight tone of annoyance at the disruption, the captain of the cutter said, “Yes, BM1.”
BM1 Sill picked up on the tone, knowing the captain dislikes being called "skipper." It reminds him of the buffoonish way Bob Denver used to call the captain of the S.S. Minnow on the 1960s comedy Gilligan’s Island.
“Sir, permission to turn on the radio and catch yesterday’s baseball scores,” Sill answered.
Kenneth Sill is a 26-year-old surfer from Seal Beach, California. He’s a rebel that doesn’t do well with authority. He joined the Coast Guard because a recruiter told him that upon completion of basic training, he could request a transfer to the Coast Guard Station at Diamond Head, Hawaii, the surfing capital of the world. When Sill arrived at the U.S. Coast Guard Training Center (TRACEN) in Cape May, New Jersey, it took him about three minutes to realize that he had been, well, let’s say, misled. Despite his initial determination to follow orders, he soon came to the realization that his chances of being assigned to Hawaii were extremely slim. Everyone at TRACEN requests to be stationed in Hawaii.
His Company Commander (CC), the Coast Guard equivalent to a Marine Corps Drill Instructor, in his own kindly way, promptly informed him that he would probably wind up on an icebreaker based out of McMurdo Station, on the volcanic rock of Ross Island in the Antarctic. The CC added that he was a dumb son of a bitch to think that there is a station at Diamond Head or that he would be going there. This didn’t sit well, and for the first three weeks at Cape May, he tried every way known to mankind to get out. It didn’t happen.
The one thing Sill had going for him was an incredible desire to be in and on the water. His Company Commander recognized that he was the best swimmer in his unit. He wound up becoming a mentor to those that had trouble learning how to swim. By the time graduation day came, he was Coast Guard through and through, but he still had a rebel streak in him. The captain has a soft spot in his heart for Sill. He saw himself twenty-four years earlier.
Kenny Sill also lives and dies for Dodger baseball. He has been reprimanded on several occasions for wearing a Dodger cap rather than the standard USCG utility ball cap while on duty. Today, BM1 Sill was in compliance with the proper uniform and cover. That pleased the captain. The Dodgers, Giants, and Diamondbacks are in a three-way race for the National League West.
“That’s a good idea, BM1,” the captain answered.
The captain knew he needed the outside distraction to stay alert. It was an exceptionally quiet morning. There wasn't much traffic either on the water or on the VHF marine radio. The radar showed a half dozen fishing boats heading out of Sheepshead Bay. The captain thought most were lucky if they were half full with paying customers on this Tuesday morning. There seemed to be enough patrons, though, for these few boats to try their luck at some bluefish. There was no other vessel traffic in or out of Lower New York Bay.
The captain used the intercom to order Telecommunications Specialist Third Class (TC3) Jill Tyler to pipe in some news radio to the bridge.
Jill Tyler is nineteen years old. She was born and raised in Largo, a suburb of St. Petersburg, Florida. A petite, plain-looking young woman that has a desire to succeed, she lived a very quiet and sheltered life. Her mother passed away when she was three. Her father did the best he could, but being his only child, he was overly protective. Throughout her time in high school, she never played sports and didn’t socialize with many classmates. As a freshman at Pinellas Park High School, she joined the JROTC on the advice of her guidance counselor. The counselor convinced her father that participation in JROTC would help prepare her for a successful career after she graduated. Once she started, there was never any doubt in her mind of what she would do after high school.
Within seconds, the timeless sound of the familiar news ticker of 1010-WINS, the AM news icon from New York City, was being received loud and clear. Their motto is ‘All news—all the time. Give us twenty minutes and we’ll give you the world.' The sound coming from the speaker could have been a tape recording from any of a hundred different mornings. They all sound alike at 0600 on a weekday morning in the ‘Big Apple,’ especially on a slow news day. A truck has overturned on the Gowanus Expressway… There is a ten-minute backup at the Holland Tunnel… a water main break on East 116th Street at First Avenue… Avoid the area; the Long Island Railroad has some scattered five-minute delays into Jamaica, on and on. Finally, the baseball scores from yesterday.
The Mets have been on a tear, winning 10 of their last 12 games. It has put them back in the hunt for another pennant. Since the captain is a die-hard, lifelong Mets fan, the crew had an interest in how they were doing. During baseball season they could tell where the Mets are in the standings by the captain’s demeanor. The radio announcer continued, 'The local teams had the day off yesterday; there were only two games scheduled in the National League. Chicago beat Cincinnati 8-2, and the Cardinals trounced Milwaukee 8-0.' No one on the bridge really cared about the NL Central, but the sound of news from the real world was welcome.
The captain, Lieutenant Commander (LCDR) William Connolly, is a third-generation ‘Coastie’ with twenty-four years in. Born at the Naval Hospital at Saint Albans in Queens, New York, on January 22, 1959, and raised on the south shore of Long Island, he is the only one on board the USCGC Oak Island with local ties.
He’s been preoccupied on this mission, trying to think through the toughest decision of his life. Should he call it quits, put in his papers, and take a 24-year pension?
A familiar voice said, “Your guys have really made a race out of the east division, eh, captain?”
It was his Executive Officer, Ensign (ENS) Matthew Jones.
Connolly replied, “They’ll never catch Atlanta. I’m worn out watching the damn Yankees and Braves in the postseason.”
“Bill, you told me you can die peacefully since you were able to experience a subway series last year,” Matt prodded.
“I did, but the wrong team took that series. Who knows, maybe we will have another shot this year.”
Matt Jones knew what was going through LCDR Connolly’s mind. He was trying to distract him from his personal preoccupation.
William James Connolly, Lieutenant Commander, United States Coast Guard Academy—Class of 1981, graduating in the lower third of his class. He is a second-generation academy graduate. His own daughter, Elizabeth, is a sophomore, a third-classman at the academy. Now, all he could think was what a waste all that training was. He’s not as happy about Liz wanting to follow the family tradition. He is more comfortable knowing his son Brian, upon graduation from high school in June, will be attending a liberal arts college. Brian wants to be an art teacher. LCDR Connolly is so proud that Brian has the will and the guts to follow his dream rather than the family business. In hindsight, he wishes he had.
With a Bachelor of Science in Mechanical Engineering, here he is, commanding a patrol boat two miles off the Brooklyn shore at Coney Island, not twenty-five miles from where he was born. Any Lieutenant Junior Grade (LTJG) three years out of the academy could handle this duty—and he knows it.
He was growing deeper into his own thoughts. ‘What the hell am I doing here? Is this just a midlife crisis? Am I justified in wanting to throw away a stable career? Am I being selfish? Should I have tried harder, played politics, and gotten ahead? Hell, had I followed Daddy’s advice, I would be a Rear Admiral by now, or at the very least have my fourth stripe as a Captain.' Then he thought sarcastically to himself, ‘You’ve come a long way, baby!’
Three weeks prior, he attended his twenty-five-year high school reunion. This was a turning point for the Lieutenant Commander. His best friend in high school, Tom Grinnell, attended Farmingdale College, a two-year college that is part of the State University of New York system. He majored in Building Construction. At 42 years old and with an associate's degree, Tom owns his own company. It’s a small construction firm, employing twenty and specializing in kitchen and bathroom upgrades and renovations for the aging housing community on Long Island. He is knocking down around $400,000 a year. This most of all was playing on Bill’s mind.
‘Twenty years out of college, and what do I have to show for all this?’ he thought. With a degree, experience, and years of putting career before family, he was banished to what he considered lightweight duty. His savings account has a total of $6,117.37 in it. He owns a small three-bedroom, one-bath track house in Mastic Beach in eastern Suffolk County—a blue-collar working-class community, but not one of the premier neighborhoods on Long Island.
There was never a question from the moment his father saw him in the maternity ward that cold January day in 1959 what his future would hold. He would be a United States Coast Guard officer. His entire career has been in the shadows of his father, Rear Admiral (RADM) James Patrick Connolly, Jr.—Retired. To top that off, he is the grandson of Coast Guard legend Chief Boatswain (CPO) James Patrick Connolly-Retired (deceased 1974). The Coast Guard is in his blood. A Connolly has been in the Coast Guard since 1916.
The base pay for his rank is $4,986 per month. Not a shabby amount, until you take into account his education, experience, and the enormous life-and-death responsibility that the Coast Guard puts on their officers. This is far short of what he could demand in the private sector as a mechanical engineer, and he knew it. In addition, he wouldn’t have to work days, nights, weekends, and holidays. His feeling was that it would be nice to commute to an air-conditioned office and work Monday to Friday, a nine-to-five job. Most of all, he could be home every night with his high school sweetheart and wife of almost twenty-one years, Debbie.
Bill Connolly made attempts at being a good husband and father. Sometimes he was able to pull it off. Most of the time, he could not. The missed birthday parties, Little League games, dance recitals, and anniversaries really started playing on his mind. He realized that the past could never be regained. With his birthright career, it has been a sporadic family existence at best.
Debbie Connolly has been a real trooper. Being a full-time mother and manager of the household and also having to fill in as a part-time father to the children was a full-time job. In their twenty-plus years, she has had to uproot and move seven times. She never complained to Bill, but he knew that this had not been an easy life for her. That was the reason for purchasing the house in Mastic. He wanted to provide a sense of security for his family.
Debra J. Dwyer Connolly is the daughter of a Wall Street stockbroker. Growing up in suburban New York City, her childhood was one of great stability. The first time she moved was when she packed up to be married. She had known no other address. When they were dating in high school, her family thought it would pass. When Bill decided to attend the Coast Guard Academy in New London, Connecticut, Debbie’s father was relieved. While William Connolly attended the academy, Debbie attended Bernard Baruch College, part of the City University of New York system. She also worked part-time at the firm where her father spent the last thirty-two years climbing the corporate ladder. He assumed that it would just be a matter of time before the two would grow apart and go their separate ways. That never happened. The love between William and Debbie never wavered. They were married two weeks after he graduated from the academy in June 1981.
The silence on the bridge was broken by the crackle of the VHF radio. “US Coast Guard, US Coast Guard, US Coast Guard… this is Motor Vessel Ever Union, over.”
The sound startled LCDR Connolly.
Before anyone on the bridge could respond, again a second transmission was received: “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday… this is Motor Vessel Ever Union, over.”
ENS Jones was still on the bridge. The radar screen showed no large ship traffic for a twenty-mile radius. That seemed strange. The daily traffic manifest did not list any ship under the name Ever Union. LCDR Connolly was suspicious.
ENS Jones picked up the microphone and responded to the call, “Motor Vessel Ever Union, this is Coast Guard Cutter Oak Island, over.”
No response.
After waiting a full minute, he tried again: “Motor Vessel Ever Union, this is Coast Guard Cutter Oak Island. What is your position, over?”
Still no response.
He tried a third time, “Motor Vessel Ever Union, this is Coast Guard Cutter Oak Island. Are you in need of assistance? Over.”
The crew on the bridge quickly grew uneasy. It was just this type of communication that the Coast Guard is ready for. All of the hours of drill and practice, all the hard work, and now the crew instinctively kicks into action. The blood started to pump hard in LCDR Connolly’s chest. Even though he was unsure of the distress signal, it was still an adrenaline rush. Was this ship in trouble? Is it a huge oil spill? Would a quiet morning turn into an all-out search and rescue, requiring additional assets?
After no response on the third try, LCDR Connolly bolted into action. “TC3 Tyler, contact Vessel Traffic Service (VTS) New York and get a position of the M/V Ever Union and where its approximate position should be.”
“Aye-aye, captain,” she automatically responded, as if she were two days out of boot camp.
Bill Connolly thought that was pretty military of her, but this is exactly what they train for; TC3 Tyler was all business. He doesn’t really run a ‘by-the-book’ ship—he never did. He also thought to himself, 'This is why you’re still a Lieutenant Commander after twenty-four years.'
Two minutes passed when Bill Connolly’s suspicions were confirmed by VTS-New York.
“It is apparent that the transmission we received is a false call. I have been informed the M/V Ever Union is an Evergreen containership. It is currently off the coast of Japan, en route to Osaka. It’s probably a couple of guys sitting in a sixteen-foot boat, using a fishing trip as an excuse to drink a few six-packs. Fishing is slow, and this is a cute way for them to kill some time. The transmission is coming from an area near Sandy Hook, New Jersey. VTS will turn this over to an investigation unit.”
Based on his experience, he knows that the likelihood of the criminals that transmit a false mayday being caught is slim to none.
LCDR Connolly ordered, “TC3, enter this in the log; please note the time, 0710. Everyone, let’s get back to normal here; we have a long day ahead of us. Let’s stay sharp.”
As soon as things got quiet, LCDR Connolly quickly slipped back into his own thoughts. The prospect of not having to deal with this kind of nonsense became more appealing with every incident. This one was no different than any other. Then, he started to think about his father, and what would his reaction be to his retirement? At the very least, it would disappoint him. Even more so, his thoughts turned to his grandfather. His mind was racing. The long family history in the service, the Coast Guard, and the Connolly's… the Connolly's are the Coast Guard.
*****
In 1915 the U.S. Life Saving Service and the U.S. Revenue Cutter Service were merged to form a single U.S. Coast Guard. His grandfather was there in the beginning. The Coast Guard was just eight months old when James Connolly, Sr., signed up.
He drifted into the memories of his grandfather. As a young boy he remembered the stories of the way it used to be and the great days of the old Coast Guard, when it was a branch of the Treasury Department. As a young boy, the rough-and-tumble adventure stories passed along from his grandfather would hold his attention for hours.
This time, LCDR Connolly broke the silence. “Matt, take the bridge. I have a pounding headache. I’m going to my bunk to lie down.”
“Aye-aye, captain. Would you like me to have the Doc bring you some Advil?” ENS Jones asked.
The Doc is Health Services Technician Third Class (HS3) Roger Cox. Roger Cox is the other crew member from California. Born in North Carolina but raised in the Central Valley city of Stockton, unlike BM1 Kenneth Sill, he did not spend much time at the ocean. The occasional trip to the beach with family or friends was the only experience in saltwater he had. He spent his time growing up in pools. What HS3 Cox did have was strength as a swimmer, a lifeguard, and a leader. He was a decent varsity water polo player throughout high school and at the junior college level. After his first year of college, he had the opportunity to coach. His skills as a coach were even better than his playing ability.
His father was a twenty-year man, a retired Gunnery Sergeant in the United States Marine Corps. Roger Cox and his father had a good relationship. In fact, the only thing they didn’t agree on was his lack of military service. Roger’s father thought it was every young man’s duty to serve his country. A day never passed that HS3 Cox’s father didn’t mention his failure that he didn’t enlist in the service right out of high school. He was twenty years old, still living at home, and growing very tired of hearing his father badger him about enlisting in the Corps. In his own words, he didn’t want to be a "jarhead." It’s not that he had anything against the Marine Corps; it just didn’t interest him.
Out of respect for his father and a true desire to serve his country, Cox enlisted in the Coast Guard. Although his father considered any duty other than the Corps to be for lightweights, he considered Roger’s ability to swim and the fact that he was a lifeguard. He thought it was better than no service at all. In Cox’s father’s mind, a stint in the Navy, possibly as a Navy SEAL or Officer Candidate School, would have been more fitting of his son, but he would live with his choice. Upon graduation from San Joaquin Delta College in Stockton, California, with an associate's degree, Roger Cox enlisted in the United States Coast Guard.
LCDR Connolly finally answered, “No. That won’t be necessary. I’m just not sleeping well these days. The glare on the water is really bothering me this morning. Mr. Jones, keep her at two-thirds throttle, stay a minimum of two nautical miles offshore, and don’t stray too far from the Ambrose Channel. When I wake up, we’ll head up the Narrows and check out Port Newark and the Upper Bay.”
In a friendlier than military response, ENS Jones replied, “You got it, Bill, feel better. I’ll call you if anything breaks. TC3, note the time in the log that the captain has left the bridge.” It was 0715.
Bill Connolly exited the bridge, went to the captain’s stateroom, climbed into his rack, and started to fade. The hum of the diesel engines and the movement of the cutter through the calm ripple of the salt water created a relaxing feeling for Bill Connolly. It was one he was very familiar and comfortable with. It was a sensation that he had grown to look forward to. When he’s on land, he sometimes finds it difficult to relax. This is never a problem while on a vessel underway. Although he had only awakened just two hours before, he had no problem fading into a state of repose.
Connolly reflected on those that came before him. He thought about the hardships and sacrifices so many men and women endured. Thousands of acts of bravery have occurred throughout the time that his family has been serving their country. How routine this is in the United States Coast Guard and how commonplace it is for the Connolly family.
LCDR William J. Connolly lay in his rack pondering the past. He is thinking about the stories that his father and grandfather had passed along. In his current state of mind, his grandfather is the person he is reminiscing about. The hard childhood and early life that his grandfather had and how his grandfather was the first generation born in the United States. As the USCGC Oak Island rolled slightly to starboard, LCDR Connolly was well into his daydream. He recalled the story of how his family came from Ireland to America. Then he understood how the Coast Guard changed all the generations of Connollys to come.
