06/27/09 - Petty Officer Matt Wirth, 35, crosses every “i” and dots every “t.” John Borzilleri, 30, wears Tommy Hilfiger glasses and comes ready with wisecracks. Chad Gagnon and Scott Hunter, both 21, mask their adolescence behind their stern expressions and firearms strapped to their legs.

The four men in dark blue uniforms comprised the Coast Guard Block Island crew for Saturday, June 20. The petty officers come from a hodgepodge of backgrounds, but what unites them this day is the Coast Guard’s motto, “always ready.”

Stationed at the entrance of the Great Salt Pond, the four stand by radios and cell phones waiting for the call from a desperate boater. When the radio squawks with a mayday, the opportunity to save lives blurs the dangers of the open sea.

“Anytime we have to launch it’s an adrenaline rush,” Gagnon says.

A race to the dock down the dirt road, stampeding feet on the wooden dock and minutes later the 30-foot Coast Guard boat is under way and headed to the scene.

“It’s not about us. It’s what they need. If you’re taking a shower and a call comes, oh well, take it tomorrow,” Borzilleri says.

There was the time that the call “shots fired” sparked the crew into action. An angry lobsterman suspicious of two boys near his lobster pots confronted them. In response, the boys’ father fired a flare gun at the lobsterman, and the flare missed him by inches. The Coast Guard took the father into custody, but the state attorney general declined to press charges.

Then there are the calls for boats adrift from their anchors. And medical emergencies and fishing violations. And every summer the Coast Guard confronts boaters that combine alcohol consumption with boat driving. “I didn’t think I was that bad,” tends to be the typical response, Borzilleri says. The Coast Guard’s typical response is handcuffs.

Every year the Block Island crew launches about 15 search and rescue operations, most in July and August. The satisfaction of bringing someone to shore safely keeps the four officers returning to the job.

“You get that one case where you get to help somebody, really, really help somebody, that’s the best part,” Wirth said.

Informal but serious

The Block Island crew operates from the former chief’s house at the Coast Guard Station. The red brick house at the entrance to the Great Salt Pond comes with radios, satellite television, new captain’s chairs and a foosball table, though officers were still looking for the ball Saturday. Appropriately, the Coast Guard painted the interior of the station red, white and blue, a patriotic motif.

“Or for the Pats,” jokes Borzilleri, referring to the Patriots football team.

Later Borzilleri slides behind the helm of the Coast Guard’s 30-foot boat outfitted with twin Honda engines, radar, a global positioning system, navigation charts, radios, medical supplies, a fire extinguisher, night vision goggles, binoculars and more. Even with all that equipment, Borzilleri says, it’s simply his “keen sense” that keeps the boat on course in Saturday’s dense fog.

While the crew jokes and dismisses with the formalities of “sir,” this is serious business. Each crewmember carries a knife, flares, locator beacon and strobe light. They wear bulletproof vests and have .40-caliber SIG Sauer P229 DAK handguns strapped to their legs.

They have to be prepared for anything; backup is at least 40 minute away. Most patrols, however, prove perfunctory. Wirth, the officer in charge, checked the paperwork of a luxury yacht sailing under a foreign flag. Gagnon and Hunter boarded a small boat for a safety inspection. Afterwards, Gagnon reviewed the inspection procedure with Hunter, who had never completed one before.

Hunter whipped out his Board Officer Job and Kit — “the bible”— to ensure he followed the correct procedure. He did.

A dubious boat

But not everything can be learned from a book. Experience and instinct also go a long way. Borzilleri knew a boat carrying a half-dozen people and fishing gear was dubious.

He said it looked like a “six-pack,” a charter operating without proper paperwork. When Wirth shouts to the captain, he claims to know the commanding officer at the Point Judith Coast Guard station. “If you talk to him you can say Uncle Tom said hi,” the captain shouts. He explains he is an eye doctor and the commanding officer his patient.

“You can tell right away when he starts throwing out someone’s name — you know he’s doing something illegal,” Borzilleri says as he closes in on the boat.

Wirth grills the captain, who says it’s a group of friends just out for the day. Wirth calls the CO at Point Judith and asks a question not in any Coast Guard training manual. “What’s the name of your eye doctor, master chief?”

The officer radios back the name of the captain. He also conveys that the man runs a charter operation, further raising the suspicions of the Block Island crew. Wirth could board the boat, but decides against it.

“You pick and choose your battles,” he says. He has the authority to board virtually any vessel in U.S. waters, but decides this isn’t a battle worth picking. Instead, Wirth will file the boat and captain in his memory. Next time the captain appears with a “group of friends,” Wirth plans to ask more questions.

“You only lie to me once,” Wirth said.

Wirth can recall numerous boaters lying to him during his 10 years in the Coast Guard. Countless boaters have feigned ignorance of their blood alcohol levels. Others have flat-out denied knowledge of the most basic laws and regulations governing the sea. But boaters who fail to outfit children with lifejackets and then lie about it bother Wirth the most.

While stationed in San Francisco, Wirth participated in a search and rescue operation for a 14-year-old boy pulled out to sea by the current. The Coast Guard never found the boy and Wirth delivered the news to the father.

Wirth, now a father of a 1-year-old boy, will write up a $100 fine for boaters whose children are not wearing lifejackets faster than the blink of an eye. “When you start dealing with the kids, that’s when it’s tough,” he said. Otherwise, it’s simply another day on the job.