Border Patrol Stories
Buck
"You ain't a pimple on a PA's ass". That was a memorable Buckism, especially if you happened to be the journeyman on the receiving end of Buck's old school constructive criticism. Buck Williams was a man of few words. He was Victor 10, one of my supervisors. Everything about him was larger than life. A big man, he could have passed for John Wayne's older, crankier brother. He spoke in a Johnny Cash baritone drawl, low, slow and clear so there was never any doubt in his message. The stories I heard from my peers on his unit were legendary, and when Buck finally had something to say to his crew at muster, well that was called a Buckathon. One day at shift change, my off-going classmate Arturo happily informed me that the Station was abuzz with news of a supervisor shake-up. Buck was coming to my unit. I was about to meet a legend.
I actually sort of met Buck the very first day I showed up at Chula Vista Station fresh from the Academy. Unlike most of my classmates, I didn't use my leave to go home and gather my belongings, so I was in the front office reporting early. I was talking to Rich Norton, the House Mouse, who was lining me up with newbie information. I could hear yelling, but Rich seemed unfazed so I ignored it. Then it got closer, and two arguing agents stormed inside the front office. They marched past the door of the Patrol Agent In Charge, affectionately known as "Hitler", and slammed it behind them. A third yelling voice immediately joined the fray. The two initial quarrelers turned out to be Buck and his boss, Big Bird. It was quite a loud session, but Rich and the secretary, Tonie, carried on as if they didn't notice. I asked if I should come back later, but Rich nonchalantly said "Naw, they do that all the time". What kind of outfit was this?
First muster with a stone faced Buck in attendance. We all waited in anticipation of his trademark monologue. It never came, and he said not a word. Our unit had been christened as The Zona Libre due to our strategy of letting the nightly hordes move out from staging areas on the border to begin their journey, then sacking up as many as possible when they tried to connect with a bus, trolley or load vehicle headed outta town. It made for record-setting unit apprehension numbers, but we shied away from bragging about the gotaways. We knew Buck's ironclad philosophy was to hold them at the line and work them in the hills. We expected a legendary blow-out when he imposed his will on our loose operational profile. Muster after muster, it never came. Buck remained as mute as a wooden Indian. In the field, we never quite knew where he was or what he did. He was never on the radio except to call for the transport of his apprehensions. We figured we dodged a bullet, business as usual. We were wrong.
Another routine muster, with the agents joking and laughing and waiting to hear the latest Hot Board news. Bam! Buck slammed the podium hard with his nightstick gunshot loud. "Now that I got yer attention". To a stunned and silent audience, Buck proceeded to detail everything that was fouled up on our unit. With each transgression, his icy stare bored a hole in the offending journeyman's head. He expected every agent assigned to work the brush of the Loading Docks to be at their post, and not chasing load vehicles through San Ysidro and points beyond. He put it in plain language "and if you leave your X to go get a hamburger, I guarantee that will be the sorriest hamburger you ever eat". His accusations were not without merit. We indeed had a couple Senior Journeymen who used scanners to monitor local police traffic, then responded to any calls involving load vehicles or stash houses in lieu of their assigned areas. It was a sound strategy I guess, since the police did all the messy apprehension work, and you never got tired or dirty when the cops handed the aliens over. Plus, they got to join in on any fun failure to yields. You could call them "Free Agents". Buck now gave them an ultimatum with his hold-the-line mentality. "If any of you so-called Senior Journeymen have a problem with that, I'll be in the parking lot after muster and we can discuss it further". Nobody took him up on his offer of mediation. From that point on, when Buck was on duty we held the line.
Intrigued by his methodology, I cut some sign on Buck. He liked to park his ride at Travel Lodge, the Upper School, or the end of Enright. He would finish off a cup of thermos coffee, and walk off into the canyons. Pretty soon he would be calling for transport. I never saw him run after any group or heard him yell commands and curses at runners. I don't think anyone ever ran from him. He would simply vanish into the brush and soon emerge with aliens in tow. Over and over again. He moved in long fast strides for a big guy, almost ghostlike. Whomever answered his first call for transport would be stuck for the rest of the night picking up aliens from him, no matter what their original assignment. I wish I would have recorded his curt radio transmissions to play back on the net during slow foggy nights when Buck was off duty. "159, 10". That unexpected monotone drawl sure would have spooked some of the more superstitious agents.
One night I drew the Buck Transport assignment by responding to his first call. Even though my assignment was local sedan, highly sought after by junior journeymen like myself due to the propensity for high-speed thrills, I didn't really mind. Border luck being what it is, I was twice detoured during that shift while driving to and from the station by failure to yields. I wasn't even looking for them, but the load vehicles popped out of side streets, saw me, and sped off as I instinctively pursued. Both drivers bailed so I had no pesky casework other than waiting for a tow truck. Buck took exception to that at the next muster. He excoriated the wet-behind-the-ears agents who chased loaders without backup, all the while boring holes in my eyes. He said it was idiotic to trust our lives to second hand sedans that were liable to throw a tie rod end or have the brakes fail when we went balls to the wall fast. I needed to clear the air with Buck, so I took my chances after muster and went to parley with him in his office. I plead out as a victim of circumstance, and Buck seemed to buy it. I like to think he more appreciated me just taking the issue up with him and standing my ground. We got along fine after that, and I even joined him on some of his canyon walks. Once, as my classmate Corina was picking up our apps, one of the aliens said something very crude to her. Even though Corina had a reputation for bringing grown men to tears with her razor tongue and come-along holds, Buck stepped in. He stood uncomfortably close to rude boy, talking in a low tone. While he spoke, Buck was adjusting the guy's collar and the alien was nodding his head furiously. If you took away the uniform, it looked like a father gently fixing his son's shit before he went off to school. I'll never know what Buck told that guy, but the chastened alien marched up to Corina and humbly apologized for his behavior.
A man like Buck couldn't just quietly retire. I got to work one day and the locker room was buzzing. "Did you hear about Buck putting in his papers?". "Yea, I heard he and Hitler had it out". "Did he really throw his badge and gun in the PAIC's garbage can?". I got the lowdown the next morning from my classmate Benny, who was on House Mouse duty. He said Buck went into Hitler's office and they commenced to yelling. They do that all the time, so no biggie, right? Then it got quiet. Then Buck walked out in his boots, green pants and a T-shirt. Hitler followed him a short time after, and when Benny looked in the office, he saw Buck's river belt and uniform shirt balled up in the trash. Classic Buck. Some thought he would change his mind when he cooled down, but I knew I worked my last shift with Buck. Hitler never uttered a word to us about the abrupt retirement, but we couldn't let Buck go without a proper sendoff. Someone finally cajoled him into attending his retirement party, with one disclaimer "if I see any goddamned supervisors there I'm turning my ass right around".
We had a fine farewell party at The Archway, and even though one Supe, Harry Herrera, showed up, Ole Buck enjoyed himself. He and Harry regaled us with Old Patrol tales as we toasted Buck throughout the night. Two of the Patrol's most epic Supes letting their hair down made it a memorable night. I don't recall what retirement trinkets we bestowed on him, but Buck was awarded something money or rank could never buy. Long after he left, agents working the E-4 area used Buck's Hump, named in honor of our cantankerous leader, as a landmark. Many years later I realized Buck was on to something with his linewatch doctrine. The Patrol adopted a groundbreaking National Strategy to hold the line, backed up by proper fences, lights, manpower and equipment. I wonder how Buck would have fared in that New Patrol? His official retirement photo with tongue out to the cameraman exemplifies Buck's "I'll do it my way" attitude. I'll tell you what, I wouldn't mind hearing just one more Buckathon.
I actually sort of met Buck the very first day I showed up at Chula Vista Station fresh from the Academy. Unlike most of my classmates, I didn't use my leave to go home and gather my belongings, so I was in the front office reporting early. I was talking to Rich Norton, the House Mouse, who was lining me up with newbie information. I could hear yelling, but Rich seemed unfazed so I ignored it. Then it got closer, and two arguing agents stormed inside the front office. They marched past the door of the Patrol Agent In Charge, affectionately known as "Hitler", and slammed it behind them. A third yelling voice immediately joined the fray. The two initial quarrelers turned out to be Buck and his boss, Big Bird. It was quite a loud session, but Rich and the secretary, Tonie, carried on as if they didn't notice. I asked if I should come back later, but Rich nonchalantly said "Naw, they do that all the time". What kind of outfit was this?
First muster with a stone faced Buck in attendance. We all waited in anticipation of his trademark monologue. It never came, and he said not a word. Our unit had been christened as The Zona Libre due to our strategy of letting the nightly hordes move out from staging areas on the border to begin their journey, then sacking up as many as possible when they tried to connect with a bus, trolley or load vehicle headed outta town. It made for record-setting unit apprehension numbers, but we shied away from bragging about the gotaways. We knew Buck's ironclad philosophy was to hold them at the line and work them in the hills. We expected a legendary blow-out when he imposed his will on our loose operational profile. Muster after muster, it never came. Buck remained as mute as a wooden Indian. In the field, we never quite knew where he was or what he did. He was never on the radio except to call for the transport of his apprehensions. We figured we dodged a bullet, business as usual. We were wrong.
Another routine muster, with the agents joking and laughing and waiting to hear the latest Hot Board news. Bam! Buck slammed the podium hard with his nightstick gunshot loud. "Now that I got yer attention". To a stunned and silent audience, Buck proceeded to detail everything that was fouled up on our unit. With each transgression, his icy stare bored a hole in the offending journeyman's head. He expected every agent assigned to work the brush of the Loading Docks to be at their post, and not chasing load vehicles through San Ysidro and points beyond. He put it in plain language "and if you leave your X to go get a hamburger, I guarantee that will be the sorriest hamburger you ever eat". His accusations were not without merit. We indeed had a couple Senior Journeymen who used scanners to monitor local police traffic, then responded to any calls involving load vehicles or stash houses in lieu of their assigned areas. It was a sound strategy I guess, since the police did all the messy apprehension work, and you never got tired or dirty when the cops handed the aliens over. Plus, they got to join in on any fun failure to yields. You could call them "Free Agents". Buck now gave them an ultimatum with his hold-the-line mentality. "If any of you so-called Senior Journeymen have a problem with that, I'll be in the parking lot after muster and we can discuss it further". Nobody took him up on his offer of mediation. From that point on, when Buck was on duty we held the line.
Intrigued by his methodology, I cut some sign on Buck. He liked to park his ride at Travel Lodge, the Upper School, or the end of Enright. He would finish off a cup of thermos coffee, and walk off into the canyons. Pretty soon he would be calling for transport. I never saw him run after any group or heard him yell commands and curses at runners. I don't think anyone ever ran from him. He would simply vanish into the brush and soon emerge with aliens in tow. Over and over again. He moved in long fast strides for a big guy, almost ghostlike. Whomever answered his first call for transport would be stuck for the rest of the night picking up aliens from him, no matter what their original assignment. I wish I would have recorded his curt radio transmissions to play back on the net during slow foggy nights when Buck was off duty. "159, 10". That unexpected monotone drawl sure would have spooked some of the more superstitious agents.
One night I drew the Buck Transport assignment by responding to his first call. Even though my assignment was local sedan, highly sought after by junior journeymen like myself due to the propensity for high-speed thrills, I didn't really mind. Border luck being what it is, I was twice detoured during that shift while driving to and from the station by failure to yields. I wasn't even looking for them, but the load vehicles popped out of side streets, saw me, and sped off as I instinctively pursued. Both drivers bailed so I had no pesky casework other than waiting for a tow truck. Buck took exception to that at the next muster. He excoriated the wet-behind-the-ears agents who chased loaders without backup, all the while boring holes in my eyes. He said it was idiotic to trust our lives to second hand sedans that were liable to throw a tie rod end or have the brakes fail when we went balls to the wall fast. I needed to clear the air with Buck, so I took my chances after muster and went to parley with him in his office. I plead out as a victim of circumstance, and Buck seemed to buy it. I like to think he more appreciated me just taking the issue up with him and standing my ground. We got along fine after that, and I even joined him on some of his canyon walks. Once, as my classmate Corina was picking up our apps, one of the aliens said something very crude to her. Even though Corina had a reputation for bringing grown men to tears with her razor tongue and come-along holds, Buck stepped in. He stood uncomfortably close to rude boy, talking in a low tone. While he spoke, Buck was adjusting the guy's collar and the alien was nodding his head furiously. If you took away the uniform, it looked like a father gently fixing his son's shit before he went off to school. I'll never know what Buck told that guy, but the chastened alien marched up to Corina and humbly apologized for his behavior.
A man like Buck couldn't just quietly retire. I got to work one day and the locker room was buzzing. "Did you hear about Buck putting in his papers?". "Yea, I heard he and Hitler had it out". "Did he really throw his badge and gun in the PAIC's garbage can?". I got the lowdown the next morning from my classmate Benny, who was on House Mouse duty. He said Buck went into Hitler's office and they commenced to yelling. They do that all the time, so no biggie, right? Then it got quiet. Then Buck walked out in his boots, green pants and a T-shirt. Hitler followed him a short time after, and when Benny looked in the office, he saw Buck's river belt and uniform shirt balled up in the trash. Classic Buck. Some thought he would change his mind when he cooled down, but I knew I worked my last shift with Buck. Hitler never uttered a word to us about the abrupt retirement, but we couldn't let Buck go without a proper sendoff. Someone finally cajoled him into attending his retirement party, with one disclaimer "if I see any goddamned supervisors there I'm turning my ass right around".
We had a fine farewell party at The Archway, and even though one Supe, Harry Herrera, showed up, Ole Buck enjoyed himself. He and Harry regaled us with Old Patrol tales as we toasted Buck throughout the night. Two of the Patrol's most epic Supes letting their hair down made it a memorable night. I don't recall what retirement trinkets we bestowed on him, but Buck was awarded something money or rank could never buy. Long after he left, agents working the E-4 area used Buck's Hump, named in honor of our cantankerous leader, as a landmark. Many years later I realized Buck was on to something with his linewatch doctrine. The Patrol adopted a groundbreaking National Strategy to hold the line, backed up by proper fences, lights, manpower and equipment. I wonder how Buck would have fared in that New Patrol? His official retirement photo with tongue out to the cameraman exemplifies Buck's "I'll do it my way" attitude. I'll tell you what, I wouldn't mind hearing just one more Buckathon.
Buck
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