Art Allan of the Coast Guard may save your life one day

[Doug SC]

He is retired but because of the work he did many are alive today. Here is a link to an article in the Aug 2024 BoatU.S. It is an incredible story that is worth reading. In my way of thinking Art Allan is an unsung American hero.
 
The Drift Of Things
https://www.boatus.com/expert-advice/expert-advice-archive/2024/august/the-drift

[Charles Brennan]

Doug, I have been plucked from the sea, by SAR Coasties, something that really changes you.

It was a fishing trip with my Boss on his twin-engine open sports fisherman back at the end of the '60's, under the guise of doing enough work on some Bazillionaire's home to justify the cost of the trip to the IRS.  We tooled around Cat Cay, Bimini, etc.  fished off-shore and a day later than when we were supposed to already be back, we started heading for Miami.  The weather was up a little and had led to the Boss deciding to stop playing hooky and get back to Reality, or at least, Miami.  Because the waves were now 3-5 instead of 2-4 we had resigned ourselves to a three-hour trip, instead of the usual two-hour sojourn.

BANG!!   
Went the port out drive of the twin OMC Inboard/outboards.  Quite a disquieting sound.  We checked the water, assuming we just HAD to have hit some debris out there or something, but no.  The out drive rubber weather boot had gotten cracked over time, water had seeped in, the joint mechanism of the I/Os had rusted and violently and spectacularly failed.  The engine was still turning, the out drive prop was not.

My Boss was smug.
"THAT'S why you don't cross the Stream with a single engine!"   
"Lose a single engine craft and you're in deep trouble, Out Here." He proclaimed.
I tried not to think of how the starboard I/O rubber boot had looked and said nothing.
Yup.
15 minutes later, the other out drive blew. 
The Boss was not Pleased. 
After the strong language and profane invective towards all things Marine and the OMC corporation in particular had subsided, he allowed as how he had been concerned about the other boot too, and had hoped to get close enough to Miami, that he could raise one of his buddies on the VHF and beg for a tow. 
(This was back in Ye Olden Pre-Sea-Towe Dayes.)
He tried the radio anyway.
Nothing.
He tried again with equal results.
Disheartened a little, he next tried to persuade himself (and me) that Things Were Not All That Bad.
"Lessee here, we were heading 240º to counter the 'Stream and make Government Cut.  Figure that with these strong east winds (which he didn't mention, but we both knew were building), even with a northward current from the 'Stream we oughta get swept close enough what with Fort Lauderdale sticking out from the coast, to maybe raise the Marine Operator."
(Yes, also pre-Cell-phone and pre-GPS.)  "We'll just stick it out a little and wait for the right time to get some help."
I said nothing.  Not much else I COULD do.

The weather worsened.
We remained Brave. 
For perhaps as much as 20 minutes. 
Then the Boss began trying to raise ANYBODY on the VHF.  We weren't able to raise anyone, because all the Sensible Mariners (the ones who probably always wear their PFDs)  were already back in port.  Boss began to become visibly stressed, distressed, and for the first time, a little afraid. 
He needn't have worried.
His wife, majorly P.O.ed from his tardiness, had called his business partner (my other Boss) to complain that he was already a day and a half over-due.  The Other Boss, realized that This Was Not Good and promptly reported a boater more than 24 hours over-due to the Coast Guard. 
The Coast Guard started calling and radioing, and doing all the slow, ponderous, bureaucratic, stuff they always do.  All that dull, boring, repetitive stuff that makes them the best in the World, at what they do.  Found out on the phone when we had left Bimini and realized they now had a For-Real SAR mission on their hands.

Unbeknownst to us, a boat HAD heard our radio calls and forwarded it to the Coasties, who dispatched an ancient Sea King to go looking for us.  It was ancient because back then, the Coast Guard was the Red-Headed Step-Child of the Armed Forces, technically under the Department of Transportation and they only got Sea Kings, whenever the Navy decided one of theirs was worn out and the Navy needed a NEW one.  With some incredible luck, a heckuva lotta SAR practice, in co-ordination with a radio fix from Fort Lauderdale (Pre-GPS, remember?)    and getting within range of our VHF radio, they managed to actually find us. 
And all without their fancy new FLIR gear. 

It was a busy sortie for the Coasties as, surprisingly enough,  we weren't the ONLY Idiots Out There in Worsening Weather.     They had already dropped off a pump to a big party charter boat, that had sprung numerous leaks in its ancient planking in the rough seas and they were returning to their base, when they got the call to come find us.  I will never forget as long as I live, the sound of those monster Sea King blades "whop-whop-whopping" towards us.  To this very day, whenever I hear that highly distinctive rotor sound, my heart leaps into my chest and beats suddenly faster.  They were in radio contact with my Boss and respectfully asked him what his intentions were.  He wanted them to hover on-station and co-ordinate towing his boat back to port; send out a Cutter or something. 
I was embarrassed beyond belief, but could say nothing, as I was both a guest and an employee that needed a job. They politely informed him that they didn't have sufficient fuel aboard for that and in view of the worsening weather conditions, they recommended the boat be abandoned. 
Worked for ME!! 
They dropped the rescue diver who swam over to the boat, pulled his hands on the gunnel and hopped aboard with a single boost of his hands; as though vaulting onto a deck from down in the water in seas so rough, I couldn't figure out how he hadn't dashed his head against the hull, was (Ho-Hum) Just Another Day At The Office.    He removed the PFD I was wearing (Yes, in those conditions I WAS wearing a PFD!) and replaced it with one he had brought with him from the basket floating in the water next to us.

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I was HAPPY to go over the side with the diver and climb in the basket!
WHOOOSH!    I went up so fast, I thought I was going to puke for a moment, until my stomach got back on the correct side of my chest.  The Bosun operating the crane/winch grabbed me and shoved me in a corner behind him just behind where the pilot and co-pilot had left a hatch open.   I could hear them talking back and forth, alternately about the Miami Dolphins and occasionally keying the mike to talk to my Boss on the VHF.  I couldn't hear the radio transmissions, but from their responses to each other, my Boss was in rare Jerk Form, something he frequently excelled at.  They finally offered to send down some kind of a beacon to lash to his steering wheel, so his boat could be located by a commercial towing service. and my Boss grudgingly allowed himself to be placed in the basket and sent up. 

As soon as he was aboard and the rescue diver was in the basket, they immediately (while the guy  was still hanging on that wire cable) turned and headed back to Opa Locka airport, the Coast Guard Aircraft Station.  With their hatch closed, they put my boss where they normally put rescuees and did not force me to join him.  I preferred to stay where I could see out the forward windscreen and to listen to the radio traffic and in general, stay as far from my Boss as I possibly could; as I was more than a little disgusted at his behavior.
The Radio Traffic was NOT Re-Assuring. 
I couldn't really hear the pilots all that well when they used their mikes over all that noise, but the responses out of the receiver's speaker from the radio air-traffic controllers, indicated that they recognized the zero-fuel emergency and were expediting immediate access and re-routing all other traffic at the 3rd busiest airport on the planet. 
I asked the co-pilot how much fuel we had left.   
"Oh, Minutes and MINUTES!!" He exclaimed jovially.    "Maybe even FOUR minutes worth!!" 
I then did the only Really Dumb Thing of the day and asked how many minutes to reach Opa Locka Airport.
"Five!" He smirked. 
The pilot turned around and grinned and said: "It's OK! We haven't auto-rotated down in, uhhh, what day is it?"   
Then they both laughed.

I said nothing, watching as fuel gauge needles quit bouncing and ominous red lights began coming on as we passed over Biscayne Boulevard and then I-95 and the Miami west suburbs came into view. 
Then, as the pilots ribbed each other about whether they were current on emergency auto-rotations, interspersed with talking to the tower at Opa Locka in the same calm, bored, slightly detached voice, as your neighbor announcing your car's lights are still on; one of the two GE turbo-shafts began popping and spitting and finally stopped.  Both the pilot's acted as if they hadn't even noticed, except for the co-pilot pulling on various gadgets in the cockpit.   With my heart now firmly wedged in my throat, and envisioning your typical Hollywood Movie Fiery Crash, probably over the Florida East Coast train station maintenance facility in Hialeah, I suddenly spotted that gorgeous white hangar with the diagonal orange stripe at the airport.

Felt like a Baptist at a Revival.
I'm SAVED!! I'm SAVED!!   
My Boss was on the move now, pestering the rescue diver and the Bosun for the frequency of the beacon and once again, I despised his callow behavior; his indifference to an incredible display of Courage and Professionalism that COULD HAVE BEEN AVOIDED, if he would have just climbed onto the damn'ed chopper when they first ASKED HIM TO!!!     
I was humiliated beyond belief,    to have the pilots associating me, with my self-centered Boss.

To this day, I don't know if they shut off the one engine we landed with, or if it ran out of fuel exactly when we touched down. 
But I have never witnessed since, such Cool and Calm under Duress. 
Hemingway used to call it: "Grace Under Fire." 
These guys didn't just have it; they Lived it, 24/7/365.
On subsistence wages.
It's gotten a little better since 9/11 but did you know that at one point, over half of all Coast Guard families qualified for Food Stamps?
In the Pacific Northwest over the Columbia River Bar (IIRC) the sign over the Coast Guard Rescue Boat station says:
You Have To Go Out.  You Don't Have To Come Back.

Maybe Art Allan didn't save my life, but I know 4 Coasties, who did.

True Story,
Charles Brennan

[Doug SC]

Wow, Charles you have led a lucky life and survived some close calls. I have admired the Coast Guard ever since I visited the Coast Guard Station on Peanut Island (West Palm Beach) as a Cub Scout.

When he returned from Japan after the war my Dad was a flight instructor while living in Hollywood, FL. He met and married during this time. He had students in the air twice when the aircraft he was flying stalled. He used both incidents to train his students how to do a force landing staying claim and had them try to pick out where to land while describing what he was doing to land safely. He already knew where but thought it would be a good lesson for the student. One landing was in a tomato field and the other was on a road in a subdevelopment where house construction was just beginning. One student passed out after exiting the plane and the other bragged to everyone that my dad was the best. After the second time my Mom made him quit. He would always call her in case she heard on the radio that a plane had come down so she would already know he was safe.

[Captain Kidd]

In my way of thinking Art Allan is an unsung American hero.

Without a doubt! What an amazing individual.