Chick Coate:
CLASS OF 1965
Westfield High SchoolClass of 1965
Westfield, NJ
Georgia Military CollegeClass of 1968
Milledgeville, GA
Chick's Story
After continuing and completing my education upon leaving WHS (which included obtaining my MBA from UGA), I entered the armed forces.
Flew helicopter missions for a little over a year, primairly support missions and many search and retrieve operations which sometimes sadly ended in only recover. Was shot down and captured during the course of these activities. Spent four months being moved to different locations by my captors while being held prisoner in very bad conditions and treated like a caged animal. Using six shoe laces, used bubble gum, three paper clips, seven rubber bands, two jungle vines and three bamboo chutes, six of the seven of us being held prisoners were able to escape, eluding our captors for about two months in the jungles and rice paddies before being rescued by a forward combat team of Brits.
Spent the next five months stateside in recovery and debriefing. Once I was on my feet, one of our alphabet agencies recruited me for a variety of covert, clandestine operations. For the next four years I was sent to places we weren't supposed to be. Most missions were seek and destroy with specific targets, with the remainder comprised of gathering intel data. It was all secret stuff with very little support and no government acknowledgement. Phoenix, Delta, water boarding, etc. And I'm not talking about birds, waterways or water sports.
Once my foreign missions ended, I was brought back home. Various ...Expand for more
physical impairments kept me from performing at peak levels necessary to accomplish the foreign covert operations. It was a young man's game. I was offered various domestic assignments to address the unsavory underworld of our country. Drugs, money laundering, prostitution, gun-running, mafia and homeland security in its early stages.
My career ended while involved in an undercover sting operation in Sacramento, CA. We had penetrated a Russian smuggling ring and were on the verge of closing the net. I was pretending to fish for striped bass at Discovery Park (where the American River flows into the Sacramento River). It was 1:00 am in the morning. Dark. Strange sounds emitting from the blackness. Waiting. And more waiting. Our team was in place. We didn't know if it was going to happen or not. Believe it or not I actually hooked a striper. A big one. About 40 lbs. As I was reeling in, the line became tangled and I was forced to bring the rest of the line in by hand, dropping the loose line from my hands into a pile on the ground at my feet. I had just pulled the fish onto the bank when our team signaled that we needed to move. About that time, the striper flopped back into the water. I took one step ... right into the loose fishing line on the ground. The striper hit the water and took off, immediately tightening the fishing line now wrapped around my ankle and pulling hard on my leg. Just like I'm pulling on yours!
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