Philip J. "Jack" Buta, 32°
20 W. Yearling Road, Phoenix, Arizona 85027-0626
jackets@jrstone.com

A seafaring anecdote shows that heroism as a Masonic trait is as alive today as ever.

Brother/Captain Bill Norris; Photo: Bro. John B. Melin, 32°, Valley of Phoenix, Arizona

Brother Glen Woods of our Lodge, Paradise Valley Silver Trowel Lodge, No. 29, Phoenix, Arizona, recently invited the Brothers to a barbeque, and I had the pleasure of sitting next to "Barnacle" Bill Norris, a Past Senior Warden of the Lodge. Brother Bill's life story would make anyone's bestseller list. He told me the following story over pork chops, greens with ham hocks, corn bread, and other great eats. I hope you enjoy it as much I did. In my book, Brother Bill certainly rates as a Masonic hero.

On May 26, 1977, at 10:30am local time, the Kilkerry, a 20-ton power yacht, out of Bal Harbor, Florida, steamed majestically at a constant 20 knots through an area in the Bahamas known as the flats. She had cleared Bahamian Customs an hour and a half earlier at Cat Key and was heading to what Captain Bill Norris thought was a day or two of chasing sailfish in the warm waters of the Caribbean. The day had dawned bright and still. It was one of those lost-horizon days when the water blended into the sky leaving no reference point to distinguish where one stopped and the other began. Bill checked the sea for the thirtieth time since leaving Cat Key. Everything was quiet. Still, he could not shake the uneasy feeling that had been growing since he left Miami at 5:00 am that morning.

Bill Norris was not supposed to be in the Bahamas that day. In fact, he wasn't supposed to be anywhere at sea. The boat had been scheduled for downtime, the mate had been given a few days off, and Bill had planned to catch up with the never-ending task of maintaining an ocean-going boat. All that changed with a call from his immediate boss, Tom Gote, the night before. The O'Shawnessy family in Cincinnati, Ohio, owns the Kilkerry. Bill had worked for them for 17 years, so when Gote pressured him into sailing the 75- foot Kilkerry to Chub Key to pick up an attorney friend of the owner and take him fishing, he finally agreed.

It was a decision he was uncomfortable with because it was against the law for a boat that size to be sailed single-handed. The decision became even more unsettling as more and more people made a point of asking him about it during the next 24 hours.

The Kilkerry captained by "Barnacle" Bill

Bud Hibbs, a friend of Charlie Keating, showed up at 4:30 in the morning as Bill prepared to cast off. He asked Bill repeatedly if he was going out alone. Keating was a friend of the owners, and in the past Bill had carried building supplies to his compound on Cats Key in the Bahamas. All those questions verifying that Bill was sailing alone on this trip were a little disquieting.

Still, Bill cast off and tried to forget the entire incident. That lasted about three hours, until he pulled into Cat Key to clear Bahamian Customs. The customs officer who usually said very little also began to question Bill about who was on board, asking him more than three times if he were alone. There it was again, that un-easy feeling sounding alarm bells at the back of Bill's brain as he cast off for the final leg of his voyage. That was one hour and a half ago. The Kilkerry and it's lone captain were now in the middle of the Devil's Triangle, and, unknown to Bill Norris, plans had been laid to make him one more victim of the sea.

The Kilkerry has a boarding ladder and swim platform in the stern to facilitate the use of scuba divers and easy access to the boat from small craft like the dingy she carried. "I had just come back up from using the head when I glanced over the stern and saw them" Bill recalls. "There were four of them in a 28-foot Searay, all deeply tanned, bearded, and sporting bandanas. One was reaching for the swim platform and was about to climb aboard. The look in their eyes did not bode well for my immediate future. I turned and slammed the throttles to the stops. My heart began to beat again when I felt the immediate surge as the duel General Motors 1271 diesels pushed the heavy boat to 25 knots, leaving the would-be hijackers in her wake. I still don't know how that little powerboat managed to creep up on me. But its speed was evident as it ripped through the water carving circles around the Kilkerry.

"After three times around the boat while threatening me with everything they could think of, the hijackers suddenly raced ahead about a quarter mile and stopped. Apparently, they had to rethink their plan of attack. I, on the other hand, didn't need to rethink. I flipped off the autopilot and turned the bow of the 20-ton Kilkerry straight at the little powerboat and kept the throttles wide open. Simple plans work best for me. I planned to make matchsticks out of that Searay, and I wasn't planning on stopping to pick up any of the survivors.

"At the last minute, the Searay roared to life and swung away to starboard taking up a position aft of the Kilkerry and began closing in. That was when I noticed the M16 in one of the hijacker's hands. It is against the law to carry guns onboard a ship in the Bahamas, something that the four thugs in the Searay apparently did not agree with. It was evident that they were about to conclude the hijacking by killing me and then taking over the boat. It might have worked, too, if they had picked on someone else.

"My family had been at sea for over two hundred years in these waters. My great grandmother's brother was Otway Burns, North Carolina's most famous privateer who had made the English respect his 90-foot schooner, the Snap Dragon. Flying the scull and crossbones along with the American flag, he had captured 42 English vessels. Four modern pirates were about to learn not to mess with our family.

"I raced below decks for my equally illegal shotgun, scattering double-ought buckshot across my bunk as I loaded in world-class time. I reached the safety of the heavy aluminum coaming as the wheelhouse windows exploded into a million pieces. The Searay was close in on the port side and was pouring bullets into the wheelhouse and cockpit. Had the Kilkerry been made of wood instead of aluminum this story would have had a different ending.

"It had been over 30 years since I had faced the Germans as a young trooper at Bastogne, but some things stay with you for life. As soon as the shooter on the Searay emptied his magazine, I popped up over the rail and let loose with four quick blasts from the shotgun. At close range nothing will take the fight out of a thug faster than a few broadsides from a 16-gauge shotgun. The would-be pirates turned tail and raced off in the direction of Andros Island. I reached for the radio to let the coast guard know what happened.

"That night the Miami Herald had the story all over the front page. When I finally pulled into Chub Key, both the FBI and the special branch of the Bahamian police met me.

"The FBI later informed me that the 'pirates' were dope runners who planned to use the Kilkerry to smuggle 30 tons of dope into the keys and then scuttle her in the Gulf Stream. I got the glass replaced in the wheelhouse and took the attorney out fishing. Later I heard three of the hijackers were killed in a gun battle with police on Andros Island.

"That was the end of it, I guess, but I still had one question. Who tipped the hijackers off that I was out there alone? It wasn't the owners of the boat. I had worked for them for a long time, and they loved their boat. Was it the Bahamian Customs officer? Maybe, but someone in Florida had informed the harbormaster at Bal Harbor that I left port single-handedly, and he had relayed that information to the Bahamas. Could the original plan have been to get me arrested in Cat Key and then steal the boat once I was off it? Unlike the movies you don't always get your questions answered in real life."

To think, I would never had met Bill if I had not knocked on the door of the Lodge.

Philip J. "Jack" Buta , born in 1941 in Widnes, Lancashire, England, immigrated to America in 1957. His varied career has included two years on the DEW (Distant Early Warning) line as a radar operator. The inventor of the first air-to-ground telephone for General Aviation in 1966, he is an Airline Transport Rated pilot and has spent three years as an Air traffic Controller at the Chicago Center and 20 years as a real estate broker in Phoenix, where he owned and managed a small commercial building. He also designs and distributes leather jackets nationwide. William H. "Skip" Boyer, 32°, whose essays are often featured in the Journal, signed his petition for membership in 2001, and Bro. Buta was raised to Master Mason on March 16, 2002, in Paradise Valley Silver Trowel Lodge, No. 29, Phoenix, Arizona. He is the editor of the Lodge Trestle Board and was made a 32° Mason during the 2002 Spring Reunion, Valley of Phoenix, where he now performs the role of Expert in the Chapter of Rose Croix.