Donald R. Goulet and Frederick J. Moore III
A compelling and powerful true story of two brave men whose lives became intertwined in 1992. From the bloody jungles of Viet Nam, to the shores of Passamaquoddy Bay, to the chambers of the United States Supreme Court and to the inner rooms of Massachusetts General Hospital’s psychiatric unit - read all about it.
One, a former combat marine and FBI street agent and the other, the Chief of Police of the Pleasant Point Indian Reservation combined forces with the RCMP to defeat a major smuggling ring controlled by War Chief Francis Boots of the infamous Mohawk Warrior Society.
Insight is given into a problem suffered by the street agent associated with alcohol dependence, PTSD, his fall into perdition, his glimpse of heaven and a return to his faith in God.
Don Goulet is a retired Special Agent of the FBI and a former Marine who served in Vietnam.
Fred Moore is a Native American who served as police chief for the Pleasant Point Reservation in Maine.
It was the first week of March 1998 at the Massachusetts General Hospital, 6th- floor Psychiatric Unit. The stocky, dark-haired man clad in dark blue pajamas paced back and forth. He stopped in front of my door and displayed his many and varied karate-like moves. He looked Hispanic, and in my warped thinking, I assumed he was my "personal protector." What a brilliant move by the FBI! They had set me up in a psychiatric unit. No one would ever think of looking for me there. More importantly, my family was safe and sound. I had been assured of that.
For the next several days, I continued to suffer delusions of grandeur and persecution, misidentification, paranoia, depression, excessive unfounded guilt, mania and scrupulousness -- all common maladies of the psychotic.
My wife Donna was there daily, supporting me, telling the doctors that I wasn't getting better, insisting that my medication be changed. Finally, they tried the drug Trilafon, 32 milligrams worth. Within 48 hours, my condition improved dramatically. The psychosis, delusions, paranoia, depression, guilt and scrupulousness were in remission.
My wife brought a cassette that featured the soft rhythm of waves lapping the shoreline. It was called "Oceans." One piece in particular, my favorite, had a background of gently pounding drums reminding me of the Passamaquoddy people and the great state of Maine I had so recently served. Coupled with the Trilafon, the music transported me to a world of peace and tranquility.
A war fought long ago but still ever present, job-related stress, PTSD triggers and alcohol dependency had brought me to my knees. I fought it, but mental illness prevailed. Later on, my FBI street agent colleagues told me it was God's will, that He knew I had had enough and that what happened was for the best.
My faith was sorely tested back in 1998. I had been an on-again/off-again Catholic for 32 years. My illness eventually brought me to the edge of perdition and ultimately to a deeper understanding of Catholicism and a renewed devotion to Christ our Redeemer.
