The waterfront lost a friend this past week. Retired sergeant William L. Searle 3rd, of the Environmental State Police died on March 5. He served on the Island in his dark green uniform for 17 years until 2004.

We remember Bill as the man who looked like a street cop, standing out on the beach. For the Vineyard to have someone here enforcing fisheries, hunting and environmental regulations day and night was a big help. The state environmental police has yet to find a replacement.

Bill had the overwhelming task of enforcing and educating the public on state and federal regulations that pertained to many of the environmental attributes of the Island community, including fish, fowl, wildlife, and endangered and not so endangered species.

Sgt. William L. Searle 3rd served as environmental officer on the Vineyard for 17 years. — Mark Lovewell

In my early years of covering the waterfront as both a writer and a photographer, Bill was the ideal source for news. His day-to-day life was a story. He was a tough cop, but he was also a part of the fabric that makes up the Island. He had been a commercial fisherman and knew all the hardship and possible trickery that can go with commercial fishing. But he didn’t cover the Island single-handedly as the only state environmental police officer assigned here. He had plenty of friends who helped him, often without even being asked.

Remember when fishermen had to learn about the value of those almost invisible piping plover chicks wandering the beach? Remember when the harbor seal returned to became a bigger part of our waterfront community? Remember those years when either a living or a dead whale washed up on the beach, and there was no marine mammal stranding network here? Remember when property owners thought they could clear-cut their trees without checking with the town? Remember when anglers had to get used to new fishing regulations relating to fish size and bag limit?

Bill was in the thick of those sensitive environmental moments in Island history. Some got nervous when the sergeant showed up, whether it was under the noonday sun or the midnight moon. Others were grateful that finally someone was going to stop a bad practice.

At the county communications center, he was affectionately referred to simply as “Bill.” But on the radio he was more formally referred to as “November 10.” Anyone who was attentive to the affairs of our public safety officials, might note that Bill would often get summoned in the middle of the night to respond to some kind of deer calamity in Gay Head, a boat accident or missing person down-Island. “November 10” was ubiquitous with the affairs of what was going on outside.

Over the years Bill and I, along with his wife Linda, became great friends. Bill held a multitude of personalities. He was a friendly cross between Gus Ben David at Felix Neck Wildlife Sanctuary, and an officer in blue walking the beat. But Bill’s uniform was a very dark green.

Thirty-one winters ago, Bill and I became masons at Oriental Lodge. With three others, we sat through many a class run by the late George Luce of Edgartown. I had seen the professional side of Bill, and now I got a new flavor of him. We spent time on boats, on beaches, in the forest. There was one terrible Northeaster that roared up the coast, and I sat on the passenger side of his cruiser and learned first hand as we drove around up-Island how hell can break loose when the wind and weather gets rough.

Tragically, I also saw how the loss of life on the water penetrated deep into the fabric of our community. Boating accidents were the worst. Bill covered death and bad luck’s wicked nature. Out of his concern for others, I watched him initiate and then expand a search and rescue program that the Island had never seen before.

We also had a lot of fun and he gave me sound advice.

One summer, a humpback whale took up daytime residence in Menemsha Bight. The animal drew lots of attention and among law enforcement there was a serious concern that a curious public in boats was getting too close. The whale breached frequently, and Bill went out in a small powerboat and tried to keep some boaters away.

I will never forget him describing what it was like after he got back, when at one particular moment, the whale chose to breach right next to him. “All of a sudden the whale came out of the water,” he said. “It was like watching a house come out of the water.”

Bill was missed when he moved from the Vineyard to Florida. And he will be missed even more now that he has crossed the bar.