Part autobiography and part examination of our current system of social security, Upholding the Rule of Law is more than just a treatise on what happened with that agency in the 1970's and 1980's; Judge Borowiec's insights provide a methodology to eliminate the massive disability claims backlog that continues to plague the Social Security Administration and which simultaneously impoverishes the thousands of disability claimants waiting two years or more for an agency decision on their disability claims.

Author Judge Frank B Borowiec artfully explains the classic conflict between government agencies charged with efficiently and effectively executing their statutory mandates and their administrative law judges who have a sworn duty as independent, unbiased and impartial arbiters to protect the due process constitutional rights of all individuals contesting what they believe to be erroneous agency decisions.

Beginning with his childhood, he relates those significant details of his life, including his service during World War II, and a chance meeting with attorney J. Harry Tiernan, that would profoundly influence his career in years to come.

UPHOLDING the RULE of L

IN THE SOCIAL SECURITY ADMINISTRATION, AN AGENCY AT WAR WITH ITSELFBy FRANK B BOROWIEC

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2010 Frank B Borowiec
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-7362-6

Chapter One

MY BEGINNINGS * * *

I have always regretted that, in spite of all of the opportunities to do so, I never really explored with my grandparents what their lives were like as children and young adults. My maternal grandfather was Frank X. Boroszewski, who I know was born on November 17, 1870, immigrated to the United States, and became a very successful businessman. At age twenty-four, he married Martha Szulc, and they had seven children who became church organists, teachers, doctors, and attorneys. That limited knowledge was really all that I knew of his life, other than that he was a kind, generous, and caring grandparent.

Years after his death in 1955, in trying to discover where and when he arrived in this country, I came upon a passenger list from the Port of New York dated December 21, 1886, documenting the arrival of a sixteen-year-old male, Franz Boraszewsky, on the steamer California, which had departed Europe from the Port of Hamburg, Germany. It disclosed that the California had been built in Glasgow, Scotland, in 1872 and was powered by a single screw engine and three masts.

A hundred questions popped up in my mind. My grandfather had just turned sixteen a month before he sailed, so how did he get the funds to purchase his ticket for a transatlantic voyage? How did he get to Hamburg, Germany, from his home in Poland? What was the sea voyage like? Where did he spend Christmas Day? How did he pay for his travel from the Port of New York to Buffalo, New York? How did he select Buffalo as his final destination? What did his parents have to say about all of this? A hundred questions and no answers!

I was born on December 26, 1924, in Buffalo, New York, the eldest child of Frances (née Boroszewska) and Chester Borowiec. I had two brothers, Mitchel and Richard, and a sister, Delphine. My early education was at the St. Florian and Transfiguration elementary schools and East High School.

I was a senior at East High School on December 7, 1941, when the Empire of Japan attacked Pearl Harbor. Nineteen days later I turned eighteen and became eligible for the draft. After graduation from East High School in June of 1942, I became a member of the freshman engineering class at the University of Buffalo.

Prior to graduation from highschool, while working as a stagehand for the senior play, one of my classmates in a casual conversation mentioned that in the morning newspaper there was an announcement that the US Army Air Corps was recruiting a limited number of students for a meteorological program that was to begin in January of 1943. Interested parties were advised to submit an application, and if initially qualified, final selection would be based on the results of a written examination. I applied and was duly notified to be at the Buffalo Science Museum auditorium, where the examination would take place in July of 1942.

I appeared bright and early, and much to my surprise and disappointment, the auditorium was filled to capacity with students hoping to qualify for the program. The sheer size of the crowd made me realize that my chances of success were somewhere between zero and nil.

I began my university studies and quickly forgot about the meteorological program. My classes and my 1-A draft status were occupying all my attention when, lo and behold, I received a letter dated January 19, 1943, from the War Department that I had been selected for their program. I was ordered to report to my local Draft Board # 601 and request immediate induction, which I was most happy to do. The good Lord must have been looking after me, as I was the only person in that auditorium selected for the program.

THE WAR YEARS * * * January 30, 1943–February 19, 1946

On the thirtieth day of January 1943, my dad drove me to the army induction center in the Ellicott Square Building in downtown Buffalo for my physical. There I was formally inducted into the US Army Air Corps.

When I first told my mother and dad that I planned to enlist in the army, rather than be drafted, they were horrified. When I explained that I had to enlist in order to become a student at Hamilton College for two years, they were overjoyed.

By three in the afternoon, I had passed my physical exam, and I and twenty-three others were duly sworn in as members of the US Armed Forces at 5:35 p.m. I was assigned a serial number, which would have to be engraved on all of my earthly possessions for the next three years.

At six in the evening, we left for Fort Niagara, and arrived there at 10:00 p.m. My new mailing address was

Company F 1213 C.C. Fort Niagara, New York

On Monday, February 1, in a cafeteria-like setting, I was given two large duffle bags in which I tossed my new GI jacket, shirts, socks, shoes, and so on. Surprisingly, they all fit remarkably well.

I was then given an IQ test. I scored 130. On the second and third of February, our company spent the days drilling, drilling, and more drilling.

On the afternoon of the fourth of February, I was told to pack up, as I was shipping out. No mention was made of a destination. A bus carried us to the train station in Niagara Falls, and I boarded a darkened day coach with my fellow recruits. We traveled nonstop, passing through Buffalo, New York; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; and Camden, New Jersey, arriving in Atlantic City, New Jersey, the next day at one fifteen in the afternoon.

We were met at the train by Sergeant Fredienburg and were taken by bus to the Claridge Hotel. Incredibly, I would do my army basic training on the boardwalks of Atlantic City, New Jersey, marching to the accompaniment of the Glenn Miller Orchestra.

ATLANTIC CITY, NEW JERSEY * * * February 1943

The Claridge Hotel had been taken over by the army, and its original plush furniture had been replaced with two double-decked cots and four footlockers, in which we placed our belongings. Yet we had our own bath, a real luxury compared to the usual army barracks.

My new mailing address was 920th Squadron Group Flight D Claridge Hotel, Room 106 Atlantic City, New Jersey

That afternoon, we were assigned to our individual companies, and of course, a drill sergeant. The next morning, we raggedly marched to our training site. We quickly mastered the basic marching maneuvers, and by day's end we smartly marched and sang our way back to our hotel, where we were greeted by the Glenn Miller Orchestra.

Nighttime in Atlantic City quickly brought us back to the reality that was World War II. German submarines that could be silhouetted against the New Jersey coastline lay off the coast, waiting to attack an unwary ship. For that reason, a total blackout was imposed along the coast after dusk. Still, it was not unusual to look out to sea and see the bright flames emanating from a ship that had been torpedoed.

Four weeks of marching, singing, and drilling came to an abrupt end on March 1, 1943. My orders came through. I was shipping out at 1:00 p.m. Our group arrived in New York City at 5:15 p.m., ate dinner in Grand Central Station, and then marched to our train in Grand Central Station singing the Army Air Corps song. Oh happy day!

We arrived in Utica, New York, at 1:00 a.m.; arrived in Clinton, New York, at 1:30 a.m.; arrived at Hamilton College at 2:00 a.m.; and made it to bed at 3:00 a.m.

Reveille was at 6:15 a.m., and one class was scheduled in the morning. I, of course, slept all afternoon, and after dinner was back in bed by 9:00 p.m.

My new address was United States Army Air Forces Technical Training Detachment No. 18 Flight 8, Room 27, South Dorm Hamilton, College, Clinton, New York

HAMILTON COLLEGE *** 1943–1944

Hamilton College was founded in 1793 and is a private, independent liberal arts college located in Clinton, New York. The college is named for Alexander Hamilton, who was a member of the first board of trustees, though he never set foot on campus. Hamilton is sometimes referred to as the College on the Hill because of the school's location on top of College Hill, just outside of downtown Clinton. Hamilton College is one of the "Little Ivies."

In 1943 Hamilton was an all-male school. (It did not become coeducational until 1978.) In the year that had elapsed since Pearl Harbor, the draft had decimated the student population, and prospects for its survival were bleak. To save Hamilton and other similarly situated colleges, the War Department had entered into agreements with these schools to use their expertise to train soldiers in needed military specialties in medicine, science, and administration.

In 1943 there were only sixty-five civilian students on the campus. The student body was almost totally military, that is, two hundred cadets divided into eight flights of twenty-five men housed in the North and South Dorms. I was assigned to flight eight.

Our daily routine never changed. Our first formation was in the quadrangle at 6:30 a.m., followed by breakfast at 7:00 a.m. Classes began at 8:00 a.m. and continued through 9:30 p.m., thankfully with appropriate breaks for lunch and dinner. Initially, all meals were served on dishes instead of scooped-out trays. The mere raising of a hand would send a woman dashing madly between the tables to get us anything and everything, from a second helping of pie to an additional napkin. Emptied dishes were left standing, to be taken away, washed, and made ready for the next meal. We ate heartily and grew fat. Then a strong dose of reality hit. We were issued GI mess kits and steel trays, which were to be used at all future meals.

The class schedule was rigorous, and all classes were taught by the Hamilton faculty, whose reputations in scholarship were impeccable. In any given semester, we took classes in geology, calculus, and various math and science courses to prepare us to be meteorologists. These engineering courses proved to be invaluable. As an engineer, I was taught that you are required to use your analytical skills to recognize and define a problem and then use your knowledge and experience to find a suitable solution to that problem.

The difficult subject matter inherent in these classes took a heavy toll on the student body; over the course of our stay at Hamilton College, approximately 20 percent flunked out.

These valuable credit hours quickly piled up, and when I applied for admission to law school after World War II ended, they expedited my admission to the University of Buffalo School of Law. My only regret was that so few of my credit hours reflected courses in literature, history, English, or philosophy.

In the spring of 1944, we were notified that the US Army Air Force had a surplus of meteorologists, and our program was canceled. We were given a choice. Option A was to enter into a similar program at the University of Virginia to train as administrators to govern conquered territories in postwar Europe; option B was to return to active duty at a weather office at an army airfield.

We were not aware, nor could we be so prescient to foresee that whatever option we chose would have ominous consequences!

For me, the decision was an easy one. I was tired of "college life," and I was not particularly interested in training to be an administrator.

Most of my fellow students chose option A and the good life at the University of Virginia.

I was quickly assigned to the air base at Fort Worth, Texas, where I reported for duty in March of 1944.

For those students who chose the University of Virginia and the Army Specialized Training Program ... horror of horrors ... two months after they began their classes, the program was canceled, and all of the students were transferred to an Infantry Replacement Company in Mississippi to serve as needed rifleman replacements for GIs killed or wounded in combat in the European theater of operations. After a short training period, they were sent to battle. In V-mails they sent to me in Texas, they would report the names of my comrades who had died or been wounded by enemy fire.

The Army Specialized Training Program trained more than two hundred thousand soldiers at 227 colleges in foreign languages, medicine, engineering, and other critical fields needed by the military. On February 18, 1944, the program was discontinued, and the students were assigned to infantry, airborne, and armored divisions.

TEXAS *** 1944

Arriving at the Fort Worth Army Airfield was a profound experience after almost a year on the quiet, idyllic, and bucolic atmosphere of the Hamilton College campus. Upon getting off the bus at the airfield, I was greeted by the roar of a squadron of B-24 Liberator bombers preparing for takeoff. The earsplitting din from their engines literally shook your body. Tarrant Field was the major staging area for bomber crews who would soon be flying missions in the South Pacific. This earsplitting sound was repeated every morning as the squadrons departed on their training flights.

I quickly entered into training as a weather observer, work which mainly consisted of entering data on weather maps received by teletype from weather stations throughout the country. In addition, we secured temperature, barometric pressure, dew point, and winds aloft readings at our weather station for transmittal.

I was walking to the mess hall on June 6, 1944, when every loudspeaker on the base came on, carrying the voice of General Dwight Eisenhower announcing that American and British troops had launched the long-expected invasion of Europe. Being on the air base on that date and at that time when the outcome of that endeavor was still in doubt made me feel I was a part of history!

Once I had become proficient in executing my duties as a weather observer, I was promoted to corporal. Hurrah.

With the promotion came a transfer and my first air flight in an AT-6 aircraft to Foster Field, Texas. I still remember the excitement of seeing the ground drop away from our plane as we flew from Fort Worth to Matagorda Island, where Foster Field was operational. Foster Field was a flying school for new pilots, and the AT-6 dual seater was especially well suited for that purpose. Entry or departure from Matagorda Island is possible only by plane or by ship out of Port O'Connor, Texas.

Matagorda Island is located in the Gulf of Mexico and in 1944 was used not only as a flight school but also as a gunnery range for fighter aircraft. I was stuck at Foster Field for the foreseeable future, where the only activities after active duty hours were leather craft, bowling, swimming, and a movie. The prospect of being stranded on this sandy backwater for the duration of World War II was unthinkable. There was a war going on, and I wanted to be a part of it. I requested an overseas assignment in an active combat zone. My request was granted, and I was off to fight the war in the South Pacific.

THE SOUTH PACIFIC THEATER OF OPERATIONS * * * New Guinea, Manila, and Okinawa

My deployment orders allowed me a furlough, which I spent with my family in Buffalo, New York. Then I went by rail to Provo, Utah, which served as an assembly point for all of us destined for overseas duty. Once assembled, we left by train for San Francisco, and on April 26, 1945, I boarded a troop ship, the USS Robin Doncaster.

The first three days out of San Francisco were not very pleasant. We soon discovered that the Pacific Ocean is not very pacific off the coast of California. There seemed to an awful lot of activity around the ship's guardrails. Luckily, after three days out it was smooth sailing.

(Continues...)

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