‘Best Job Ever’ Becomes Nightmare for Whistle-Blower

Michael Horner said the best job he ever had was working as a U.S. Customs Service inspector--until he became a whistle-blower in 1990 and the agency turned on him.

What followed almost destroyed Horner and his wife, Marisa, he said. The couple and their four young children were left broke and almost homeless after the agency allegedly took action against Horner for going public with charges of wrongdoing by Customs officials in San Diego.

The family survived with the help of parishioners at Blessed Sacrament Church, who provided the Horners with groceries and financial aid to make rent and car payments. In addition, Blessed Sacrament School officials have waived the tuition for Horner’s two sons for the past two years.

Horner is not the only Customs inspector to allege that he was punished for speaking out about charges of mismanagement or corruption in the agency. But perhaps because he has so openly lobbied for reform, he has emerged as something of a folk hero among his colleagues.

His troubles began in 1988 when, in his job as an inspector of commercial cargo at the Otay Mesa port of entry, he was gathering intelligence from informants on drug smugglers and their vehicles. Some of the tips he forwarded to other officials either disappeared from computerized intelligence files or were never entered.

Then three of Horner’s informants ended up dead or beaten, after former Customs District Director Allan J. Rappoport ordered inspectors to reveal the identities of their informants. In an interview, Rappoport acknowledged giving the order and said he did so to give recognition to inspectors who developed informants.

Horner, 40, told internal affairs investigators and Treasury Department agents about the missing intelligence files and his reports from informants that tons of cocaine were being shipped across the border in trucks that were not stopped for inspection.

It was after these meetings that the retribution began, Horner said. There were days when 10 minutes before the end of his shift at 4 p.m., a supervisor would inform Horner that he had to work a double shift until midnight. Then, he said, he was expected to be at work the next day at 7 a.m.

His weekly time cards began disappearing, Horner said. At times he worked 100 hours in a two-week pay period but would get paid for only 20, he said.

“They would tell me they forgot to input my hours, or they couldn’t find my attendance records,” said Horner.

All the while, veteran inspectors cautioned Horner to keep his mouth shut “and go through the motions.”

“My thing was that I wasn’t going to give up on this, because I really loved my job,” Horner said. “I didn’t think I had to sacrifice it because I had done nothing wrong.”

In response to Horner’s charges of retaliation, Customs spokeswoman Bobbie Cassidy said only that the agency has no record that Horner ever filed a grievance or complaint against the Customs Service.

Horner said, however, that a union representative urged him to report his suspicions to internal affairs investigators instead of filing a grievance.

After the Horners began juggling their bills to cope with the meager paychecks and their house was foreclosed on, it became clear to Horner that he would either have “to walk away or go with the flow,” he said.

He decided to walk away. Although he is still classified as an inspector while awaiting a disability discharge, his last day of work was March 30, 1991, after five years as an inspector.

“Mike walked away but he didn’t go away. He continued to pursue this and disclose what he felt was wrongdoing,” said Dave Durkin, Horner’s lifelong friend and attorney.

Horner’s ordeal gave him ulcers. Government doctors agreed that he qualified for workers’ compensation, but Customs officials ignored U.S. Department of Labor’s requests for documents to process Horner’s disability claim.

A Feb. 13, 1992, Labor Department memorandum said Customs officials were “unresponsive” and “stonewalled” requests for documents. The claim was eventually processed without the necessary documents from Customs.

Later, Horner applied for a disability retirement, and a Customs official again sat on his paperwork. While Customs was considering his application, Horner pressed ahead with allegations of wrongdoing within the agency.

Last summer, he spoke with investigators from the House Subcommittee on Commerce, Consumer and Monetary Affairs. The panel was investigating Rappoport and other local officials on allegations of corruption.

Customs Port Director Jerry Martin acknowledged in an interview that he took eight months to sign one piece of paper needed for Horner’s retirement application. Despite numerous calls from Horner’s attorney, Martin did not act until February, when congressional officials intervened on Horner’s behalf.

“I know when you look at it, you can say all kinds of things happened on purpose,” Martin said. “But I assure you, (Horner’s paperwork) was just something that fell through the cracks.”

It was not the first time that congressional staff members had intervened on Horner’s behalf. In January, his newborn daughter was hospitalized for a few days, and Horner was told that Customs had canceled his health insurance.

Subcommittee representatives contacted Customs officials in Washington, and the agency informed the hospital that Horner’s health insurance had been mistakenly canceled.

During a recent visit to the Otay port, Horner received signals of support from several on-duty inspectors for going public with allegations of wrongdoing and lax drug enforcement.

“You guys should be inspecting trucks instead of giving me the thumbs-up,” Horner said to one veteran inspector.

The inspector replied: “Hell, you’re living proof of what can happen (retaliation) when we do that.”