When Mass ended one recent Sunday morning, Florida Highway Patrol trooper Lt. Pasco ``Pat'' Santangelo stepped outside Notre Dame d'Haiti Catholic Church and began the usual post-service exchange of pleasantries and handshakes.

He quickly spotted the Rev. Jean Jadotte saying goodbye to church members.

``If there's anything I can do,'' Santangelo told Jadotte as he clutched the associate pastor's shoulder, ``let me know.''

There was something disarming about his delivery -- and he meant every word. But Jadotte knew that Santangelo won't wait for an invitation. He just shows up at church functions and pitches in any way he can.

Sporting his khaki uniform, the soft-spoken trooper stands guard at the Little Haiti parish for big events. He steers marching processions through the neighborhood streets. He advises church administrators and their patrons about law enforcement issues.

He does it all on his own time and his own dime.

``I try to be a liaison between the Haitian community and government -- state, local, federal,'' said Santangelo, who has devoted much of his life to public service. ``I try to be available. I try to be visible. I try to get more involved.''

Santangelo, 59, who plans to retire this month, was rewarded for his good deeds last year when he was admitted to the Pontifical Order of Saint Sylvester, which recognized members of the Archdiocese of Miami who used their professional and artistic skills to promote the church.

The volunteer work is sometimes all-consuming. In June, he found himself in tepid water with his wife of 20 years after he sneaked out of his nephew's bar mitzvah early to oversee security at a memorial service for Haitian community activist Gérard Jean-Juste. Several thousand attended and he couldn't exactly back out.

``She wasn't happy about that,'' Santangelo recalled, half-joking. ``I took her and her relatives out to P.F. Chang's.''

Santangelo's decision to devote his life to public service was spurred in part by his New England roots and a pair of near-death experiences -- being shot and contracting cancer.

``I just feel I have an undeniable connection with the Haitian community,'' Santangelo said. ``I think it reminds me of Federal Hill. They have the same struggles -- just 60 years later.''

Born into an Italian immigrant family, Santangelo saw firsthand the foreign-born work ethic in action. Family members stressed the value of education, and Santangelo took note. He graduated from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, with a degree in secondary education.

In 1982, Santangelo left a teaching job in New England to work in South Florida. He started out with the FHP on the Palm Beach County stretch of Florida's Turnpike. Racial tension still tainted day-to-day interactions between the police and public three years after the McDuffie riots upended Miami but Santangelo didn't get caught up in the racial strife. He befriended Haitian toll workers. And conversations ensued.

NO HAITIAN CREOLE

Why, they asked, were bus schedules translated into Spanish, but not Haitian Creole?

Santangelo helped pressure Palm Beach County government. Result: Bus schedules in Creole.

Santangelo continued to do what he could to improve the lives of South Florida Haitians, despite having to deal with devastating hardships.

One April night in 1986 while chasing a robbery suspect on the turnpike, he was shot in the chest by a .38-caliber handgun. One bullet struck his body armor. The shock waves snapped a rib. A second bullet pierced his lung after passing through the vest. Wounded, Santangelo fired his .357-caliber Magnum revolver six times at the suspect, hitting him three times and killing him.