In our new series, “Lessons from the Beat,” law enforcement veterans detail the pivotal moments that shaped their career and why they mattered. “Lessons from the Beat” is an opportunity for police leaders to reflect and impart wisdom all LEOs can benefit from.
Police Captain Michael Howell made headlines last November for his bravery in stopping a gunman who was stalking the aisles of a local Costco in Lenexa, Kansas. Howell, who was off duty at the time, was looking down the barrel of the attacker’s revolver as he took the shot that ended the threat. No one else was hurt, and Howell credited his active shooter training for saving the day.
But the act of heroism that made him a national name is just one moment in 23 years of law enforcement service. From near-death experiences to the chaos of a homicide call, Howell shares the moments that shaped him as a cop and the lessons he’s learned along the way.
1995: Baptism by fire
Like many young officers, I felt a sense of awe at the enormous responsibility I was taking on when I started my career. I was reminded by my FTOs to be patient, as the crime will still be here when you retire. Nevertheless, I felt I had to do my best to make a dent in crime in my city.
My first exposure to violent crime came three days into my FTO period. Working the graveyard shift in the east part of our city was challenging. The shift never failed to start with 15-25 calls holding. During my first year, we had a record number of homicides. My first homicide call was the shooting of a young man approximately 20 years old. Shot in the back of the head, his life was gone before he hit the ground. Blood flowed as it can from a head wound. Several large groups had gathered around the crime scene. It was extremely difficult to determine suspects from onlookers. Police cars stretched bumper to bumper for three blocks … welcome to the world of violent crime!
This call stands out from many of the others I worked due to the people-handling skills I learned while on scene. As the blood from the victim flowed freely in the street, tempers flared from onlookers who thought we weren’t reacting fast enough, when our primary focus aside from protecting the crime scene was to try to keep our wits about us as new officers facing our first homicide. I learned the importance of verbal judo that day, as I used the skills taught to me in the academy to try to calm the large crowd of friends of the victim, as well as “others” I had yet to learn were part of a larger group involved in the drug trade so prevalent in the late ’90s in our city.
What I learned from this call is that teamwork and training go hand in hand. Managing the scene was true teamwork in action; our FTOs quickly realized we could carry our weight as new officers. Each member of the shift learned a few strengths about one another that night and backed each other up. It was baptism by fire.
1997: A moment of doubt
My police career and life in general irrevocably changed on September 10, 1997. I was a few days away from earning my wings as a motor officer when I was hit by a driver turning left in front of me on my motorcycle. I have no memory of the accident itself, only that of my physical and mental recovery.
I was in outstanding physical shape at the time of my accident. Doctors told my wife that had I not been in such good physical shape, I wouldn’t have survived. I sustained a brain bleed, two broken fingers, road rash from hip to knees and a ripped scrotum. Yes, it was beyond painful. Previously I was benching in excess of 300 lbs., yet when I left the hospital and began recovery, I couldn’t even lift the bar.
With the pain and recovery came doubts and fears. Doubts over whether policing was truly my calling and fears about whether I’d become truly whole again. While I returned to work in January 1998 on light-duty status, it was not until April that I could return to full duty. Ironically, I fought my doubts and fears silently at work. As a military officer in the Army National Guard, I was well aware of the emotions I was dealing with; I had trained and mentored my junior officers and soldiers on how to be resilient and get beyond the hurt, to focus on the mission. Yet I felt at times I was fighting this battle alone. I knew the words, but could I actually make them work for me?
My wife was my rock; she and I worked through the painful recovery of both mind and body. We would often talk about what I was dealing with and how I felt, rather than what I thought folks wanted to hear. I can honestly say I never had any thoughts of self-harm, but if I wasn’t careful, I’d find myself dwelling on the questions of how life would have been for my family had I not survived the accident.
While my body did heal, it was several years before I could consider myself “restored” – it took three years to get my strength back. I had been taking my physical fitness for granted; it’s amazing how quickly it can be taken away. Training your body, as well as your mind is extremely important to a healthy life. Had I not been in good physical condition, I would not have been able to recover as I did. The biggest lesson I learned was to do your best to stay in shape physically and mentally – it is your best line of defense.
The lessons learned in 1997, as well as the following months, revealed so much about my internal strengths and what it took to recover my physical strength. I spent time conducting lengthy spiritual reflections on my chosen career, as well as reflecting on what I had learned about my will to win. The accident and the physical therapy caused me to focus not only on my physical health, but my mental health as well. It helped create in me a stronger faith and personal drive, and showed me how to focus on the road ahead.
2013: ‘Why didn’t I die?’
By 2013, I had been working as a patrol sergeant for approximately seven years. I responded to a request from a citizen to help find his brother – a known drug user – who had been reported missing for over three days.
While driving to the last known location of the brother, dispatch advised he had been found deceased by a family friend under a high voltage power line. I arrived on scene and gathered my patrol officers to go with me, and we began the trek through the wooded area to where the body had been found. Unknown to me, a live electrical field surrounded the body. As I approached the body, I could see the obvious damage caused by the electrical shock. I turned to walk toward the body and found myself enduring the most painful event I’d ever experienced. The electricity entered my left shoulder, leaving close to 20 burn marks as it coursed through the left side of my body. As it exited my left calf, I fell to the ground. I remember counting close to 18 or 20 seconds before the pain stopped. I honestly thought my life was quickly coming to an end.
After I was shocked, I somehow was able to get to my feet with help from my officers, and made my way back to where our vehicles were waiting. As I walked up to the ambulance, EMTs began extinguishing the burning still happening on my left shirt sleeve. I was taken to the KU Medical Burn Center for an overnight stay, where I was told that I had been hit with static electricity from a 7,940 volt line. I was released the next day; doctors could only shake their heads in disbelief that I had not been killed. Had the shock crossed my heart, I would have died. Thankfully, God wasn’t through with me yet!
I often ask myself, “Why didn’t I die?” I asked this same question after my motorcycle wreck. I had no answer other than my purpose on this earth wasn’t complete. I remember fellow officers laughing as only cops and firefighters can – this wasn’t the first time they had seen or heard of me being in a dangerous position that should have taken my life.
This incident made me realize the importance of my faith in God. I had now faced death twice as a police officer and emerged relatively intact. I’d responded to calls where people lost their lives in similar circumstances, yet I remained alive. I thanked God each day following my release from the burn unit. I’ve shared bits of this story with fellow officers and supervisors who are sent on “lines down” calls. Many of them have no clue about the static electrical field that exists around live power lines. Hopefully this message will keep others from enduring the pain and injuries I received.
2017: You’re never off duty
In 2016, I was promoted to captain and assigned to our Operations Division. I was excited to start a new phase of my police career. I was focused on providing the best leadership I could to the men and women assigned to my stations. I had trained with many of our officers as both a patrol officer and a sergeant on how to respond to the scene of an active shooter. In my mind, this was something I would encounter while on duty, with all of the equipment associated with an on-duty officer.
On November 26, 2017, I found myself in an active shooter situation at Costco in Lenexa, Kansas. I had arrived at the store to shop with a friend. As we made our way to the checkout counter, I was met with over a hundred shoppers fleeing for their lives. I stopped a man running past me and pulled him behind a shopping display. He advised there was a man actively pointing a gun at people, stating he was there to kill people. I met up with a manager, who pointed the gunman out to me. I told my friend to vacate the store, call 911, tell them who I was, what I was wearing and that I was going to take care of the shooter. Once my friend left, I quickly deployed as safely as I could to a point where I could end the threat. I identified myself as a police officer, ordering the man to drop his gun. He turned, pointing the gun at me. I engaged him with my Glock 23, ending the threat.
Despite the tactical lessons I’d learned prior to this incident, nothing can totally prepare you for when that day comes. I had prepared myself mentally for such an event, but I was still in shock it had actually happened. I was awash with emotion; I was angry at having been forced to take a life, yet I knew without a doubt I had saved many lives that day.
Despite the shock, what I learned in this active shooting event was that training works! I had started a practice of asking myself every time I entered a building or neighborhood, “What if?” I would play the scenario over and over in my mind regardless of the time of day, who I was with, or what was actually happening. How would I react if “X” happened? Would I be prepared – both physically and mentally – to answer the call if it ever came?
Since this incident, I have listened to the audio recordings of the 911 calls, the radio traffic from the responding officers and even my 911 call following the shooting. Training works! As I saw the flood of people rushing past me fighting for an escape, I felt as if time slowed down. I heard the loud voice of the male who was threatening to kill people, chasing customers toward the northwest corner of the business. I remember physically touching my chest, saying, “Michael. Listen up! You don’t have your body armor! You might get shot. It will probably hurt, but you will not let him win!”
I began running multiple courses of action through my head at hyper speed. I’d evaluate a response, discard it and think of another. Then, as I began to get close to where I knew I would have to shoot him to stop him, I quickly made my decision. Again, training works!
The shooting felt surreal. I was in compliance with all applicable laws, but I knew I had just killed a man threatening to kill innocent people. Once the Lenexa police officers were on scene and we had everything secured, I called my wife and told her what had happened. I explained I would be home once we were finished with the initial phases of the investigation.
One of the first things I remember doing was speaking with one of the FTOs I had first met back in 1995. This brother had been through an on-duty shooting where he was forced to take a life. I knew his wife had walked through the following days with him after the shooting. I asked him and his wife to head to my house to help both my wife and I as we traveled this new road. This was instrumental in how I was able to handle the following days and weeks.
I had no doubt in my mind I was justified in my response. I knew my training over the past 22 years had been right. Yet I knew I had taken a human life. Did this bother me? Did I have trouble sleeping at night knowing what I had just done? I guess the answer was my state of mind. I had no problems sleeping, or answering the questions in my head, due primarily to the training I had received throughout my military and police career.
I am a graduate of the Street Survival Seminars (2001), as well an avid reader/follower of Ltc. Dave Grossman. I had read and knew what to expect an officer has to deal with following a shooting. I had rehearsed so many “what if/then” situations, that when it actually did happen, it was as if I had already been through the event. Training will prepare you if you apply yourself and treat the skills you learn as a tool that will work when the time comes to use them.
What I know
Although I have nearly lost my life in the line of duty three times, I wouldn’t change anything. To say the above moments have shaped my outlook on life, as well as my career, is an understatement. The lessons I can share from them are simple. Understand the importance of teamwork. Stay in mental and physical shape. You never know when the wolf will call your name. Seek support from your loved ones and your colleagues when you need it. Maintain your capabilities! Train, then train again! And finally, rehearse your actions and your response.
About Captain Michael Howell
Captain Howell has worked for the past 23 years as a patrol officer, DUI enforcement officer, motor officer, traffic officer, patrol sergeant and patrol captain. He has worked the past eight years as a trainer with his department’s CIT team, focusing on teaching fellow officers and commanders about returning combat veterans, as well as officers who return to work following their deployment to combat zones. He also works as a training coordinator, working with new officers as they work through the FTO phase of their careers. He retired as a major from the U.S. Army after 23 years in both Active and National Guard units.