One Year Since Howie's Passing

Odd thoughts come to mind while reflecting on the passing of a friend one year ago. Some believe not everyone is called to be on the planet a long time. Of course, whenever a person in his early 50's passes, it's hard to avoid thoughts of "too soon." But Howie was an outlier. Both personally and professionally, Howie sailed rogue in a world divided by labels, conjuring his Brooklyn birthright to adapt in anyone's company. Nicknamed Triple H by fellow cops, he could be observed clocking out from a double shift with little sleep, or brown-baggin' a beer with flag waving colleagues, or seen donning a helmet to ride with his crew of urban motorcycle enthusiasts, often in the same day!

Super cool, Howie's persona fit the stereotype of his appearance; like a lab-made hybrid of Barry White and Issac Hayes without the velvet notes or Kung Fu moves, but that never stopped him. Always the quiet charmer, Triple H would head back to his locker after roll call to sport a diamond rock earring and other unauthorized bling before heading out to patrol. Around the ladies, Howie's smooth baritone voice would drop an octave- without him even knowing it- despite frantic calls of the police radio fracturing the setting. He was also no stranger to turning up the locker room radio and disco ball at the end of tour.

On patrol, Howie's strength was his fairness, patience, and wisdom. He was one of a severed handful I worked with that understood the impact of a negative interactions, and rarely took enforcement action for the sake of brown-nosing superiors. If he wrote you a ticket, you certainly deserved it. As a good cop, he knew bad behavior crossed every racial spectrum, and despite catching heat from all races, he never got baited or raised his voice. From years of first hand experience, Howie maintained rigid professionalism in dozens of high pressure situations. There were times when someone's vile race-based behavior toward my partner would prompt a throttled reaction from me. Then, when the smoke cleared, I took ball-breaking pleasure in calling him the same offensive phrases the rest of the shift.

Triple H also showed incredible sportsmanship at a time when you needed a backbone in the workplace. Despite working in Brooklyn through the adversarial stop-and-frisk era, feeling "inappropriate" over anything within the comforts of the stationhouse seemed petty. For quite a few years, Howie was the only black cop working the 4 to midnight shift, and boy did he show resilience in the frat house atmosphere. Everyone took their turn, but picking on Howie was added entertainment in a workplace that cultivated offensive humor. When it was Howie's turn for some ribbing, you could check off many boxes. Fat, black, scruffy faced, tipsy, late for roll call, you name it... A true sign of adoration in the twisted clubhouse of the NYPD.

One night in Sheepshead Bay, I came up with a brilliant gimmick. "Howie, let's start a weight loss contest between us. We'll spin it as a huge wager, but we won't bet anything. What we will do though, is talk shit about each other for many weeks and watch the command wager while we monitor our progress. We'll make it like Rocky 3 and play up the race angle. It'll be lots of yuks."

Never lifting his head up from his scratch off lottery tickets, Howie muttered, as he often did, "crazy white boy." But he did agree. "...And for the hundredth time, stop with those scratch offs." I barked.     "I dun' told you already, niggaz like us cannot afford to win the lottery. We'd be dead in six months."

Within a few hours we were posing in uniform fist-to-fist in front of the American flag like heavyweight boxers. Color copied promotional fliers were run off on job time with job supplies, and the contest was on! We called the competition, The fat bastard vs. the black bastard.

There are many life memories shared while in the company of Officer Brunache. For example, the nickname Triple H stuck because he was given the surprising news of triplets as he sat next to me on patrol. One summer afternoon Howie and I may have saved a woman's life, but then again, we caused the unfortunate situation. We were driving eastbound on Ave U in Gravesend. As the operator, I specifically remember seeing a car moving south at the intersection of west 4^th, across the street. As both our cars were about to pass each other, I noticed the other motorist staring at our white and blue while she was turning right. So fixated on our patrol car to her right, she never looked left. She then clipped a woman on a bicycle passing from left to right in front of her. This dopey motorist continued to stare at us while not feeling the crush of a human on a bicycle and under the left wheel of her car. How that happens in broad daylight, I haven't a clue.

"What the fuck???" I yelled as I laid on the siren and leaped from the car. From the passenger side, Howie did not see the impact, but took out the ignition key and caught up a few seconds later. As I ran towards the moving car with my arms waving, the starstruck motorist had no idea she was crushing the bicycle. On the ground, I was watching the look of fear and death cross the female bicyclist's face. Finally, the motorist stopped and was forced to reverse. Howie rendered assistance to the cyclist as I began a barrage of “How did you not notice a person on a bicycle under your tire?” and “Who the fuck taught to you to drive?” She then began to weep and feel terribly upset by what was clearly unintentional. Turns out, she was a relative of famed Brooklyn actor John Turturro. I didn't quite care, but out of respect for her family, I toned down my lecture. To this day, I wonder what she was smuggling in the trunk of that car to be so fixated on the cops instead of the road.

These events would be recalled on late night visits while sneaking a few beers into his rehab facility. Here, Howie laid half paralyzed and bed ridden for over a year after suffering an unexplained seizure. Seeing him helpless yet,still maintaining his cool was a tearful experience. Even then, knowing how vulnerable he looked, Howie eased his visitors. "They bring me outside in a wheelchair for a smoke once in a while when everyone is asleep." But despite his bravery, deep down we both knew neither of us would want to be seen that way. Even with restricted abilities, technology always kept Howie present in our lives. Through social media and group texts, Howie was the centerpiece to keeping us communicating and within reach of each other- something that has considerably declined in the year since his passing.

In life, every person should bring something unique to the table. With Howie, we were all blessed- and even a little unappreciative- to think he would always be around. As a law enforcement community, we learn first hand how sudden life can end, and to cherish what we have on Earth. But then, there's still events that kick you in the pants with reflection. Howie's contributions to those he touched personally and professionally will not fade away. Police Officer Howard Brunache's lasting gift taught all of us how a calm approach in a chaotic situation was often the perfect remedy.

I miss you, pal.