By Petty Officer 2nd Class Bill Colclough

In 1967, a young man left the crawfish-boiling heat of New Orleans for the matching steam and torrent of Vietnam. He was shot down three times as a Huey helicopter door gunner near Dau Tieng in southeast Vietnam. He survived all three; but on the fourth one, the dice came up snake eyes. Flying above Cambodia, which was off limits to allied forces, a large force of North Vietnamese Army regulars barraged the chopper with heavy fire. Bullets shattered his left arm, pierced his left leg, and shrapnel peppered several other parts of his body. His crew chief managed to apply pressure to his left arm’s artery during a 15-minute flight back to the aid station in Dau Tieng.

As the helo approached the landing zone, they had to hover the ground as medics loaded him on a stretcher because the left side of his body was severely damaged. Then, violent winds from the rotor blades thrust him to the ground flat on his face. Medics brought him into the aid station. He stopped breathing, but he was still conscious – barely. He was aware of what was going on in the room but could make no sign that he was present. He was just sentient enough to hear a medic utter, “Don’t waste the blood on him.” He thought to himself: Waste the blood, waste the blood! Someone … an angel perhaps, did … ‘waste’ some blood. A nurse, actually, saved his life.

Barely 20 years old, Mike Howell almost bled to death.

For his combat actions in more than 400 missions, Howell received two Purple Hearts, the Distinguished Flying Cross, Air Medal with “V” Device, Army Commendation Medal and several other combat medals including the Vietnam Cross of Gallantry with Silver Star.

Discharged from the U.S. Army, he got married in 1968. Two years later, he and his wife had a daughter and then divorced. Following the divorce , he bought a step van, converted it into a camper and headed for the mountains. He wandered the country and spent a year in the Rockies. Then, in 1975 he showed up at his family’s house and delivered the news: he bought a boat called Manana for $1,200.

With renewed prospects and a desire to be part of something greater than himself, he became an active member of the U.S. Coast Guard Auxiliary.

“He was never bitter since he believed in what he was doing and had a patriotic spirit that would stay with him throughout his life,” said Jim Buras, a 35-year Coast Guard Auxiliarist and former colleague of Howell. “I think, for Mike, the Auxiliary was an organization that he, as a boater, could relate to, and over the years his spirit motivated many to follow his lead.”

“He was in a lot of physical agony and very tormented,” Susan Briggs, Howell’s sister, remembered. “The Manana kind of saved his life; it really enabled him to live with great purpose – to make sure that the blood that was ‘wasted’ was not really wasted.”

The Manana, which his sister said the U.S. Navy referred to as a “large, inoperable white elephant,” eventually became a 55-foot long-range charter and salvage boat. After months of painstaking refurbishments, he started Manana Charters in 1979. Howell was now officially Captain Mike.

In 1980, out of the blue like a dolphin darting the surface, Howell decided to take the Manana down to Cuba. At the time, Fidel Castro released several thousand “undesirables”, which was an assembly of economic and political refugees, to immigrate to Florida. Just one problem: as an operational facility of the Coast Guard, his Manana was not permitted to assist in the relief operation. His fix was simple. He had his facility status pulled and removed all markings, decals and life jackets and anything related to the Coast Guard from his boat.

“He made several trips and brought Cuban refugees back to the U.S.,” Buras recalled. “He then returned to New Orleans and resumed his duties with the Auxiliary; it may have been his association with his boat that got him the attention for his next event.”

In February 1981, Howell thwarted an attempted coup by white supremacists to overthrow the government of Dominica as part of Operation Red Dog. If it were an excerpt from a Hollywood screenplay, it would probably be rejected out of hand as totally implausible.

Except ..

Ku Klux Klansman Mike Perdue approached Howell at a marina in New Orleans and spun a yarn that the Central Intelligence Agency needed his boat for a covert operation. Unconvinced, Howell notified the U.S. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. Now working undercover, Howell and three ATF agents, posed as Howell’s crewmembers, met Perdue at a predetermined location, loaded a van and proceeded to the marina to board a boat with automatic weapons, shotguns, dynamite and a black and white Nazi flag. When they arrived at the marina, local police were waiting and arrested Perdue. Local media dubbed it “Bayou of Pigs,” after the failed 1961 Bay of Pigs Invasion.

“No one in the Auxiliary realized at the time that his crew had a full-time FBI agent placed there for his protection,” said Buras.

During Hurricane Katrina in 2005, he literally rode out the storm aboard the Manana in the Municipal Yacht Harbor. Not only did the boat serve as an auxiliary generator for Coast Guard Station New Orleans, but he also replaced channel markers displaced from the storm surge. In the wake of Katrina, his Manana became a refuge for many pets that Coast Guardsmen had rescued from the flood. The members brought them to him for care and feeding because he was known throughout the community as a animal lover. And, when the Deepwater Horizon exploded and spilled oil into the Gulf of Mexico in April 2010, BP Amoco PLC contracted his vessel to assist with cleanup efforts.

A year later his heart succumbed to complications from his combat injuries, and he passed away. Naturally, Captain Mike had a flotilla in his honor. Twenty-plus yachts and Coast Guard response boatcrews escorted his family in a waterborne procession. Approximately 250 people attended his burial at sea offshore New Orleans. Howell’s extended family scattered his ashes into the Gulf of Mexico.

“My family and I were so grateful for the support and the stories his Auxiliarists shared,” Briggs said. “The Coast Guard fixed him; he would do anything to help a person in need.”

From Sept. 26, 1947 to March 26, 2011, Captain Mike hopped from one lily pad of historical event to another. For one benevolent buccaneer, each day was a treasure chest rich with enchantment. The captain has crossed the bar, and his unwasted remains make way on the seas of tomorrow.