July 1977 to October 2000, Baltimore, Maryland

By Don Haines

John Stem (pictured) was, in the parlance of the law enforcement field, a street cop. He was out there every day, cruising his area of Baltimore County, Maryland, keeping the streets safe for the law-abiding citizens and decidedly unsafe for the criminal element. By age 27, he was eight years into a career that provided an adequate if not opulent lifestyle for his wife and young son. John was also, as he put it later, “an unsaved deacon in a mainline church.” As far as John was concerned, life couldn’t be any better.

On July 6, 1977, Officer John Stem and Corporal Calvin Mathis were having lunch when a call came about a domestic dispute in the community of Lansdowne. It was in fact the third call concerning the same address. Stem and Mathis knew it wasn’t their assigned area, but three calls about the same address spelled trouble. “We better get down there,” Mathis said.

A chaotic scene awaited the two officers when they arrived at Brunswick Road. Two county police cars were parked on one side of the street with an officer crouched behind each. Their weapons were drawn. Gunfire erupted from a small bungalow on the opposite side of the street.

As Stem and Mathis drew closer, they noted that the windows of both police cars had been shot out. They parked their vehicles in line with the others and exited from the passenger side. It didn’t take Stem long to see that one of the besieged officers was his close friend Chuck Huckeba. Mathis was the ranking man on the scene and was trying to get the attention of the shooter when he saw Huckeba throw his arms up in the air and fall back onto the pavement.

Now Mathis had an officer down and knew he had to get to him. While yelling for Stem to give him cover, he dashed toward the fallen officer. Stem looked at Mathis, cradling Huckeba’s head in his arms. He knew that Huckeba needed medical attention right away, but the shooter was essentially holding them all hostage. The SWAT team had been called, but they were in Cockeysville, a good 30 minutes away.

There was only one option: The shooter had to be taken out. But how? Stem looked at the house behind him and noted that it had a higher elevation than the shooter’s location. If he could get behind that house and gain entrance, he would have a good chance of getting a shot off and ending the siege. This would enable waiting medical personnel to get to Huckeba.

Crouching low and running a weaving route while bullets punctured the grass around him, Stem quickly gained the rear of the house. But here, everything went awry. He was standing in front of a sheer-curtained window, not realizing it lined up perfectly with a window at the front of the house, a perfect target for a man with a high-powered rifle and a telescopic sight.

Suddenly, Stem felt a burning pain in his back. He fell to the ground in a heap, and his shotgun went flying. He was severely injured, though he didn’t realize it.

Even while he was being dragged to an ambulance, he screamed, “HELP HUCK!” But Huck, his friend, was already dead.

About one hour later, a sharpshooter’s bullet ended the siege as well as the life of the 19-year-old shooter, who was spaced out on PCP and had a virtual arsenal at his disposal. But John Stem was already far removed from that fight and beginning one of his own at the University of Maryland Shock Trauma center.

Two days after being shot, John Stem was told he was at least a paraplegic; indeed, it would be a fight to save his arms and prevent quadriplegia. During this initial period, John admits, “I hit rock bottom.”

It’s at this point that the John Stem story becomes the John and Sandy Stem story. Just as John had shown remarkable courage, it became obvious that Sandy intended to remain true to her vow, for better or worse. Sandy was strong, supportive, and always by her husband’s side. During the long, arduous months of rehabilitation that followed, John and Sandy together reached this conclusion: Whether life be fair or unfair, it still has to be lived.

While John and Sandy worked, their community rallied around them. First, they received a specially equipped van, and later they were given a wheelchair-accessible home. Spurred on by the outpouring of support, John completed his rehabilitation. He was, of course, eligible for disability retirement, but that was the last thing on his mind. Maybe he didn’t have his legs anymore but he still had his mind and his mind told him he was still a cop.

On Nov. 6, 1978, exactly 16 months after his injury, Officer John Stem of the Baltimore County Police reported for duty in his wheelchair.

When John first went back to work, it was thought he might be an ideal candidate for the department’s Youth Bureau, since a troubled teen had put him in a wheelchair. But John Stem was an investigator, not a counselor, and while some may have thought him incapable of performing the necessary duties, John knew better and would prove it by solving nearly 900 child abduction cases during his remaining years on the force.

While John was busy being a cop, Sandy was hard at work making a home for him and their son, John Jr. A bright smile would spread over the face of John Stem when he spoke of his wife and son. “Sandy and me were both 27 when I got shot. A lot of young women would have said, ‘No way, I can’t handle this,’ but not Sandy. And of course I couldn’t do a lot of things with my son that other dads do with theirs, but we made up for it. In fact, my injury brought us closer together, and our faith in God helps us through the rough times. We all got baptized the same night.”

The story of what led to their baptism is inspiring in its own right. “I was raised in a church that never talked about a personal relationship with God, so I really didn’t understand what Christianity was all about. Sandy had these friends down in North Carolina who were born again Christians, and I wasn’t sure what that meant. My wife and son came to an understanding of what it meant before I did, and became born again. Maybe the fact that I was bound to a wheelchair caused me to be a holdout. But one Sunday evening we were driving back from Carolina. I was at the wheel and Sandy and my son were asleep. Suddenly it all came clear to me and right their in the darkness of that van I began my personal relationship with Jesus Christ.”

John Stem retired in 1990, and there aren’t many people left at county headquarters who remember him or the events of July 6, 1977. To them John is just a name on a wall that lists Medal of Honor winners. But a lot of other people do remember.

Calvin Mathis remembers. His voice cracks with emotion as he recalls how Chuck Huckeba died in his arms. He speaks of John Stem and how much respect he has for the man who ended up in a wheelchair after a valiant effort to save his friend.

The congregation of Liberty Baptist Church in Lisbon, Maryland, remembers, too.

They remember how John got in that wheelchair. They remember how Sandy stood by the love of her life and how John Jr. maintained a 4.0 GPA while training to be a counselor to the mentally and physically handicapped. Most of all, they remember his bright smile and hearty handshake.

In September of 2000, John Stem began experiencing discomfort in the lower part of his body. A trip to the doctor was followed by hospitalization, where exploratory surgery was performed. The diagnosis was intestinal cancer. Because of his paralysis, John could not feel the degree of pain normally experienced. A battery of tests showed the cancer to be inoperable.

When the tests were completed and John was back in his room, he said: “Sandy, I want to go home.” Sandy replied: “But John you can’t go home until the doctor says so.” John answered, “No Sandy, you don’t understand, I want to go to my real home.”

John Stem went home on Oct. 19, 2000. His funeral service was held on Oct. 23, in the Baptist church attended by his son. John Jr. gave the eulogy, in which he said: “My Dad, despite being in a wheelchair for 23 years, was a person to whom the word handicapped did not apply.” All in attendance nodded in agreement.

The funeral procession then wound its way to Dulaney Valley Memorial Gardens in Towson, Maryland. It is a place reserved for heroes.

Don Haines is a freelance writer who has been published in various print magazines as well as Combat Magazine, an online publication.

Posted by Elizabeth Armstrong Moore on Tuesday, February 13th, 2007 | Email This Post

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