Posted on 07/05/2005 10:00:25 AM PDT by vannrox
GLAD SHE HAD HER GUN
by Elinor Dufy
My gnawing guilt about owning a handgun faded as quickly as the determination on the face of the burglar as soon as he noticed the blue-steel Smith & Wesson .38 caliber revolver in my hand.
The young man, armed with an ice pick, had forced his way in my apartment and was waiting for me-even though he had heard me come down the stairs and had had time to get out.
When he saw the gun, the burglar became a sweet young boy pleading for forgiveness. After all, he was only a youngster, he only wanted a couple of dollars, he had never been in trouble before, wouldn't I please let him go-and, oh, please, please, don't call the police.
I wondered how courteous he would have been if I had come downstairs empty-handed, with just my tiny poodle at my heels.
As he stood in front of me, pulling nervously at his white gardening gloves, I thought of how the night had begun.
I had been at a Filmex reception hoping to meet a producer or director who might be interested in reading my script. But there were only animators and cartoonists there, and I found myself fading fast, so I drove quickly home for some much-needed sleep.
Less than two hours later my dog woke me with his loud barking. I was so angry that I scolded him harshly and was ready to spank him. He cuddled up next to me in a tight little ball as if asking for protection. He kept on barking, not toward the window, but into the apartment.
I knew that I would have to investigate if I was to get any sleep at all.
I turned on my bedroom light, all the time talking reassuringly to my dog. "What's wrong? What do you hear?" He jumped with pleasure when I got up and started down the stairs.
Suddenly, I stopped. Why, I still do not know. I turned back and got the gun that I was embarrassed even to admit owning. As if hiding it from myself, I hid it behind the folds of my white flannel gown.
Midway down the stairs I stopped. The television and everything else in the living room were in order, the front door was securely locked, all the cabinets in the kitchen were still closed, the downstairs bathroom seemed empty. I could not see the sliding glass door at the rear of the apartment.
"Go get it. What are you after?" I asked the little creature. He looked at me, wagged his tail and sat down. He was not going to move. I walked him through the downstairs to prove that nothing was wrong. There he was, in the bathroom, a shadowy 6-foot figure with the shiny weapon in his hand. Fortunately, I was barefoot; he had not heard me approach. He was startled and that gave me enought time to step back and raise the revolver.
"It's cocked. All I have to do is pull the trigger. Don't move."
His larcenous or lethal plans seemed to disappear in one deflating gasp. He was not going to take any chances with his life. I would not have to shoot him.
"Please let me go. All I want is a couple of dollars."
The kitchen light was on.
"Please don't call the police."
The telephone was in my left hand.
"Please let me go."
Go where, I thought. To the next apartment. One with no dog to wake anyone. One where guns were not present. The phone rang twice before the businesslike voice came on, "Lennox sheriff's office." A torrent of words burst from my mouth.
"Ma'am, we can't understand you." I took a deep, steadying breath and said slowly, "There is a burglar in my apartment. He is five feet away from me. I have a gun on him." Then there was a jumble of activity from their end of the line.
A woman with a low soothing voice got on the line. "Here is the suspect?-Make him lie on the floor.-Whatever you do, don't hang up.-A car is on the way.-The officers are looking for your apartment.-How can they get in?"
All this time the young burglar was using the technique taught in so many rape-prevention classes, mine included. He was trying to engage me in pleasant, distracting conversation about me, about my apartment, about my dog, about where he lived. And wouldn't I put down the gun, at least quit pointing it at him?
My hand was shaking so badly that I was sure he was afraid it would go off accidentally. But that gun was making the difference between a standoff and what?
(Betty, a woman in my rape-prevention class, had been raped while her assailant held an ice pick in her ear. Myrna had found someone in her apartment and had been knocked unconcious and robbed. Sandy had cowered in her locked bathroom hoping someone would come home before the intruder found her. And another woman had leaped from her second-floor window onto the asphalt below to escape her surprise visitor.)
I rested the telephone between my ear and shoulder and used my left hand to steady the gun.
As he talked I visualized a red glow around him. (Perhaps I was preparing myself in case I had to shoot.) That thought collided with the memory of signing a petition to ban handguns, of planning to sell my gun. I had never been able to understand why I had purchased the damned thing. I had even been embarrassed when I became a near-perfect marksman at the practice range. I was so against killing that I had almost ended a long relationship when my friend crushed a spider against his office wall.
I quickly pushed away all these thoughts and focused my attention on every move my uninvited guest might make or even think of making.
A light appeared through the front window. "We've found the place."
Two streaks of blue came over the back fence and into my apartment. My vision suddenly collapsed to a narrow tunnel. I saw the handcuffs go on the "suspect". I saw my hand holding the gun toward the earth outside the back door. I saw another hand gently show me how to uncock the gun.
I heard voices praising me for how well I had handled the situation. (What choice did I have?) I heard the young man objecting. He was only trying to show the officer where he was hiding his knife. (That, too?) And I heard the officers complimenting me on my choice of gun.
There followed icy silence and icier thoughts. What would this fledgling gun control advocate have done without the gun? What if I had bent to my landlord's wishes and gotten rid of my dog?
It was not until the sky turned a pale gray-blue that I was able to sleep again. When I woke I decided to go back to the gun range and practice.
, "There is a burglar in my apartment. He is five feet away from me. I have a gun on him."
Have a friend take a felt marker (icepick), stand five feet from you and see if he gets to you before you pull the trigger.
I'll come to your funeral!
Interesting article.
Granted, she shoulda ventilated him BEFORE alerting him to her presence.
"Surprise! Your DEAD." -Faith No More.
Damn, the "what if's" got to me and brought tears to my eyes. It's good to hear someone could ask herself after the incident "what if" they had listened to the gun grabbers and didn't have that equalizer to defend themselves with. That really reenforces just whose responsibility it is to protect herself.
My guess is that she is completely questioning all the idiotic political positions she's ever had in her life.
Including and up to the fact that they guy will go free. One of her neighbors, as a result of the courts, will likely have a similar experience, only one without the dog and the gun.
BTTT
In prison more cons are killed by ice pick type weapons than shanks. They are good for the straight kill and will go through almost everything and you dont have to worry about slashing yourself when they get slick.
I think you misunderstood that post (#29). Given the circumstances the lady was in, she did well.
I would have done the same thing, if I felt the perp wasn't going to try to hurt me, ice pick or not. However, I wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger if I felt in danger of my life, whether or not the guy was armed. I would go with my gut...and doing that has served me very well in the past. I've not had to shoot anyone yet...or even throw a punch, for that matter. (A good thing too, since I am a rather petite gal) LOL
No offense, but I'll listen to my instincts rather than the advice of others, no matter how well intended.
If that sucker won't drop the icepick when I demanded him to the first (and only) time, he goes down! I am stunned how even a target moving STRAIGHT at you is so hard to hit, and it's on top of you in NO time flat! VERY scary!
"She should have shot."
No kiddin. He was only 5 feet away. A firearms instructor I know once told me that a guy with a knife only needs to be within 15 or feet to get to you.
Oh, I believe it! That's kind of what I am talking about...obviously, if the guy isn't willing to relinquish his weapon, then I have to believe he intends to do me harm, and act accordingly.
In this particular case, she is probably better off the way things turned out. If the same scenario played out again, she would most likely be better off to have shot him, depending on where she lived of course.
Bump.
I hear so many stories of missing women, and every time, we find out that the woman did not have a ccw and was not carrying a handgun at the time of her abduction. Kidnappoing and murder are easily avoided if you choose to do so.
Great story (thanks for posting it!)
You know, the one issue I have with some of these stories is the home owner going through the house, looking for the perp. If they do hear you coming, *they* have an advantage. I don't want myself to think I can do this - just hunker down with the weapon and phone till the police get there, and if the perp comes at you, blast 'em!
Hold a cocked weapon on me.
I will bet I can stick you four out of five times from five feet away. Most probably I can deflect your handgun five out of five times.
Five feet from your nose tip to mine. Sixty inches. You have your hands four feet from me, one foot in front of your lower chest. From the front of my shoulder to my finger tip is 27 inches. Assuming you have a four inch barrel. All I have to do is move one hand 17 inches and I can deflect the barrel. 18 inches more with the other hand and you have a one inch puncture wound. Three inches more and your heart will be wondering why it is losing pressure when it is pumping so hard.
Remember, the whole time I am going to be smiling at you, never giving you any indication that I am about to kill you! If you can't retreat to at least 12 feet with a drawn weapon YOUR life insurance agent is going to be losing YOUR business.
The truth is that with more training her options increase. She should not have confronted while only five feet away. But if farther away, could she still count on a hit? Also in a house the perp can run, hide, and become more dangerous in an instant. Attempting to make an arrest is very dangerous, and she was correct to be fearful, she was depending on the perp to be nice and be willing to go to jail. If she was interested in him escaping she could have stood farther away, the perp might have run. But she had realized that his next victim may be a neighbor so she was correct that she had to bring him down.
With more confidence, a greater distance, she could have first had him drop to the ground and drop his weapon. Then with the gun firmly aimed make the call. At any movement she should fire, she should also ask the perp to shut up, since his banter was intended to distract and weaken her resolve. (My scoutmaster, an NRA instructor, did just this and the result was that my friend who was prowling around the scoutmaster's house harrassing another friend, the scoutmaster's son at night is still around to tell the tale. If the scoutmaster had shot he would have to explain to the boy's family that he should not have come sneaking around after dark.)
The issue of killing him outright is a fair question. If she realized his weapon was intended for her, if if she realized what would have happened if the tables were turned I believe she would have shot and had a clear conscience. She would never be convicted by a jury in a nightime - armed- breakin.
There's a number to keep in my head. Now I have to make sure I know what it looks like under stress.
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