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.
World's best safety combination--a good dog and a good gun.
The target coming straight at me was less than 12 feet away before I finally started hitting it center mass. And by the time I was hitting my target, most of the clip was used up.
Almost too great.
A YAHOO search for "Elinor Dufy" reveals only this article. The claimed publication date is 1981. Perhaps someone with access to LA Times archives can verify this.
I always liked the line Julia Roberts used in th emovie "Sleeping with the Enemy". She is on the phone and says "come quickly I've just shot an intruder" while she is looking at the intruder.
And yes, I'd wager on that one.
It takes a grown man 1 second to cross 21 feet of space. Officers refer to that space as 'the hole'. If an armed person is threatening you while he/she/it is in the hole, shoot. You most likely will only get one shot before the assailant is upon you, so make it count.
Practice shouting those orders all in one sentence. You need to get across that you are the one with the gun and you are going to shoot to kill, not injure or maim. Speak as if you are so angry that he perp invaded your home you are looking for the tiniest excuse to call 911 and say, "Bring the coroner and a body bag."
KC_for_Freedom
Of course his weapon was intended for her. He wouldn't have brought it into the house otherwise. Marines kill to save lives. 1st their own and then their buddies. If anyone has a gun, isn't willing to kill with it and save their own life first, then they need to get rid of the darn thing.
We aren't talking about realizing anything here. All of that stuff comes later. Now is the time to stay alive and do the thinking/realizing/worrying later. All of that stuff comes much, much later when you are able to breath calmly.
I would have to go with what my gut told me at that particular time. IMO, it's best to pay attention to your instincts, and risk being wrong than to ignore the warning in favor of politeness, or whatever.
_______________________________________________
You would appreciate: "The GIFT OF FEAR" a great book.
Some of us have exchanged good instincts for good manners -while the barbarians in our midst have not.
Better to be well bred than dead?
sp
We are in agreement, I was implying that she should have had some training, done the thinking in advance, then she would have been in a position to save her life. Realized was not a good term, since I meant she should have realized what a man with a weapon in her appartment meant before every finding one.
I agree that she was lucky in this event. By training and confidence I also meant what you said about Order, not request, and give me any excuse to blow you away and I will take it. This story could so easily have been headlined: "Home burgler uses homeowner's own weapon to take her life."
I know. dead men tell no tales, but you'd still spend
$20k+ on defending yourself for your actions in court vs.
having to sit through a lenghty interview for a police report.
I'd choose the latter much as I'd like to see creeping,peeping vermin eliminated.
LOL! That book is what taught me to pay attention to my gut, and not worry about offending someone. Excellent book, and I recommend it all the time, myself. :)
A gun in every home will stop burglaries - rapiest and murder. A populace unarmed is a populace enslaved.
You are talking about a situation where you know the tree is going to go to green in a few seconds, guaranteed unless there's a power failure.
Try to maintain the physical restraint of not shooting plus the mental attitude of ordering a perp to the ground and all he does is 'not move a muscle and say to you, "Take it easy, take it easy, don't shoot me, don't shoot me. I'm scared, Man. Take it easy, take it easy, don't shoot me, don't shoot me. I'm scared to move!"
The whole while you are ready to pull the trigger. Try that for 60 seconds and you'll watch your hands start to quiver because you know you are too close and that he could kill you while you are killing him. Death is about to knock on your door with a sledge hammer and you know it.
You will be squeezing the grips so hard that your fingers will hurt, your biceps will ache wanting you to relax just a tiny bit. When I see the white go out of your knuckles, that's when you are in trouble!
Add in the .05 of a second for the hammer to fall and I'll win the bet. Sure I may have a hole in me, which I doubt but you will have a whole in you too.
That's not the scenario we want as gun owners, is it?
bump
Awesome ideas to remember should I ever be in this position! Thank you for posting that!
Just finished reading the links you sent me. Just reinforced my first thought, I would have shot the guy.
Everybody reacts differently under stress and I don't want anything I say to sounding like monday morning quarterbacking, this lady had to make that decisison and it worked for her.
12 feet is with the perp on the ground facing away from you and his hands outstretched, palms up, in front of him. Tell him, "If you so much as say one word, bend one arm or move a leg. I'll shoot until this damn gun is empty. So shut up and stay still!" Be angry when you say it!
You have no idea what he has in mind to confuse you. If he throws your favorite lamp, your mind is distracted and you very well could miss him at 12 feet.
This should be required reading.... for all Americans!
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