Posted on 10/21/2010 6:27:44 PM PDT by neverdem
I can't stand weapons. But after disturbing e-mails and letters, I decided to arm myself with more than words
"You need to arm yourself."
I blinked at the Portland police officer in my living room. This uniformed bear of a man -- packing a gun, a nightstick, a radio and who knew what else -- was responding to an ongoing stalker problem that had started several months earlier. I'd received letters, a phone call, a few packages and several e-mails from this unbalanced stranger who'd read a few newspaper stories I'd written and taken a shine to me. When the latest letter arrived -- mentioning my boyfriend, Mike, thoughts on religion, and a trip I'd taken but hadn't told anyone about -- I was seriously alarmed.
But get a gun? Surely, I'd misheard him.
"Getting a concealed carry permit isn't hard," the officer continued. "And they make ladies' purses with concealed weapons compartments."
In that moment, I understood the phrase, "blood turning to ice." I'm afraid of guns. When you get right down to it, I abhor them. I used to date a guy who owned a handgun and regularly trekked into the woods with his friends to shoot. I made him move the small gun safe from beneath the bed to another room before I'd agree to stay overnight.
But that morning was like a perfect storm of firearms. The first thing Mike had said to me when I opened my eyes -- hours before the officer made his suggestion, before my neighbor confided she'd been thinking of getting a gun for hiking and kayaking trips, before my retired military uncle e-mailed to say that arming myself probably wouldn't be a bad idea -- was, "Maybe you should get a gun."
Apparently, the Universe really wanted me packing heat.
The officer saw the dismay on my face. "Most bullet wounds don't kill people," he assured me. "And it would be self-defense."
I spent the rest of the day in a general freakout.
I was hopeless trying to get any work done. Periodically, I'd do Web searches on handguns. I discovered that Oregon is a right-to-carry state and that it costs $65 for a concealed carry permit -- $50 for the four-year permit and $15 for the background check. I learned the difference between a pistol and a revolver -- a revolver's chambers revolve, like the six-shooters in Hollywood Westerns -- and I read that the .357 Magnum and .38 Special were ideal for women interested in a gun for self-defense because they're relatively lightweight, aren't prone to jamming and don't carry too many bullets. Because who really needs a 20-round magazine when you're defending against a stalker? "Six or seven bullets will do you just fine," read one Web comment.
But the idea of owning a gun made me sick to my stomach. That afternoon, when I escaped into a fitful nap, I dreamed people were pointing double-barreled shotguns at me.
When I thought about it, I realized I'd grown up with firearms in the house -- from the antique rifle mounted on the sun porch wall to the Colt .45 in my father's sock drawer. When I was 7, I watched my cousins shoot targets on the family farm in Virginia. I'd even picked up the hot shell casings as souvenirs.
As an adolescent, I'd spent my own money on a Daisy air pistol. I was surely the only girl at my single-sex prep school who owned a weapon, and I trained with it regularly, which is probably why, years later, I was an ace shot in paintball (Code name: Salad Shooter). Even the ex-military guys clamored to get me on their teams.
But that was a far cry from carrying -- or firing -- live rounds.
As Mike tried to sleep, I fretted out loud. I told him a firearm in the house made me nauseous, that I feared the weapon would be turned on one of us, that there'd be an accident. I told him I believe in compassion and peace. I told him the very idea of a gun was a compromise of my principles.
Mike sighed. "Which would you prefer, compromising your principles or getting abducted by Crazy Man?"
That's when the old Theodore Roosevelt adage popped into my head -- "Speak softly and carry a big stick" -- and I finally got it. I can still be the compassionate, diplomatic, interfaith groovy gal I've always been; I'll just be packing heat in case negotiations tank.
When I got another letter from the stalker -- a movie schedule with show times circled, alongside a handwritten note that was way too familiar -- Mike looked up the nearest gun dealer and put me in the car.
"This guy is pissing me off," he told me. "I already have enough stress without this."
So now, after a background check and fingerprinting, I have my very own Ruger .38 Special -- a black, five-shot double-action revolver that fits my small hands disturbingly well.
I was petrified when I went to the firing range for the first time. The police officer behind the counter laughed at my Ruger. "Oh, you've got one of those dinky guns!" he said. He warned me how bad the recoil was going to hurt, which scared me even more.
The woman standing beside me leaned over and whispered, "Don't mind the guys trying to be all macho." She was packing the same make and model I had.
Another officer took pity and walked me into the range to demonstrate every single step of loading, holding, aiming and firing my weapon. He showed me how to stand and how to eject the bullet casings afterward. Still, even with ear protection, I literally jumped every time someone else pulled a trigger. Gunshots are LOUD.
My hands were shaking as I loaded the .38, and I was still flinching every time the guy in the next lane fired off his .45. I focused on everything the police officer showed me. I kept the barrel pointed down range and my fingers curled around the cylinder until I was ready to snap it back into place. I remembered to keep my thumbs off the gun, and to keep the grip lodged firmly against the fleshy part between my thumb and hand. I aimed, put my finger on the trigger, and fired.
The gun kicked hard, but not as bad as I'd feared, and it was more startling than painful. I shot a few more rounds, making adjustments to my aim for the recoil and my own jumpiness. After I'd gone through two full cylinders -- 10 bullets -- Mike took a look at the paper target. Every single shot had not only hit the target, but gone right into the chest and head of my paper dummy. Mike was impressed. Frankly, so was I.
After going through a box of 50 rounds, I left the range with black-smudged fingers that smelled of gunpowder. My firing hand was sore the next day, and the truth is -- two months and more target practice later -- I'm still not entirely comfortable having a handgun in the house. Whenever the dogs erupt in the middle of the night in a barking frenzy, my thoughts go immediately to my .38.
But I'm not as afraid of my stalker as I used to be, either. I'm armed now, with more than words and good intentions. He keeps sending upsetting letters, but if he ever pays a visit ... Jenny's got a gun, and she knows how to use it.
Freelance writer Jennifer Willis specializes in topics related to sustainable living, religion/spirituality, history and health, and she is a founding member of the Oregon News Incubator. She lives with two big dogs in Portland, Ore., and can be found online at www.jennifer-willis.com.
We have been told the same thing. Something about not having bullets going through walls and neighbors houses. So - we have a shotgun and a revolver and I know how to use both.
As an adolescent, I'd spent my own money on a Daisy air pistol. I was surely the only girl at my single-sex prep school who owned a weapon, and I trained with it regularly, which is probably why, years later, I was an ace shot in paintball (Code name: Salad Shooter). Even the ex-military guys clamored to get me on their teams.
In that moment, I understood the phrase, "blood turning to ice." I'm afraid of guns. When you get right down to it, I abhor them.
But the idea of owning a gun made me sick to my stomach.
I edited and reversed the order of these paragraphs to make them chronologically correct. How does this gal go from the first two paragraphs to the last two? I think It just goes to show that no one is born a liberal. I'll assume for the sake of discussion that this story is non-fiction.
I think it does. Since the 1960s, hoplophobia and the pacifism of the hippies became cool. These fools want to identify with this nonsense to be accepted as cool, IMHO. Maybe those clowns in the 1960s were too stoned to notice the riots and increasing violent crime.
Well, to be honest there’s a lot of liability issues in Portland when you shoot someone. She could be justified in the use of deadly force and a libtard juror would still convict her, just because she had a gun.
On the other hand, would you rather be dead or on the hook for civil and possibly criminal legal fees.
Oregon is not Castle Doctrine State.
//Not suggesting you shouldn’t defend yourself.
As a side note, I’m surprised you have to register handguns in Clark County, Nevada (Vegas).
No one ever stalks me. You can’t really stalk people who won’t run.
And learn calm strength by doing the Be still exercise at fhu.com so that you will have the fortitude if the time comes! Used by the military now to conquer ptsd!
Dear Mzzzzz. Willis.
Now you know how we patriots feel with the government stalking our every move.
Signed,
Armed2
It is, for general home protection. Get a 12 gauge pump, use only bird shot (like #6). It will stop anything in your home just about (probably not a bear, etc.) but if there are any stray pellets, they won’t go through wallboard, etc.
But I think this girl who has finally seen some light is talking about arming herself when she leaves her house.
She’s a little too melodramatic for a gal who grew up around guns on a Virginia farm, had her own BB gun and “was an ace shot in paintball.”
She looks quite young so she must have sucked down a lot of liberal Kool-Aid between Virginia and Oregon to make her forget her entire gun related history.
How many rounds the thug has loaded has no bearing on whether or not you take him out. If he is lying dead on the ground his 20 rounds will not mean much.
If he were any kind of a man he would have told her to stay home.
“...she told the 911 op. I’m armed. and the op said take cover.”
That was very good advice, for several reasons.
First, a note of common sense. Even if you are armed, if you *can* leave, it is still a good option.
This is the choice between “protect” and “defend”. And protecting something, like taking your family out a back door to safety, is always a better option than defending something, like “I’ll kill or be killed to defend my TV set!”
But in a lot of cases, you *can’t* leave. So the situation becomes one of tactics. And in such tactics, visibility, cover, and fractions of a second can mean the difference between life and death.
One rule of thumb is patience. If you go “robber hunting”, it puts you on a much more level playing field with the intruder, which is what you don’t want. So it is a good idea to get behind cover and draw a bead on the doorway the bad guy is going to have to come through to get to where you are. Wait for him to come to your bullets.
When he comes through that door, you even have a moment to tell if he is a bad guy, or a friendly neighbor who noticed smoke coming out of your attic and is trying to save your families’ lives.
Another good rule of thumb is to “get low and shoot up”. An armed intruder is looking for someone standing erect, and if he has a gun, it is pointed at about 3-4 feet off the ground. It takes a *very* long time, relatively speaking, for his brain to tell him that you are on the ground, then to tell his arm to move his hand to aim lower. Time you can use to ventilate him.
If his approach is through a hallway, you can get low and use the door frame to give some degree of cover.
If you have a fall back position, some cover, in the room, and the armed intruder is determined, he will probably act like he has seen on TV. This means he will do several stupid things, like assume that drywall will stop bullets while he uses it as cover, and going in close to corners when he thinks you are on the other side of the corner, which gives you a heads up before he can sight you and start firing.
Never assume a single bullet will stop anything. In for a penny, in for a pound. Assume he is full of drugs and alcohol, is mentally ill and impervious to pain or fear. More and more, police are thinking this way, so it is uncommon to hear of someone shot by them just once.
The final reason to stay behind cover is that at some point, the police might show up. You don’t know it’s them, and they don’t know who is the robber and who is the victim. But if it moves, they might shoot it.
Neither they nor you know that it is just one robber, either. So even if you think you win, stay under cover.
it would be better to give them an invitation and when they show make sure they don’t come around again
IIRC, I've seen it attributed to Winston Churchill, but I don't know that it's true.
>>Owning our guns has never made me sick...and we have had all legally, registered guns since we were young.<<
This statement makes me sick! The “all legally, registered guns” part is disgusting. I don’t believe the city, county, state or the Feds has any damn business knowing if you own a gun, borrow a gun or collect guns. If you want to keep a loaded gun in every room and a couple in the garage is nobody’s business but your own.
The idea of having to get down on your knees and pay a tax to the government to carry a gun is sickening. Which other right are you charged for?
I am just getting fed up with government of all types.
Thanks for tolerating my ranting.
>>Owning our guns has never made me sick...and we have had all legally, registered guns since we were young.<<
This statement makes me sick! The “all legally, registered guns” part is disgusting. I don’t believe the city, county, state or the Feds has any damn business knowing if you own a gun, borrow a gun or collect guns. If you want to keep a loaded gun in every room and a couple in the garage is nobody’s business but your own.
The idea of having to get down on your knees and pay a tax to the government to carry a gun is sickening. Which other right are you charged for?
I am just getting fed up with government of all types.
Thanks for tolerating my ranting.
If he were any kind of a man he would have told her to stay home.
Perhaps, pictures of the girl are needed for an accurate judgment.
You give somebody a hard time for carrying a .38 and you carry a (even smaller) 9mm? I mean... Sure. A 9mm is OK. You got 19 in the magazine but you need every single goddamn one of them.
A .38 is a good weapon. Better might be a .357 or a .45
But frail hands are better with something they can hit something with.
>>Because who really needs a 20-round magazine ...<<
Unless you tend to get attacked by gangbangers, a double shot derringer should be enough for most situations. Kill the closest one and say, “Next?”. It’s not too often that anyone will step up if there’s already a body on the ground in front of you.
Nope. The SUPER-SHORTY is based on a Mossberg Maverick (also available on Mossberg 500 or Remington 870 at additional cost) 12-gauge shotgun which came from the factory with a pistol grip. Because of this, the SUPER-SHORTY is considered an AOW (Any Other Weapon) and can be transferred with a $5 stamp!
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