Harkrader
Member
So a long-time friend finds himself under threat. He is in his late 70s and carried a gun most days of his adult life. He still does, but settled down to be more like the rest of us, that is, relaxed. He and his wife live in a generally safe place.
Here's what happened: He observed a dirt bag do an illegal and dangerous thing right in front of his house. He reported it to police and gave them a video of the act. The police "contacted" the dirt bag who admitted to the act and declared he was going to pay my friend a visit. The police told him he had better do no such thing because he might be arrested. They gave him what will likely be an expensive ticket.
The police then visited my friend to tell him the dirt bag was a very bad actor and would likely pay a visit. They also advised him to be ready to defend himself, and they were going to stake out his house.
Sure enough, the dirt bag visited, driving around until he recognized my friend's car. Even though he saw the squad car across the street he went to my friend's door and started pounding on it. The police stopped in the driveway and ordered the dirt bag off. The dirt bag at first refused, saying they had no right to order him away. A "discussion" ensued. The dirt bag walked off the property and spent a half-hour in the street arguing with the officers. They eventually issued him a DC citation. He seemed delighted, and left. No, really, delighted. My friend says he was grinning. He took pictures of the dirt bag.
The police again told my friend the dirt bag was a bad actor prohibited from possessing firearms. I think we all know what that means. They repeated that he was likely to visit, and that my friend should be ready to defend himself.
So my friend added to his at-hand arsenal. And he called me. This is where it became entertaining. To me, anyway.
Seems he has experienced the sort of body shape changes that age creates. Not that *I* had noticed, or EVER said anything to him . . ..
Putting some antique OWB holsters on his belt for his Sig 226 or S&W M&P, he discovered they now tended to hang at angles not previously experienced, messing up the clean lines of the light jackets he likes to wear. But that wasn't the worst of it.
As he snugged up his belt the holsters jammed the butts of his guns into his armpit. I did EVERYTHING I could not to laugh but started going pale from self-asphyxiation. BWAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! His wife came out from the kitchen to hand me a face towel and a glass of lemonade.
I asked him what he had otherwise been using to carry and he showed me a sticky pocket holster for his J-frame, and a Galco shoulder rig for his M&P.
Except that the Galco was not made for his M&P. Sig 226R, maybe, so the M&P, while secure, was clenched at a funny angle. I asked him to demonstrate drawing it.
Cliff Notes version: Attempting to show he "still had it" in the speed department, he speedily jammed his thumb into the holster alongside the thumb strap without releasing it, tried pulling out the M&P anyway, pushing the holster backward. So, he then started turning around to his left as though to "catch up" with the holster and draw the weapon. Further, since he is no long agile enough to bend his left arm up and use it to hold the holster and pull out his thumb, he did a marvelous impression of the stereotypical image of an ape scratching at his side. While spinning.
Second attempt at smothering a guffaw utterly failed. His wife had returned to the doorway, unfortunately without a video camera.
I'm not sure how many times he spun around, but I was sure his coat was now ready for the spin dry cycle. I reached out a hand and stopped him before he got dizzy and dropped to the deck. (I may be exaggerating just a bit.)
Leading him back indoors until his eyes could stop spinning, I poured out the bag of holsters I had brought. I selected three belt models that were specifically for his chosen guns. They were fully adjustable for cant and angle away from the body, and some could be raised or lowered. We settled on one for his Sig 226, his M&P and Colt Python. Note: the Python grip was STILL in his armpit. But, hey, it's a Python.
With his light, professorial, jacket on, the guns did not print. When he mused as to whether his Beretta 92 might be added I coughed hard to distract him while quickly shoveling the remaining holsters back into the bag.
Conclusion to the story: we went to a club where he is a member and had him practice drawing the unloaded guns over and over again until he could do it smoothly and without fear of dropping one on his foot. Or my foot.
We then proceeded to sling 200 rounds apiece down range. He outscored me. I blame it on cheap prescription glasses.
Dirt bag has a court date later this month, so we figure he'll probably get drunk enough to think about visiting as the date approaches. My friend's house has limited interior approaches, so forced entry is easily met with heavy resistance. And my friend has a history of grace under pressure.
Will update as needed.
Here's what happened: He observed a dirt bag do an illegal and dangerous thing right in front of his house. He reported it to police and gave them a video of the act. The police "contacted" the dirt bag who admitted to the act and declared he was going to pay my friend a visit. The police told him he had better do no such thing because he might be arrested. They gave him what will likely be an expensive ticket.
The police then visited my friend to tell him the dirt bag was a very bad actor and would likely pay a visit. They also advised him to be ready to defend himself, and they were going to stake out his house.
Sure enough, the dirt bag visited, driving around until he recognized my friend's car. Even though he saw the squad car across the street he went to my friend's door and started pounding on it. The police stopped in the driveway and ordered the dirt bag off. The dirt bag at first refused, saying they had no right to order him away. A "discussion" ensued. The dirt bag walked off the property and spent a half-hour in the street arguing with the officers. They eventually issued him a DC citation. He seemed delighted, and left. No, really, delighted. My friend says he was grinning. He took pictures of the dirt bag.
The police again told my friend the dirt bag was a bad actor prohibited from possessing firearms. I think we all know what that means. They repeated that he was likely to visit, and that my friend should be ready to defend himself.
So my friend added to his at-hand arsenal. And he called me. This is where it became entertaining. To me, anyway.
Seems he has experienced the sort of body shape changes that age creates. Not that *I* had noticed, or EVER said anything to him . . ..
Putting some antique OWB holsters on his belt for his Sig 226 or S&W M&P, he discovered they now tended to hang at angles not previously experienced, messing up the clean lines of the light jackets he likes to wear. But that wasn't the worst of it.
As he snugged up his belt the holsters jammed the butts of his guns into his armpit. I did EVERYTHING I could not to laugh but started going pale from self-asphyxiation. BWAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! His wife came out from the kitchen to hand me a face towel and a glass of lemonade.
I asked him what he had otherwise been using to carry and he showed me a sticky pocket holster for his J-frame, and a Galco shoulder rig for his M&P.
Except that the Galco was not made for his M&P. Sig 226R, maybe, so the M&P, while secure, was clenched at a funny angle. I asked him to demonstrate drawing it.
Cliff Notes version: Attempting to show he "still had it" in the speed department, he speedily jammed his thumb into the holster alongside the thumb strap without releasing it, tried pulling out the M&P anyway, pushing the holster backward. So, he then started turning around to his left as though to "catch up" with the holster and draw the weapon. Further, since he is no long agile enough to bend his left arm up and use it to hold the holster and pull out his thumb, he did a marvelous impression of the stereotypical image of an ape scratching at his side. While spinning.
Second attempt at smothering a guffaw utterly failed. His wife had returned to the doorway, unfortunately without a video camera.
I'm not sure how many times he spun around, but I was sure his coat was now ready for the spin dry cycle. I reached out a hand and stopped him before he got dizzy and dropped to the deck. (I may be exaggerating just a bit.)
Leading him back indoors until his eyes could stop spinning, I poured out the bag of holsters I had brought. I selected three belt models that were specifically for his chosen guns. They were fully adjustable for cant and angle away from the body, and some could be raised or lowered. We settled on one for his Sig 226, his M&P and Colt Python. Note: the Python grip was STILL in his armpit. But, hey, it's a Python.
With his light, professorial, jacket on, the guns did not print. When he mused as to whether his Beretta 92 might be added I coughed hard to distract him while quickly shoveling the remaining holsters back into the bag.
Conclusion to the story: we went to a club where he is a member and had him practice drawing the unloaded guns over and over again until he could do it smoothly and without fear of dropping one on his foot. Or my foot.
We then proceeded to sling 200 rounds apiece down range. He outscored me. I blame it on cheap prescription glasses.
Dirt bag has a court date later this month, so we figure he'll probably get drunk enough to think about visiting as the date approaches. My friend's house has limited interior approaches, so forced entry is easily met with heavy resistance. And my friend has a history of grace under pressure.
Will update as needed.
