KEEPIN’ IT SIMPLE, KEEPIN’ IT REAL
Just like clockwork, once a week, the guy pulled his old powder-blue Caddy into the parking lot of our police department range and munched his brown-bag lunch. He looked like Danny DeVito — a short, round, balding, business-like dude, almost comic except for the intensity in his look and walk. He would carry a small canvas satchel to the range office, pay his fee, and set up on the 25-yard line, which was open to the public. The satchel held a well-used 1911 and several magazines, along with hearing and eye protection. The unconscious, second-nature way he handled his gear told me he’d been doing this a lot longer than my light-duty assignment there.
Starting off with a round in the chamber and a full magazine, he fired two mags right-handed, then two mags left-handed — with a proper lefty reload, I noticed — followed by two mags two-handed rapid fire, and finished with a mag fired very slowly — and precisely. His 50 rounds spent, he policed up his brass, everything went back into the satchel and he steamed out to the lot like a little river gunboat. I had to meet him. He was actually an engaging and funny guy, but, “When I’m here,” he said, “It’s all business. I’m here to hit the target, nothing else.” Years before, an armed thug entered his store, terrorized his customers and employees, and, to his horror, gratuitously shot his longtime partner and best friend. His pal survived, partially crippled, with continuing pain.
“That’ll never happen again,” he stated flatly, and I knew he meant it. “My practices may not be much — I’ve got seven kids and two businesses — but I’m ready in my head and my gunhandling is OK. I hope it’s enough.”
Never Again
Chuck and his teenage son were already home when the lady of the house arrived, used her remote to open the garage, drove in and then clicked the remote again to close the door. She didn’t see the young man step from the side of the house and roll under the descending door into the garage. He didn’t reveal his presence for a full half-hour, apparently so he could make sure his victims hadn’t been alerted and, perhaps, to enjoy the anticipation. He was that kind of predator. He brought two big knives, one small gun, and duct tape. He didn’t leave until almost dawn.
“This can’t sound right, I know,” Chuck explained, “But I’m glad we had a son instead of a daughter. As bad as it was, it could have been worse.” I don’t have to spell it out for you.
Now, there are two pistols and two shotguns, loaded, secured and concealed, at four positions in their house. Every two weeks, they “sweep” the house, top to bottom, bottom to top, front to back and vice versa, working through different scenarios, covering right and left angles, critiquing and coaching each other. Then, they discuss “outside” confrontation situations over dinner. About every two months, they go out to the desert and burn through several boxes of hollowpoints and No. 4 buckshot.
“Overkill? Underkill?” Chuck asked, “Who knows? We know the weapons, we know our home, and we know we’ll never be victims again. It was so hard for my wife at first, but now she’s our driving force, our disciplinarian. We’re in charge of our lives.”
Keep It Zimple, Boy-O!
My best and greatest combat mentor was a German infantryman in WWI, an American Marine fighting in the “banana wars” of the ’20s and ’30s, and an OSS operative in the Balkans in WWII. He then became a “contracted representative of US and Western interests,” fighting, training, and consulting all over the globe for the next 40 years. He finally retired to a Mediterranean seaport town on the North African coast, where he sold historical curios and relics to the tourist trade.
He purchased a former colonial police station, built to withstand raids and sieges — perfect for his shop and living quarters. Imagine a capital “T” with a fat horizontal top and a circle at the bottom of the vertical. At the top of the T was his shop. The vertical was a long corridor lined with barred cells — great for stock storage — with his personal rooms in the virtually impregnable “round” at the bottom. He was a definite target for local bandits — for several reasons. Considering his vast experience, his armed intruder response plan seemed incredibly simple.
A perimeter alarm would buzz him and turn on strategic external lights and a strobe. He would rise from bed naked, with a GLOCK 17 in one hand and a spare magazine in the other. With a series of foot-pressure switches, he could selectively backlight any attackers to his front, keeping himself in darkness. He could hold in place, fight forward, or retreat to an armored room. Those were his only plans and assets. I questioned them.
“Keeping it zimple, boy-o,” he laughed. “What I teach you?” I remembered:
You don’t need the best plan, and you don’t want a complex plan. You need a good plan, executed decisively. Keep your head, hands and weapons wired with as few kinks and loops as possible. Yeah, keep it zimple.
So, what’s the point? Dozens of you have written saying you don’t have the money or time for professional tactical training or you have a little, but “it doesn’t cover everything,” and you worry it’s not enough. Several of you have admitted you made grand, detailed plans and schedules for shooting and training, covering an array of skills with a buffet line of weapons. Then, faced with that intrusive thing called “life,” you gave it up and did next to nothing — one extreme to another.
Sure, get the professional training if you can — a day with someone like Clint Smith can make your training year — but if you can’t, then train yourself. Whether novice or experienced veteran, keeping it simple is the key, fortified with consistency and discipline. And know this:
Virtually anything you do to train or prepare for home and personal defense in the U.S. will most likely be more than your opposition has done. They’re counting on you not to have done it — counting on you to be shocked, unprepared, frozen with fear and indecisive. And when the smoke clears, and the noise dies out, what’s the sweetest thing you can whisper? “Surprise. I was ready.”
