Carl Levitian
member
Last fall I was stupid.
We talk lots about how much it takes to defend against a criminal, and how much it takes to stop a crime. I often wondered how much of a weapon it takes to deter a crime about to happen?
What, or how much does it take before the would be criminal thinks to himself "Uh-oh, this guy ain't gonna go down easy. He's gonna fight. Maybe better move on and find another mark."
Since this is the non-firearms weapons section, that suits me as in my native peoples republik of Maryland I can't carry a gun. I've had to trust to other means.
Since the age of 30, when I was involved in a constuction accident while serving with the army engineers, I've had the perfect exuse of carrying a nice stout blackthorn or other walking stick with me. After all, I got a medical discharge for being injured on active duty, and the government sends me a little check every month, so what the hey. I got real used to having the stick right there with me.
There-in lays a problem.
Last fall, Karen sends me to to town to get a Tiffany lamp she was having fixed. There's a guy who does nice stained glass and solder work. So it goes on my honey-do list, and off I go on the errends.
I get to the shop, and I park around back in the little ally parking area since street parking in Gaithersburgs old town is scarse. I get out of the car totally in condition white, thinking of the other errends. As I walk towards the back door to the lamp shop, two young African-American males step out from an alcove by the dumster. About 19 to early 20 something years old. One has a 3 or 4 inch small kitchen knife in his hand.
The one without the knife says to the other "Go ahead, do him."
The guy with the knife tells me to hand over my wallet and cell phone, or he's "gonna cut me real good."
At this point I'm getting mad. I mean really mad. Mostly at myself mind you, for being so stupid and blundering along like Mr. Magoo. But also at these couple of low lifes who think robbing an old fart is okay. The bad part of being 100% Irish on my fathers side and 50/50 Irish and French on my mothers side, is that I inherted a rather touchy temper if rubbed the wrong way. Kind of like the Easter 1916 uprising with a dash of "storm the bastile" attitude.
While this is going on inside me, I'm groping around in my pocket for something. Anything. I'll be #*$$## if I'm going to give up my wallet and cell phone without a fight.
Since I was going to be coming out carrying a lamp, I'd left my blackthorn stick in the car, and all I had was whatever was in my pockets. To make matters worse, I'd been having some trouble with my left thumb, and was due for surgery on the thumb tendon in about a month. As a result of that, I had removed my normal pocket knife that I couldn't open from my pocket, and was carrying a Buck Hartsook with a lanyard attached to my belt loop. Nothing to open, just pull out and use, then slide back in sheath and into pocket.
At this point I'm cursing a blue streak and I pull the little Hartsook out. The one guy with the knife asks what I'm gonna do with that little knife, and I tell him I'm gonna cut his blankety blank blank throat if it's the last thing I do. "Blanketly blank blank, come on you blankety blank blanks". Like I said, I was really mad, and my Celtic/gallic emotionalisim had worked itself into a nice rage. It was 1916 and the farmers with pitchforks were about to charge the British Enfields at Kilkenny.
They went away.
They stared at me for a moment, backed away and then turned and ran across the railroad tracks to some public housing apartments. I stood there for a bit, in a "what the heck just happened" daze while Hammid the nice Turkish guy who does the stained glass work came out with a baseball bat wondering what was going on in the ally behind his shop.
So two would be punk robbers, ran from a 67 year old white bearded old guy with a 1 and 7/8th inch little knife.
Two punk would be robbers ran from a half crippled, one handed, 50% disabled, white bearded old vet with a 1 and 7/8th inch knife.
I pick up the lamp and Hammid escorts me to my car with ball bat in hand.
I've thought a lot about this over the past several months, and just one thing keeps floating to the top, no matter how much I stir it.
They didn't want a fight on thier hands.
It was like a few years ago in Frederick when the three latino guys backed off when I choked up on my blackthorn stick and got ready to start swinging. They want the wallet, but aren't ready to fight for it.
I wonder how much weapon is needed for a crime deterrent for the steriotypical robbery/assault? I see on the gun forums that most gun people think using anything less than a magnum or wonder tactical auto of the month is asking to be killed. But for 40 years I've been reading the American Rifleman, and the first thing I look at is the Armed Citizen collum. I see plenty of little old ladies with thier late husbands old Ivor Johnson break top .32 revolver send a criminal fleeing. Sometimes I even see an old fart with a. 22 rifle shoot a would be burgler, and stop the crime. I wonder if it's the same with non firearm weapons. Certainly a nice big combat knife is nice, as would be maybe a nice sharp Bowie knife. But they're kind of impractical to carry around, let alone leagal. And something smaller will still get the job done.
Could it be that the run-of-the-mill low life who would slit your throat for whatever was in your wallet, dosen't have the guts for any kind of a fight with a victim that has any means of inflicting harm on them?
The two guys in the alley weren't scared of me, but when I came up with a knife, even a small one, swore to cut their throats if it was the last thing I did on this earth, they were unsettled. It made them wary and uncomfortable to have me with a weapon in hand, even if it was a tiny one. It wasn't they way they thought it would go.
So, how much weapon do you really have to carry?
We talk lots about how much it takes to defend against a criminal, and how much it takes to stop a crime. I often wondered how much of a weapon it takes to deter a crime about to happen?
What, or how much does it take before the would be criminal thinks to himself "Uh-oh, this guy ain't gonna go down easy. He's gonna fight. Maybe better move on and find another mark."
Since this is the non-firearms weapons section, that suits me as in my native peoples republik of Maryland I can't carry a gun. I've had to trust to other means.
Since the age of 30, when I was involved in a constuction accident while serving with the army engineers, I've had the perfect exuse of carrying a nice stout blackthorn or other walking stick with me. After all, I got a medical discharge for being injured on active duty, and the government sends me a little check every month, so what the hey. I got real used to having the stick right there with me.
There-in lays a problem.
Last fall, Karen sends me to to town to get a Tiffany lamp she was having fixed. There's a guy who does nice stained glass and solder work. So it goes on my honey-do list, and off I go on the errends.
I get to the shop, and I park around back in the little ally parking area since street parking in Gaithersburgs old town is scarse. I get out of the car totally in condition white, thinking of the other errends. As I walk towards the back door to the lamp shop, two young African-American males step out from an alcove by the dumster. About 19 to early 20 something years old. One has a 3 or 4 inch small kitchen knife in his hand.
The one without the knife says to the other "Go ahead, do him."
The guy with the knife tells me to hand over my wallet and cell phone, or he's "gonna cut me real good."
At this point I'm getting mad. I mean really mad. Mostly at myself mind you, for being so stupid and blundering along like Mr. Magoo. But also at these couple of low lifes who think robbing an old fart is okay. The bad part of being 100% Irish on my fathers side and 50/50 Irish and French on my mothers side, is that I inherted a rather touchy temper if rubbed the wrong way. Kind of like the Easter 1916 uprising with a dash of "storm the bastile" attitude.
While this is going on inside me, I'm groping around in my pocket for something. Anything. I'll be #*$$## if I'm going to give up my wallet and cell phone without a fight.
Since I was going to be coming out carrying a lamp, I'd left my blackthorn stick in the car, and all I had was whatever was in my pockets. To make matters worse, I'd been having some trouble with my left thumb, and was due for surgery on the thumb tendon in about a month. As a result of that, I had removed my normal pocket knife that I couldn't open from my pocket, and was carrying a Buck Hartsook with a lanyard attached to my belt loop. Nothing to open, just pull out and use, then slide back in sheath and into pocket.
At this point I'm cursing a blue streak and I pull the little Hartsook out. The one guy with the knife asks what I'm gonna do with that little knife, and I tell him I'm gonna cut his blankety blank blank throat if it's the last thing I do. "Blanketly blank blank, come on you blankety blank blanks". Like I said, I was really mad, and my Celtic/gallic emotionalisim had worked itself into a nice rage. It was 1916 and the farmers with pitchforks were about to charge the British Enfields at Kilkenny.
They went away.
They stared at me for a moment, backed away and then turned and ran across the railroad tracks to some public housing apartments. I stood there for a bit, in a "what the heck just happened" daze while Hammid the nice Turkish guy who does the stained glass work came out with a baseball bat wondering what was going on in the ally behind his shop.
So two would be punk robbers, ran from a 67 year old white bearded old guy with a 1 and 7/8th inch little knife.
Two punk would be robbers ran from a half crippled, one handed, 50% disabled, white bearded old vet with a 1 and 7/8th inch knife.
I pick up the lamp and Hammid escorts me to my car with ball bat in hand.
I've thought a lot about this over the past several months, and just one thing keeps floating to the top, no matter how much I stir it.
They didn't want a fight on thier hands.
It was like a few years ago in Frederick when the three latino guys backed off when I choked up on my blackthorn stick and got ready to start swinging. They want the wallet, but aren't ready to fight for it.
I wonder how much weapon is needed for a crime deterrent for the steriotypical robbery/assault? I see on the gun forums that most gun people think using anything less than a magnum or wonder tactical auto of the month is asking to be killed. But for 40 years I've been reading the American Rifleman, and the first thing I look at is the Armed Citizen collum. I see plenty of little old ladies with thier late husbands old Ivor Johnson break top .32 revolver send a criminal fleeing. Sometimes I even see an old fart with a. 22 rifle shoot a would be burgler, and stop the crime. I wonder if it's the same with non firearm weapons. Certainly a nice big combat knife is nice, as would be maybe a nice sharp Bowie knife. But they're kind of impractical to carry around, let alone leagal. And something smaller will still get the job done.
Could it be that the run-of-the-mill low life who would slit your throat for whatever was in your wallet, dosen't have the guts for any kind of a fight with a victim that has any means of inflicting harm on them?
The two guys in the alley weren't scared of me, but when I came up with a knife, even a small one, swore to cut their throats if it was the last thing I did on this earth, they were unsettled. It made them wary and uncomfortable to have me with a weapon in hand, even if it was a tiny one. It wasn't they way they thought it would go.
So, how much weapon do you really have to carry?
