Carl Levitian
member
Each person has to carry what they feel comfortable with. All people are not gifted with the same ability, no matter how much some people say anyone can learn to shoot a .45. They may, but they won't like it, and thats a huge key. If they don't like it, they may not work at it. It's not fun.
I can shoot pretty much anything, but I go shooting for fun, first and formost. I had a Colt 1911, and after a few years I sold it off, because I never really bonded with it. My better half got rid of her Glock 17 that she never really liked. But we're serious shooters. I met my wife of 40 years, at a shooting range in San Antonio Texas, where I was stationed at Fort Sam Houston. The very first time I laid eyes on the girl who was to be my wife, she had a Smith and Wesson model 17 in her hand, and was doing very well with it. That day, I was shooting my Smith and Wesson model 18.
Now 40 years later, we still shoot .22's more than anything, almost to the point of exclusive. Being both retired, we have the time to go shooting twice a week at the local gun club we belong to, and our ammo consumption is about one bulk box of Federals from Walmart a week. A bit more in warm weather. Both of us feel extremely comfortable with a .22 if something didn't seem right. Karen is a wicked shot with her 317 that she keeps under her side of the mattress, and I feel good with my 10 shot 617. Both of these guns get used twice a week. Could we shoot as much as we do with center fire? Not on our social security fixed income. Besides, we love our small caliber guns as it may be. If Maryland did have a CCW, I wouldn't feel bad about carrying my 317 at all, loaded up with some good CCI ammo. We shoot a heck of a lot of .22's, because we like it. Because we shoot so often, and for a good amount, we feel confident in what we can do with our choice.
I've heard all the idiot gun shop gurus spit out the "You'll just make him mad and really hurt you" garbage. Or the "I'd rather have a sharp stick" line. Well, I've seen first hand shooting with a .22 while I was a police officer, and none of them were shrugging it off. That includes the three hoodlums who were assaulting two victims, one of which had an old cheapie RG .22 revolver and used it quite well. All three of the attackers were put out of action, one with the stomach wound was laying on the sidewalk in a tight fetal position, screaming that his guts were on fire, the second one was shot in the right shoulder was sitting on his butt back to the wall groaning that he needed help. The third was shot in the left arm, was caught a block away, could not move the arm without a lot of pain. That was three shots that hit, the other three rounds went who knows. But not bad effect for a small caliber. Each attacker was hit just the once. Not one of them was saying they were alright, it was just a .22. The attackers were armed with a sawed off pool que, a baseball bat, and a Raven .25 auto. The guy with the .25 never got off a shot, he was the one gut shot right at the onset of the fight.
I had the chance to respond to an accidental shooting one afternoon. A high school kid got home early, decieded to go rabbit hunting. He did and on getting back home about 5 o'çlock, pulled his pickup into the driveway. Getting out, he leaned back in to grab his gun by the end of the barrel, and pull it over to him by the drivers door. It went of, hitting him in the stomach. This was a big kid, football star and jock about 6 foot and well built. He went down in the driveway, curled up and couldn't move. He thanks God that his neighbor was out tending her flower garden, heard the crack, and came running over when he fell. When I interviewed him at the hospital, after 4 hours of emergency surgery, he said it was like a white hot steel rod in his guts, and the he couldn't have moved to save his life.
The third shooting I was witness to, took place when I was 12 years old. It was my father defending our family.
It was a hot summer weekend, and he drove us out to the Shenendoah Mountains to get away from the Washington D.C. city heat. Mom had packed the picnic basket for lunch, and we stopped at a roadside picnic area. While eating lunch, three men came out of the woods, looking rough, down at the heels. They came our way, and dad stood up and got between them and his family. One of them had a large sheath knife on his belt. They asked dad for some beer money, and dad told them to go away and not bother his family. He was polite, but firm. They got verbally abusive, and yelled that since dad had enough to buy a new Pontiac Star Chief, he had money to spare. Dad again told them to leave. The one with the knife pulled it out of the sheath and threatened dad, dad stepped back and pulled out the Colt Woodsman he always carried. The one with the knife kept advancing toward dad, and dad stepped back and yelled at the man to go away. The man took another step and dad fired. The man with the knife stopped and sort of hunched over, then advanced on dad again. Dad shot him twice more, and the knife man doubled over, went down on his knees, then fell over sideways, screaming "It burns!, it burns!" and then got quiet. He rocked back and forth for a minute, then stopped moving.
The other people at the picnic area went and got me and my sister and mom aside while someone went down the road to a payphone to call the police. When the ambulance got there, they covered up the man that had the knife on the stretcher, including his face, he was dead on the scene. Dad had to through the investigation, and it was found self defense, because of all the witnesses. After 90 days, dad filed some papers, and got his Colt .22 back. It was his only gun. He had it since 1937, and it was by his bed when he passed away in 1981.
So you may excuse me if I seem a bit jaded with the gun shop gurus. A bullet is a bullet, and in my life, I've seen what happens first hand when a small caliber bullet his something vital. It's the person holding the gun that makes all the difference in the world. I watch my wife bounce that tennis ball down range shooting rapid double action with any of her Smith and Wesson .22 revolvers, and I feel good knowing that she's safe when I'm away. Does she need a larger caliber? Not if its not fun for her and she won't shoot it like we shoot our .22's to the tune of many thousands of rounds a year. She's got 50 years of shooting .22 revolvers behind her. The only time she ever used an auto was her Smith and Wesson 41 that she used in competition. When she slowed down after retiring, she sold it. But she's still wicked with the old Model 17 her dad bought her for high school graduation. If something goes bump in the night, I'll have my 10 shot 617, Karen will have her 8 shot 317. That's 18 rounds from two people that have 100 years of shooting .22 revolvers between them.
Carl
I can shoot pretty much anything, but I go shooting for fun, first and formost. I had a Colt 1911, and after a few years I sold it off, because I never really bonded with it. My better half got rid of her Glock 17 that she never really liked. But we're serious shooters. I met my wife of 40 years, at a shooting range in San Antonio Texas, where I was stationed at Fort Sam Houston. The very first time I laid eyes on the girl who was to be my wife, she had a Smith and Wesson model 17 in her hand, and was doing very well with it. That day, I was shooting my Smith and Wesson model 18.
Now 40 years later, we still shoot .22's more than anything, almost to the point of exclusive. Being both retired, we have the time to go shooting twice a week at the local gun club we belong to, and our ammo consumption is about one bulk box of Federals from Walmart a week. A bit more in warm weather. Both of us feel extremely comfortable with a .22 if something didn't seem right. Karen is a wicked shot with her 317 that she keeps under her side of the mattress, and I feel good with my 10 shot 617. Both of these guns get used twice a week. Could we shoot as much as we do with center fire? Not on our social security fixed income. Besides, we love our small caliber guns as it may be. If Maryland did have a CCW, I wouldn't feel bad about carrying my 317 at all, loaded up with some good CCI ammo. We shoot a heck of a lot of .22's, because we like it. Because we shoot so often, and for a good amount, we feel confident in what we can do with our choice.
I've heard all the idiot gun shop gurus spit out the "You'll just make him mad and really hurt you" garbage. Or the "I'd rather have a sharp stick" line. Well, I've seen first hand shooting with a .22 while I was a police officer, and none of them were shrugging it off. That includes the three hoodlums who were assaulting two victims, one of which had an old cheapie RG .22 revolver and used it quite well. All three of the attackers were put out of action, one with the stomach wound was laying on the sidewalk in a tight fetal position, screaming that his guts were on fire, the second one was shot in the right shoulder was sitting on his butt back to the wall groaning that he needed help. The third was shot in the left arm, was caught a block away, could not move the arm without a lot of pain. That was three shots that hit, the other three rounds went who knows. But not bad effect for a small caliber. Each attacker was hit just the once. Not one of them was saying they were alright, it was just a .22. The attackers were armed with a sawed off pool que, a baseball bat, and a Raven .25 auto. The guy with the .25 never got off a shot, he was the one gut shot right at the onset of the fight.
I had the chance to respond to an accidental shooting one afternoon. A high school kid got home early, decieded to go rabbit hunting. He did and on getting back home about 5 o'çlock, pulled his pickup into the driveway. Getting out, he leaned back in to grab his gun by the end of the barrel, and pull it over to him by the drivers door. It went of, hitting him in the stomach. This was a big kid, football star and jock about 6 foot and well built. He went down in the driveway, curled up and couldn't move. He thanks God that his neighbor was out tending her flower garden, heard the crack, and came running over when he fell. When I interviewed him at the hospital, after 4 hours of emergency surgery, he said it was like a white hot steel rod in his guts, and the he couldn't have moved to save his life.
The third shooting I was witness to, took place when I was 12 years old. It was my father defending our family.
It was a hot summer weekend, and he drove us out to the Shenendoah Mountains to get away from the Washington D.C. city heat. Mom had packed the picnic basket for lunch, and we stopped at a roadside picnic area. While eating lunch, three men came out of the woods, looking rough, down at the heels. They came our way, and dad stood up and got between them and his family. One of them had a large sheath knife on his belt. They asked dad for some beer money, and dad told them to go away and not bother his family. He was polite, but firm. They got verbally abusive, and yelled that since dad had enough to buy a new Pontiac Star Chief, he had money to spare. Dad again told them to leave. The one with the knife pulled it out of the sheath and threatened dad, dad stepped back and pulled out the Colt Woodsman he always carried. The one with the knife kept advancing toward dad, and dad stepped back and yelled at the man to go away. The man took another step and dad fired. The man with the knife stopped and sort of hunched over, then advanced on dad again. Dad shot him twice more, and the knife man doubled over, went down on his knees, then fell over sideways, screaming "It burns!, it burns!" and then got quiet. He rocked back and forth for a minute, then stopped moving.
The other people at the picnic area went and got me and my sister and mom aside while someone went down the road to a payphone to call the police. When the ambulance got there, they covered up the man that had the knife on the stretcher, including his face, he was dead on the scene. Dad had to through the investigation, and it was found self defense, because of all the witnesses. After 90 days, dad filed some papers, and got his Colt .22 back. It was his only gun. He had it since 1937, and it was by his bed when he passed away in 1981.
So you may excuse me if I seem a bit jaded with the gun shop gurus. A bullet is a bullet, and in my life, I've seen what happens first hand when a small caliber bullet his something vital. It's the person holding the gun that makes all the difference in the world. I watch my wife bounce that tennis ball down range shooting rapid double action with any of her Smith and Wesson .22 revolvers, and I feel good knowing that she's safe when I'm away. Does she need a larger caliber? Not if its not fun for her and she won't shoot it like we shoot our .22's to the tune of many thousands of rounds a year. She's got 50 years of shooting .22 revolvers behind her. The only time she ever used an auto was her Smith and Wesson 41 that she used in competition. When she slowed down after retiring, she sold it. But she's still wicked with the old Model 17 her dad bought her for high school graduation. If something goes bump in the night, I'll have my 10 shot 617, Karen will have her 8 shot 317. That's 18 rounds from two people that have 100 years of shooting .22 revolvers between them.
Carl
