I got off work at WLAC-FM at midnight and made my way down to the parking garage. My car was one of only two left on Level 3. As I got out of the elevator and walked toward my car, two men began to approach me from different directions. I drew my Star Model B 9 mm pistol and held it pointing at the floor as I continued to walk to my car. Both of the men seemed to quickly lose interest in me.
As I turned the corner into the garden area that wasn’t visible from the street, the fellow in the sleeping bag suddenly jumped up with a butcher knife in his hands. Then he noticed the Smith & Wesson 645 in my holster and realized that he was about to bring his knife to a gun fight.
I heard a door rattled on the other side of the building. And the another. And then another. Someone was going around the outside trying every door. I stood quietly and listened. As I heard footsteps approaching the door near where I was standing, I racked the slide on my Winchester 1200. I heard the sound of running feet, and no more doors were rattled.
The guy in the seat across the aisle from me was drunk, obnoxiously drunk, and he was giving the flight attendant a hard time because she wouldn’t sell him another drink. When he started to become a bit too aggressive, I leaned across the aisle and suggested that he should chill a bit. As we were getting off the plane in Nashville, he started cursing at me as we moved down the jetway. As we entered the terminal, he punched me from behind hard enough to knock me down. He did it in full view of a State Trooper and two Airport Authority cops. I wound up with a couple of bandaids and a headache. He wound up being sent back to Texas where he was wanted for parole violation.
These are some of the potentially violent situations I’ve faced since I got out of the Army. When I’ve been armed, I’ve been able to prevent the threat from escalating. The one time I was in a gun-free zone, I was injured. Not even the immediate presence of police officers prevented the attack.
My personal experience tells me that gun-free zones, even ones with tight security, are not effective in preventing the bad guys from attempting to prey on soft targets. I don’t think I’ll be ready to support gun-free zones until the people who would impose them are willing to disarm their own security details inside those zones as well.
I’ve got a bunch of vacation time built up, so I’m taking most of the month of September off from work. Today, I’ll be running a bunch of real world personal errands that will include stops at three different courthouses. Blogging may be slow today.
I was watching an interview of Gene Wilder, and he gave a thoughtful answer to the question of why he stopped doing much acting. Anyone who has seen Young Frankenstein knows that Wilder is no prude, but, he said he didn’t want to participate in the over-the-top violence and vulgarity he was finding in the scripts he was being sent. Similarly, I’ve tried to maintain a decent, but not prudish, level of decorum here at Hogewash!.
I am now going to make an exception. I’m going to begin letting comment of this sort through moderation. We’ll see how long Brett Kimberlin’s cyberthugs can sustain their targeted abuse when they have to do it in the open.
The light’s been turned on. Let’s see how the roaches scurry.
Beginning last Sunday (when The Dread Pro-Se Kimberlin had probably put the finishing touches on his Kimberlin v. Team Themis, et al. RICO2 LOLsuit), I began receiving an unusually large number of obscene and/or threatening comments here at Hogewash!; most of them were poorly done photoshop jobs that used Mrs. Hoge’s face in an inappropriate manner.) The last one came in at 3:21 pm ET on Tuesday, 17 March.
Brave Sir Anonymous Coward has run away.
When Team Kimberlin thinks they are about to score a win, they are big on spiking the ball before they get it to the end zone. Where I learned the game, that’s called a fumble, and it often results in a turnover to the other team’s advantage.
I don’t like Starbucks’s coffee. Like so many west coast coffee purveyors, they use over-roasted beans. I don’t mind some of what I refer to as their “candy drinks” where the bad coffee is buffered by other flavors. Still, for the price of a few visits to Starbucks, I can buy a week’s supply of properly roasted Kona or Blue Mountain coffee and brew it properly at home.
Since I don’t frequent their stores, I haven’t been accosted by one of their baristas with a gratuitous discussion of race from a kid whose parents probably weren’t alive when I was covering the civil rights movement as a broadcaster in the South in the ’60s.
For that I’m thankful.