All right! I wasn't going to post this; but, apparently, some people really do need to hear it: I'm 64; I couldn't run if I wanted to; I really do have a serious heart condition; and, I am what remains of a once superlative gunman.
(But, like my wife says: Better a, 'has been' than a, 'never was'!)
A couple of months ago, late at night, I was walking down a dirt road across from my house. The 1/2 moon had just started to rise and, as yet, it was very dark. I could just about see where I was going when, suddenly, a vehicle pulled in off the main road and drove down the lane toward our farm dumpster. I thought this was odd; and, because I didn't recognize the vehicle, I stopped to watch.
A man of average height wearing a hooded sweatshirt and baggy pants got out. His loose clothing was out-of-place for our neighborhood and lent a certain air of mystery. He moved quickly and immediately began to unload a number of large black plastic bags and several gray 10 gallon plastic pails off the back of his completely stuffed SUV. I remember thinking to myself that it was odd to see large plastic pails with the lids on – Most people simply throw these lids away; but, for some reason, this guy had kept them.
He parked with the vehicle pointing back out toward the main road, and had left his headlights on – shining down the lane. I guessed he was up to, ‘no good’ and intended to be on the property for the shortest possible amount of time. Several people have permission to use this dumpster; but, something about this guy, the time of night, or whatever, made me suspicious; so I started across the field to ask him who he was and, hopefully, to send him on his way to someone else’s place.
The guy turned out to be very alert! He spotted me walking up to him while I was, still, about 20 yards away. I didn’t recognize him as one of my neighbors; and, in a more or less polite tone of voice, I asked him what he was doing? He replied; ‘Getting rid of my garbage!’ I simply told him: 'Not here!' 'Pick it up and put it back in the vehicle.' He spoke to me in a deep guttural sort of voice that had, ‘city’ written all over it and gave me a surly; 'What for?' Then I saw that infamous, ‘quick look around’ as his shoulders suddenly stiffened. Instantly, I recognized what was about to happen!
He reached underneath his sweatshirt with both hands; and, with his head lowered and his elbows slightly out to the sides, he started to rush me! It was dark; the only light we had was from the reflected glow of his headlights. He was much younger than me, healthier too; and, I knew I couldn’t afford to be either, ‘nice’ or wait for him to finally close in. As he came at me I quickly drew my pistol, and snapped the slide on a loaded chamber. (I carry in C-3 and use an Israeli draw.)
He was about 10-12 feet away when I began to draw. Strangely, this guy came to a sudden stop and actually froze in mid-stride. (More than anything else, it must have been my flashing brilliant green night sights that tipped him off!) So there we stood, staring at each other across 10 feet of dark road! Him, with his hands still underneath the hem of his sweatshirt and with most of his facial features obscured by that large hood, and me with a Glock 21 at extended retention. I couldn’t really see his face; but, I swear I could, ‘feel’ him looking back at me from underneath that hood!
In a quiet voice I told him; ‘This isn’t going to go your way!’ He thought for a moment before asking me; 'What do you want me to do?' His body language changed; he no longer seemed interested in quickly closing in on me; and, I noticed he had a very clear, deep, and, ‘authoritarian’ sort of tone to his voice. This guy was nobody’s flunky; he was, unquestionably, used to giving orders!
While he picked up on the fact he was making me nervous, this didn’t stop him from continuing to keep his hands underneath his sweatshirt. I strongly suspected he was holding either a pistol, or a knife; but, I’d just beaten him at his own game; and, he hadn’t made up his mind, yet, about whether or not a pile of garbage was worth fighting over? The guy never flinched! He was tough, too. Tougher than anything I expected to find in the side pasture! He continued to face me, indecisive and a little hesitant, but clearly not afraid, and not yet persuaded that he should give in.
It was him, a woman who had ducked down inside the vehicle as I approached; and me: The three of us, alone, there in the dark. As the moments passed I could feel him, 'reading me' as if I were a book. He fully recognized that I was on a very short fuse, better prepared for trouble than he’d expected, and much faster with a gun than he'd expected, too. He, also, realized that I was a lot older than him, and in nowhere near as good physical condition. (I walk with a decided limp.)
I was able to read him, too! He was in his late 20’s or early 30’s and quite physically fit – almost too much so! He demonstrated a lot of street savvy, and more than his fair share of self-confidence. He was mad! He didn’t like being caught; and, unless he absolutely had to, he wasn’t going to take any crap from an, ‘old white boy’ like me. This man reeked of, both, arrogance and street pride! Not once while we faced each other did he stop gauging me – My pistol didn’t seem to matter to him; he just kept looking for an opportunity to get past it!
As the moments passed I began to feel like he had the advantage; I could feel my years; I was annoyed with myself for growing old; and, it bothered me that this guy didn’t seem to be the slightest bit afraid of me. Other men, at other times, had been afraid of me; but, that was yesterday; and, this was here and now. To my surprise, I began to feel, ‘embarrassed’ and, somehow, inadequate. What had started out as a quiet walk through the fields suddenly ended up costing me a lot of my self-image and some of my self-esteem.
Even though he knew he was making me nervous, he insisted on keeping his hands well hidden. It was strange, almost surrealistic, standing there facing him down. Without saying a single threatening word there he was – refusing to cooperate and openly daring me to make the first mistake! Little by little, my embarrassment began to turn to anger; and, I repeated the demand for him to pick up his garbage.
Something in my voice must have warned him because after I spoke, again, I could see him begin to relax. No, he wasn’t getting comfortable; instead, through his body language, he was telling me that he had finally made up his mind and intended to comply! After thinking about it, I believe he thought that making a last stand over a pile of stinking rubbish was a really bad idea for the both of us. He finally took his hands away from the front of his waistline, and said; ‘OK!’ Then he began to pick up his bags and pails, and (I suspect) thought about rushing me one more time before he closed the hatch door and moved to the front of his vehicle.
I moved forward with him; and, as he got in, I told him I would take his license plate, and immediately call the police to report the incident. (You never know; but, because I had to pull a gun, I fully intended to be the first one to call the police!) He didn’t say anything. He just got into the vehicle; the woman began to speak; but, he motioned her to be quiet, and closed the driver’s door. As he released the parking brake I stepped behind the SUV and took the license plate information. When I got back to the house I called the police, told them what had happened, and gave them a description of the vehicle and the people inside.
Within the hour, the police called back and told me the plate had expired and actually belonged on another auto. The officer said an area watch had been issued for the vehicle and patrol officers were presently out looking for it. It appears this garbage drop had been carefully planned: a phony license plate, a hooded sweatshirt, a weapon, and a very large quantity of garbage that gave off a foul chemical odor. :barf:
As unhappy as I am about running into this slick, city, ‘gangsta’ I'm delighted he wasn’t able to leave whatever toxic crap he had to get rid of, anywhere, near my home! I tend to look for a meaning in things; but, I honestly don’t know what the moral of this story could be? Maybe that I’m definitely not as young as I used to be; and, this episode has certainly pointed that out to me; or, maybe, depending upon how you view things, I just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time?
Like I said, I don’t know; but, I’m very glad I didn’t have to use my pistol. A lot of things about being me aren’t what they used to be; but, my Sicilian temper and hand/eye coordination remain intact. That city boy definitely made the right decision for himself – Even if he had a pistol underneath that sweatshirt he wouldn’t have made it; and, regardless of how tired or old he made me feel, I wouldn’t have missed.
So, talk all you want about: apologizing, retreating, running away, or pepper spray. The simple fact is that, on this night, none of those things would have done me the slightest bit of good. The simple truth is that it takes two to make a fight; and, if the other guy insists, then, it's going to happen.
Sometimes all you can do is hold your ground to wait and see!
