Gunning It*
To begin, my wife and I don't like to have guns in our house; perhaps we feel safer with our two German Shepherds always near us, or perhaps we just don't feel the need. But we have many friends and family members who are enamored with guns, whether it's collecting them or just having them around for safety. And despite my emotions, it was time to find out exactly what this feeling was about...because I now had a gun in the house. It wasn't mine but rather my dad's, something brought down from my parent's house when my mother was moved to memory care (my father, stepfather really, had been dead for over a decade by then) and it was a rifle, a .30-.40 Springfield Kreg from way back, 1898 to be exact. Worth a fortune I imagined, for isn't most anything from that far back worth quite a bit? But as it turns out, my education (or lack thereof) on such matters would be just getting started.
Okay, my view on guns and gun violence is likely in line with most when reading about a mass shooting or a random killing (such acts caused me to write about these topics in an earlier post titled Bang, Bang and another titled Crying Out)...basically, I didn't understand how anyone could do such a thing. The taking of innocent lives, the easy access to such weapons, the lack of controls to catch such behaviors at an earlier point. And Hollywood doesn't help what with all the Matrix-like gun battles that make killing look almost glaringly slow and artistic, the bullets and guns flying across the screen like flies in the kitchen. So when my friend offered to take me to a sporting goods store to get my rifle appraised, I was a bit hesitant...so he decided to come over to the house.
Now this guy knows guns and has a lot of them (lesson one, some people really do know about guns and their history). He has them in a safe (gun safes are plentiful and popular enough to be sold in Costco and other warehouse-type stores), fires them regularly at a range, and was now here to ask me a few questions and show-and-tell me about the rifle and pistol (my dad also had a .22 Star pistol). Did I have any sentimental attachment to the guns, was his first question? Uh, no (I couldn't recall seeing my dad with them although we did go out and fire a .45 he had...once). He checked the chamber of the guns to make sure that they were unloaded (unbeknownst to me, the .22 had a bullet ready to fire as well a loaded clip), took apart the weapons and put them back together (just as you see in the movies and that quickly, while for me both guns appeared as locked and sealed as a vault), told me that if I was at all considering keeping one of the guns in the house that the .22 was basically useless as a defense weapon, asked me where I was planning to store them (every location I mentioned was wrong, wrong and wrong again for they were all among the first places a thief would look), then asked if I was willing to have them valued and/or sold (to which I replied yes). And that was that. He would make a few calls and arrange a time for us to head to a store...no pawn shops or private sales; no sense in letting other people know that you have guns in your home (much less guns so readily available and not locked securely away in a safe).
For those of you like me who are new to this, I had no idea what to expect for what do you do with a gun or guns your dad once treasured or used for hunting (he even had the cleaning tools and the guns looks spotless despite being in storage for zillions of years). First off, I didn't know that a legitimate store even did appraisals (we were in a Cabela's, a massive chain of outdoor stores geared primarily toward hunting and fishing). He would bring his rifle case, he said, so that we could walk the gun into the store; okay I said, and I can just put the pistol in my canvas shopping bag and follow you. Wrong. That would be carrying a concealed weapon (but it's unloaded, I said); he would put the pistol into the rifle case. When you walk into the store (and we're talking a rather large store here) there's a greeter but no hellos here from an aging senior; this greeter is really a screener and quickly directs gun-carrying members such as us to a section just off to the left where yet another person is waiting. Your guns are taken from you, checked to be sure that they're not loaded, the barrels inserted into a gelled chamber (should they accidentally miss a bullet in the chamber), locks put on the triggers and elongated plugs put into the barrels. And you're told to walk away as another employee comes to get your guns and take them to a back room. There, one or two appraisers await and tell you that it'll take about 30 minutes to look at your weapons (there is no charge for this service)...and off you go.
At this point, off you go means that you're facing a hunter's paradise or a non-hunter's nightmare. Entire walls filled with trophy heads of everything from water buffaloes to blank-eyed antelopes (here in my home state of Utah we have an island appropriately named Antelope Island); shelves are filled with bullets and every variety you could imagine (I had assumed that a box of .38 Specials was a box of .38 Specials but there are "home defense" .38 Specials and "target" .38 Specials and regular .38 Specials and snub-nosed .38 Specials...and a variety of companies that make different versions of each of those bullets, and those are just one caliber of bullet). But what catches your eye are the shelves and shelves of guns and rifles and shotguns, a counter so long that you need to take a number so that one of the four or five employees behind the counter can help you when you're called (yes, it was that busy). For me, I knew as much about guns as Hollywood could teach me, that you carried a Dirty Harry long-barrelled pistol to look tough or quickly grabbed that hidden-under-your-coat 9 mm. Ruger or pulled that almost self-cocking shotgun from behind your back. And all of it was wrong. For one thing, those guns are heavy, as in carry a shotgun (with or without pistol grips and one designed for home defense with a shorter barrel or one designed for hunting with a longer barrel) and pull the slide back to load a shell into the 9mm (which takes much more strength than initially imagined) and you're fairly weighted down. Throw on another two weapons (aka Hollywood) and quite likely you're not going to be as agile as you think. Did I mention the weight of the bullets? (those unwieldy Pancho Villa belts of bullets crossing your chest are more likely to be a target than a source of resupply)
Question one, they both ask me, what are you planning on using a gun for? Uh, wasn't really planning on using one, but if I did, it would likely be at home; I softly chuckled a bit mentioning that I had two large and protective dogs at home. Okay, my friend said, using his hand like a gun and going bam-bam towards the floor. Now you don't have two dogs. What now? Your wife is home alone, someone is coming up the stairs, likely on drugs or intent on not being caught (again), something that makes a robber take that extra step and not just run out the door at the first sign of movement in the home. Let me show you a few choices, says the guy behind the counter. My friend suggests a few small pistols, revolvers that are as small as your palm, each holding five bullets (larger caliber)...nothing to load and pull back, just pick up and fire. Hammerless (no piece of metal sticking out to catch or jam on your clothing)...and heavy. Here's one with a laser; here's how you open the barrel (because of my difficulty in cocking the 9mm., both people had already eliminated me from even looking at that type of weapon), here's how you dump out the spent shells quickly. And so it went, gun after gun after gun (even having me hold several types of shotguns --heavy-- giving me new respect for those shotgun-toting grandmothers who came out of their wood cabins and told them cattle rustlers to skedaddle on outta there; those grannies must have had arms the size of Popeye!). Each weapon had guards in them so that someone couldn't just grab a box of bullets and load one of the pistols (Hollywood), and each cabinet was locked and relocked after each showing (the guns were always checked to make sure that they were empty before being handed over to a customer). My friend and the salesman talked and talked about the various weapons, which ones they either owned or had fired at some point; they were fast becoming friends through a commonality...and both being very patient with me who knew absolutely nothing about any of this, handling each empty weapon as if it were some sort of miniature nuclear device about to be activated. How to drop out a clip, right-handed or left-handed (guns are geared toward right-handed people although some manufacturers are now making guns with functions available on either side), how the safety on the handle and the triple-triggers work (both must be pressed for the pistol to fire) and on and on. And above all of this --all of this-- both people emphasized education. Go take classes, go to a range, get comfortable, get your arm and hand and head to build in a "memory" of firing the weapon; and above all avoid confrontation and hope that you never have to use the weapon ever. Wait, what??? I mentioned this aspect of martial arts, that as you learn more and become more proficient the mental education begins to overtake the physical education. Same thing, they said. Common sense tells you to avoid a bad situation or a bad neighborhood at 3 in the morning. Logical, I say. But being robbed to whatever will probably never happen I somewhat guardedly say, but the thought of bam-bam on my dogs was still hovering in my head. Neither people react. Now 999 times out of a 1000 those long drives you're taking will be uneventful, my friend said; but let's say you're broken down or on a lonely stretch at night and someone is suddenly forcing your car off of the road, or you're loading Christmas gifts in the boot of your car and 3 tough guys begin walking up behind you (actually happened to my friend)...would just the act of showing or having a gun be beneficial? Hmmm, all these ideas...was this paranoia or had we just been lucky that nothing had happened to us? But then for years I had worked out at the recreation center and never been robbed (until I was). Did any of this make sense to me or were they building a bit of fear in me? Then the call came that my appraisals were ready...and that alone was another education, all coming in the next post.
*The phrase is a common slang term used in the U.S., meaning to hit the accelerator or make a quick getaway.
Okay, my view on guns and gun violence is likely in line with most when reading about a mass shooting or a random killing (such acts caused me to write about these topics in an earlier post titled Bang, Bang and another titled Crying Out)...basically, I didn't understand how anyone could do such a thing. The taking of innocent lives, the easy access to such weapons, the lack of controls to catch such behaviors at an earlier point. And Hollywood doesn't help what with all the Matrix-like gun battles that make killing look almost glaringly slow and artistic, the bullets and guns flying across the screen like flies in the kitchen. So when my friend offered to take me to a sporting goods store to get my rifle appraised, I was a bit hesitant...so he decided to come over to the house.
Now this guy knows guns and has a lot of them (lesson one, some people really do know about guns and their history). He has them in a safe (gun safes are plentiful and popular enough to be sold in Costco and other warehouse-type stores), fires them regularly at a range, and was now here to ask me a few questions and show-and-tell me about the rifle and pistol (my dad also had a .22 Star pistol). Did I have any sentimental attachment to the guns, was his first question? Uh, no (I couldn't recall seeing my dad with them although we did go out and fire a .45 he had...once). He checked the chamber of the guns to make sure that they were unloaded (unbeknownst to me, the .22 had a bullet ready to fire as well a loaded clip), took apart the weapons and put them back together (just as you see in the movies and that quickly, while for me both guns appeared as locked and sealed as a vault), told me that if I was at all considering keeping one of the guns in the house that the .22 was basically useless as a defense weapon, asked me where I was planning to store them (every location I mentioned was wrong, wrong and wrong again for they were all among the first places a thief would look), then asked if I was willing to have them valued and/or sold (to which I replied yes). And that was that. He would make a few calls and arrange a time for us to head to a store...no pawn shops or private sales; no sense in letting other people know that you have guns in your home (much less guns so readily available and not locked securely away in a safe).
For those of you like me who are new to this, I had no idea what to expect for what do you do with a gun or guns your dad once treasured or used for hunting (he even had the cleaning tools and the guns looks spotless despite being in storage for zillions of years). First off, I didn't know that a legitimate store even did appraisals (we were in a Cabela's, a massive chain of outdoor stores geared primarily toward hunting and fishing). He would bring his rifle case, he said, so that we could walk the gun into the store; okay I said, and I can just put the pistol in my canvas shopping bag and follow you. Wrong. That would be carrying a concealed weapon (but it's unloaded, I said); he would put the pistol into the rifle case. When you walk into the store (and we're talking a rather large store here) there's a greeter but no hellos here from an aging senior; this greeter is really a screener and quickly directs gun-carrying members such as us to a section just off to the left where yet another person is waiting. Your guns are taken from you, checked to be sure that they're not loaded, the barrels inserted into a gelled chamber (should they accidentally miss a bullet in the chamber), locks put on the triggers and elongated plugs put into the barrels. And you're told to walk away as another employee comes to get your guns and take them to a back room. There, one or two appraisers await and tell you that it'll take about 30 minutes to look at your weapons (there is no charge for this service)...and off you go.
At this point, off you go means that you're facing a hunter's paradise or a non-hunter's nightmare. Entire walls filled with trophy heads of everything from water buffaloes to blank-eyed antelopes (here in my home state of Utah we have an island appropriately named Antelope Island); shelves are filled with bullets and every variety you could imagine (I had assumed that a box of .38 Specials was a box of .38 Specials but there are "home defense" .38 Specials and "target" .38 Specials and regular .38 Specials and snub-nosed .38 Specials...and a variety of companies that make different versions of each of those bullets, and those are just one caliber of bullet). But what catches your eye are the shelves and shelves of guns and rifles and shotguns, a counter so long that you need to take a number so that one of the four or five employees behind the counter can help you when you're called (yes, it was that busy). For me, I knew as much about guns as Hollywood could teach me, that you carried a Dirty Harry long-barrelled pistol to look tough or quickly grabbed that hidden-under-your-coat 9 mm. Ruger or pulled that almost self-cocking shotgun from behind your back. And all of it was wrong. For one thing, those guns are heavy, as in carry a shotgun (with or without pistol grips and one designed for home defense with a shorter barrel or one designed for hunting with a longer barrel) and pull the slide back to load a shell into the 9mm (which takes much more strength than initially imagined) and you're fairly weighted down. Throw on another two weapons (aka Hollywood) and quite likely you're not going to be as agile as you think. Did I mention the weight of the bullets? (those unwieldy Pancho Villa belts of bullets crossing your chest are more likely to be a target than a source of resupply)
Question one, they both ask me, what are you planning on using a gun for? Uh, wasn't really planning on using one, but if I did, it would likely be at home; I softly chuckled a bit mentioning that I had two large and protective dogs at home. Okay, my friend said, using his hand like a gun and going bam-bam towards the floor. Now you don't have two dogs. What now? Your wife is home alone, someone is coming up the stairs, likely on drugs or intent on not being caught (again), something that makes a robber take that extra step and not just run out the door at the first sign of movement in the home. Let me show you a few choices, says the guy behind the counter. My friend suggests a few small pistols, revolvers that are as small as your palm, each holding five bullets (larger caliber)...nothing to load and pull back, just pick up and fire. Hammerless (no piece of metal sticking out to catch or jam on your clothing)...and heavy. Here's one with a laser; here's how you open the barrel (because of my difficulty in cocking the 9mm., both people had already eliminated me from even looking at that type of weapon), here's how you dump out the spent shells quickly. And so it went, gun after gun after gun (even having me hold several types of shotguns --heavy-- giving me new respect for those shotgun-toting grandmothers who came out of their wood cabins and told them cattle rustlers to skedaddle on outta there; those grannies must have had arms the size of Popeye!). Each weapon had guards in them so that someone couldn't just grab a box of bullets and load one of the pistols (Hollywood), and each cabinet was locked and relocked after each showing (the guns were always checked to make sure that they were empty before being handed over to a customer). My friend and the salesman talked and talked about the various weapons, which ones they either owned or had fired at some point; they were fast becoming friends through a commonality...and both being very patient with me who knew absolutely nothing about any of this, handling each empty weapon as if it were some sort of miniature nuclear device about to be activated. How to drop out a clip, right-handed or left-handed (guns are geared toward right-handed people although some manufacturers are now making guns with functions available on either side), how the safety on the handle and the triple-triggers work (both must be pressed for the pistol to fire) and on and on. And above all of this --all of this-- both people emphasized education. Go take classes, go to a range, get comfortable, get your arm and hand and head to build in a "memory" of firing the weapon; and above all avoid confrontation and hope that you never have to use the weapon ever. Wait, what??? I mentioned this aspect of martial arts, that as you learn more and become more proficient the mental education begins to overtake the physical education. Same thing, they said. Common sense tells you to avoid a bad situation or a bad neighborhood at 3 in the morning. Logical, I say. But being robbed to whatever will probably never happen I somewhat guardedly say, but the thought of bam-bam on my dogs was still hovering in my head. Neither people react. Now 999 times out of a 1000 those long drives you're taking will be uneventful, my friend said; but let's say you're broken down or on a lonely stretch at night and someone is suddenly forcing your car off of the road, or you're loading Christmas gifts in the boot of your car and 3 tough guys begin walking up behind you (actually happened to my friend)...would just the act of showing or having a gun be beneficial? Hmmm, all these ideas...was this paranoia or had we just been lucky that nothing had happened to us? But then for years I had worked out at the recreation center and never been robbed (until I was). Did any of this make sense to me or were they building a bit of fear in me? Then the call came that my appraisals were ready...and that alone was another education, all coming in the next post.
*The phrase is a common slang term used in the U.S., meaning to hit the accelerator or make a quick getaway.
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