by Skip Coryell
Many of my students share with me that they leave the class with one overwhelming prayer in their mind: “Dear God, I hope I never have to unholster my pistol.” I share that prayer with them. I am a sheep dog, but I am also human. I believe that “normal” people have a natural aversion to killing another of their own kind.
For myself, I have never had to kill another person. Indeed, although I’m an avid deer hunter (killed six just behind the house last year) I still feel a bit of remorse at the taking of an animal’s life. The taking of an animal’s life is a reverent act, one that I do often, but with all due honor and respect. In my first novel, “Bond of Unseen Blood” this principle is explained in detail, so I won’t elaborate on it now.
Any “normal” person who has been forced to kill another human, knows the adverse effects it can have on you. I back this up with conversations I’ve had with many combat veterans of all ages. Most vets who have had to kill, are loathe to speak of it.
Case in point, I give you my own father, who served as an Air Force Ranger in the Korean War. His job was to parachute behind enemy lines and destroy radar and communications installations. He called it electronics counter espionage. It all sounded very glamorous to a kid, but now, I realize that there was no glamour in it at all, only pain, and suffering, and death.
My father rarely talked about his experiences there, but I remember on one particular occasion he did so with extraordinary detail, imagery and passion. I’ll recount his story as I remember it.
“We were surrounded by Chinese soldiers for two days. They always attacked at dawn, always blowing those bugles, and it made my skin crawl to hear them coming. We kept killing them, but they kept coming. We were running out of ammunition, but we had plenty of explosives, so we made cannons out of pipes, and shot rocks, metal, glass, anything that we could find at them. On the last day, right after the dawn attack, a few of the survivors said that I ran off after the retreating Chinese, shooting them as I went. They followed the trail of dead bodies and found me sitting on the ground staring off into space, covered in dirt and blood. I don’t remember any of it, and later, after being shot in the leg, I was sent home on a submarine. The Air Force sent me to a psychiatrist, but he said I would get over it. I slept with my eyes open for months after the battle.”
But my father didn’t get over it, and, after hearing his story, I never looked at him in quite the same way again. He always seemed a little more dangerous to me after that. I suspect if more kids had a little bit of fear in them, they might turn out as better citizens. Instead, they’re spoiled. Whenever I see one of those “NO FEAR” bumper stickers on the back of some young kid’s car, I just want to pull him over and start slapping some sense into him. Fear is a good thing. It inspires courage.
Now where was I? Oh yes. Because I reverence all life, especially humans who possess souls, I avoid using my pistol at all costs, short of allowing an innocent life to be taken.
Here’s what I tell my students:
All of you will live or die based on the decisions you make. It’s that way through all of life, not just with firearms. If you don’t act, you may die, or you may carry the guilt of inaction the rest of your life. If you act when you should not, you may die anyways, or you may spend some time in jail. In any event, the very act of shooting or not shooting is a life-changing event. You will never be the same.
After that, the inevitable question remains: “How do I know when I should shoot?”
That’s not an easy question to answer, because the answer is different for everyone. Every situation, and every person, is different. We all have different abilities, different mindsets, different religious convictions, and all these things must be taken into account before we decide when to shoot. Of course, the time to decide is beforehand, because after a person points a gun in your face, it’s too late for a moral decision-making process. There just isn’t the time. Ahhh, so many bullets, so little time.
Pardon my earthy tastes, but I like the movie “Roadhouse” with Patrick Swayze and Sam Elliott. Swayze’s character is agonizing over having killed a man several years earlier. Sam looks at him, straight in the eye, and answers him point blank: “When a man sticks a gun in your face, you got two choices: You can kill the f$%#er, or you can die!”
I guess that about sums it up. But, like I said, it’s a personal decision, and all of us have to make that decision for ourselves. Shooting is a decision, just as not shooting is also a decision.
Francis Schaeffer, a popular religious writer in the latter part of the twentieth century once wrote a book titled: “How Shall We Then Live?” In it, he explored how God would have us live our short lives here on earth. I believe it’s the same with CCW holders. All of us will ultimately decide one of two things: “How shall we then live?” or conversely, “How shall we then die?”
To illustrate the point, let me tell you about a student I once had. I was teaching a husband and wife in a private lesson on their farm in southwest Michigan. We were on the range behind their barn, shooting at targets up against an embankment. The woman was shooting a nice, 9mm Glock, and she honestly could not hit the broad side of a barn from the inside.
I tried everything I knew to get her on target, but it was no use. I couldn’t find the problem. Her husband told me she was a good shot, and that she usually shot better than him, so he didn’t understand the problem either. I questioned her some more, and she finally threw up her hands in frustration and said, “I don’t even know why I’m doing this! I could never shoot anyone anyways. My husband made me take this class!”
At her remark, a light went off in my head, and I interjected. “What if someone was trying to kill you? Could you shoot someone then?” She said, “No! I couldn’t kill someone to save my own life. I’d just go ahead and die!” I thought that was rather odd, but I could tell she was sincere, so I thought about it a second. Even though most people have an aversion to killing another human, I personally believe that there are very few people on this planet who would rather die than protect themselves. Almost everyone has a point where they will cross the line and take a life.
Earlier in the day, this couple had introduced me to their baby girl, so I said, “How old is your daughter?”
“Nine months.”
“Okay, let’s use a little training technique called visualization.”
She nodded her head impatiently.
“Okay, here’s the scenario: You’re at the gas station filling your tank. A man drives up and parks next to your car. He gets out, walks over, reaches through the open window of your car, removes your daughter from her car seat and puts her in his own car. He then starts to get into his car to drive away.”
There was a horrified look on the young mother’s face.
“At that moment in time, could you take another human life?” She said, “I would kill that son of a bitch!” I said, “Okay then, that target down there is that man who is stealing your daughter. Fire away.”
She never missed the target again.
That real-life event inspired chapter 23 of my novel “We Hold These Truths”. But like I said, we all have to live and die based on our own decisions. For me, I decided like this:
I have two children, ages 9 and 11. If I’m sitting in McDonald’s with my family, and a man walks in and starts shooting, I would have no choice but to defend myself, my family, and the family of everyone in that building. It would impact me. I would feel bad about killing someone. I may even need some therapy for a while.
However, Freud himself couldn’t assuage my guilt if I sat there and allowed a man to walk from person to person while I stood idly by and let him kill innocent people. I would never recover. I would feel guilt-ridden for the rest of my life. I couldn’t live with myself - and rightly so. I believe that with great power comes great responsibility, and a .40 caliber Smith and Wesson is a lot of power. I believe it’s my duty as a fellow human being to protect the innocent lives of others. I believe individually, and, as a societ
y, we are all honor-bound to protect those who are unable to protect themselves. It is our solemn duty as humans.
Here’s the deal: You help protect my family, and I’ll help protect yours. It’s the human thing to do. It’s the only thing that makes sense to this Marine Corps father.
There are verses in the Bible (Ecclesiastes 3:1-3) which say:
“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under Heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up.”
Again I reiterate, that a firearm is a tool of last resort. But even God recognizes that there is a time to kill. You decide the time. Both God and man will judge your decision. Better be right. But remember this one thing: if you don’t survive, then nothing else matters. I leave you with the closing words of a great American hero, a sheepdog who dedicated his life to guarding the flock.
Now, go with God. Guard the sheep. It’s your duty.
“Was I going to be arrested? Was I breaking the law by entering? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I just knew I was doing the right thing, so I forged on ahead. I was Rosa Parks with a video camera! “Get out of my way Michael Moore! Here I come!”
Rednecks and Rabblerousers
Without grassroots activism, there would be no CCW laws - for anyone. In fact, there would be no Second Amendment at all. One could even expand that to say: “there would be no America.” Because, after all, America was founded by a bunch of rednecks and rabble-rousers who thought they knew better than the king of the mightiest nation on the planet.
Samuel Adams, one of the lesser known founders of our country, was also one of my favorites. I’m convinced he was a redneck and a rabble rouser, and Jeff Foxworthy backs me up on it as well in one episode of his sitcom “The Jeff Foxworthy Show”. Jeff put it like this:
“Some of our greatest leaders have been rednecks. Why you take for instance, Samuel Adams. Any guy with a beer named after him – redneck!”
Sam Adams was such an instigator. He had a knack for enflaming the public, and then standing by and watching as they burned King George in effigy, or tossed tons of tea into Boston Harbor. Yeah, good ole Sam. He was my kind of guy. He was a good ole boy with a New England accent.
Years ago, when I first became involved in Ted Nugent United Sportsmen of America (TNUSA), I too became “that kind of guy”. The first issue I tackled was the CCW bill that then State Representative Alan Cropsey was trying to get passed into law. The “anti’s” had dug their heels in, and the bill was going nowhere. I was just an Area Director at the time, so I decided to tackle my own home county first.
I remember, that at that time, I was working on my second failed marriage. I was a miserable man with an axe to grind, and I was in no mood for morons. But, we had an anti-CCW Sheriff, so I started there. My misery fueled my soul with courage and boldness. I had balls of solid rock!
I remember my first convert to the cause was Dave Neeson. He called me on the phone and said he wanted to get involved. I had made a hundred phone calls to TNUSA members, and he was the only one to volunteer his time. So, full of piss and vinegar and not to be thwarted or discouraged, I set up a time to meet Dave at the Hastings McDonald’s for coffee.
When I got there, I was surprised when Dave rolled through the door in a wheelchair. My heart sank. I was going to take on the County Sheriff, the County Prosecutor, and the Michigan State Police (i.e., the County Gun Board) with just myself and a “cripple”? But that’s the commonality with all grassroots movements; they always start with a single concerned citizen. And, being the optimist that I was, I forged on ahead. After careful thought, I was encouraged. I had just doubled the size of the movement. Now there were two of us – a force to be reckoned with.
Later on I came to realize that Dave was not crippled at all. I was the cripple, and it was my own ignorance, lack of experience, and limited thinking that handicapped me. Since then, I have come to know Dave as the tallest man on two wheels and a force to be reckoned with. But then, once again, I digress.
Dave and I made plans to crash the next County Gun Board meeting which was held at the local State Police Post. For years, the gun board had violated state law (the Michigan `Open Meetings Act’) by holding their meetings in a secured, locked-down facility, closed to the public. That was the first thing we had to change. I had spoken earlier to Mike Hoban and Mike Carson from another Second Amendment group called Brassroots. They told me of the success they had gained with several other counties by videotaping the gun board meetings. It put the board under a microscope and made them feel more accountable to the law and to the people.
But how was I going to videotape them if I couldn’t get into the meetings? Dave and I had it all figured out.
On the day of the meeting, we were waiting in Dave’s pickup truck in the State Police parking lot. Neither of us owned a camera, so Dave borrowed one from a friend. It was a relic, a big, shoulder-mounted antique that looked more like an anti-tank weapon than a camera. The great video beast must have weighed 38 pounds field dressed.
As was their custom, the State Police Commander walked out into the parking lot to get the next CCW candidate and escort him in through the locked doors. As soon as he turned around to walk back in, I jumped out of the truck with the giant camera on my right shoulder and ran up behind him. He never turned around. The front door was under construction, so he took the candidate around back and through the locked door. I caught the door before it closed and walked in right behind them, my eye fixed to the eyepiece, camera rolling all the while.
Was I going to be arrested? Was I breaking the law by entering? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I just knew I was doing the right thing, so I forged on ahead. I was Rosa Parks with a video camera! “Get out of my way Michael Moore! Here I come!”
We walked down a corridor. A State Trooper passed me and stared. But he didn’t stop me. Why should he? I was coming in right behind his boss. I walked into the conference room and sat down beside the Commander. That was the first time he noticed I was there. He and the Under-sheriff looked up together. Their eyes got as big as donuts, then they looked back down again.
Much to my surprise, they never spoke to me or even acknowledged my presence. That was weird. The meeting lasted 90 minutes and they never even looked at me again. They just ran the meeting the way they always had, with one very important exception. Under the scrutiny of that giant camera orb, they issued an unrestricted CCW permit.
To this day, I remember the look of shock on the CCW candidate’s face when they voted unanimously to issue him an unrestricted concealed pistol license. I didn’t know the man, but he had already been denied twice, so he just kept coming back over and over again on principle. He said to them, “You are? You’re going to give me one this time?” It was funny to watch, but also very satisfying. I remember his name was Bob.
After the meeting was over, I got up and sauntered out without saying a word. I was on top of the world. Later on we surmised that they had mistaken me for a local TV station, probably due in part to the size of my camera. Well, who knows, maybe bigger is better.
Dave and I celebrated, but were disappointed to realize that the camera didn’t work. I had gone in there as brazen as John Wayne, packing a dead camera on my shoulder. Oh well, it was a beginning. The mission was accomplished.
Our movement snowballed. We wrote letters to the Editor. We allied with a local group called B-SAFR, Barry County Citizens for Second Amendment and Firearms Rights, founded by Dave Stevens. Dave had already been working hard in support of CCW reform, even before me.
Brazen as a Grizzly bear, I sent the gun board the following letter. It was to be my proverbial “shot across the bow”. As it turned out, it was the calm before the storm and the peaceful lull before the battle.
To: Barry County Gun Board
From: Skip Coryell, SW Michigan Director, Ted Nugent United Spor
tsmen of America
Date: 23 April 2000
My name is Skip Coryell, a resident of Barry County, and the Director of Ted Nugent United Sportsmen of America (TNUSA) for the following counties in Michigan: Barry, Allegan, Calhoun, Van Buren, Kalamazoo, Branch, Berrien, Cass, and St. Joseph. While it is our long-term goal to achieve CCW reform for all counties in Michigan, we have decided to start with the above-mentioned counties in SW Michigan.
With the support of many local, state, and national pro-hunting and second amendment organizations, TNUSA has decided to work toward reforming the way Concealed Weapons Permits are issued in Barry County.
It is our firm belief that Barry County citizens are being denied their constitutional right to “keep and bear arms for the defense of themselves and the state.” Presently, the Barry County Gun Board does not issue CCW permits for the reason of personal and family defense. In fact, the gun board issues very few general CCW permits, turning most people down because they cannot demonstrate what the board believes to be adequate need. When I picked up my own CCW application, a government employee advised me, “Save your 50 dollars. We don’t issue CCW permits in Barry County.” There seems to be one exception to this rule: retired police officers are given general permits with no questions asked, and are not even required to appear before the board.