Blood in the Streets

by Skip Coryell

  For myself, I stay on the conservative side. There are only three people who can open my gun safe: myself, my wife, and my 20year-old son. Everyone else is verboten.

  My son and daughter are nine and eleven years old, respectively. My daughter, I trust implicitly around firearms. Not so with my son.

  To quote an old - but revered - comedian Red Skelton, “I wouldn’t touch that line with a ten-foot pole!” Well, when it comes to my darling son, barring my direct supervision, I wouldn’t let my beloved Phillip touch a gun with a ten-foot pole! Two kids, two distinct personalities and abilities. You have to take the time to get to know your kids so you can keep them safe from themselves. So much of being a responsible gun owner is just learning to be a responsible parent. That’s not to say that my son never shoots a gun, because he does. He has a beebee gun and a .22 caliber rifle. But I keep them locked up, and he doesn’t touch them when I’m not right there to supervise.

  Our society puts a stigma on guns that really shouldn’t be there. It’s not good for kids to view guns as a naughty and forbidden object, because human nature will drive them to it, like a moth drawn to the flame. Kids are like that – people are like that!

  With my children, they may touch any of my firearms, whenever they choose, under controlled conditions. First I unload it, then dismantle it, showing them how to clean it. I even let them help. They can touch all the parts, even reassemble it if they want, as long as I’m right there with them. When we’re done, and their natural curiosity is satisfied, then it goes back inside the safe, and my kids go back to watching Veggie Tales. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it doesn’t have to kill our children. Take away the stigma or you’ll transform your gun safe into Pandora’s box, and, eventually, a resilient, smart child will find a way to open it up.

  Now when it comes to smaller children, like toddlers, I take a different approach. They never touch my guns. They’re just not old enough to understand the danger. Here’s the approach I take with toddlers.

  Have you ever heard the saying: “Childproof your home?” Well, I don’t believe in that. In fact, I believe that in many cases it can lead to unnecessary injury and perhaps even death to an innocent child. You can childproof your home all you want, but once you leave the house, that child is once again in danger. Wouldn’t it be smarter to “Homeproof your child”?

  A long time ago, I read a book on Mennonite discipline, and, even though I’m not a Mennonite, I’ve incorporated what I learned into raising my own children. Mennonites “homeproof” their children like this:

  When the child is approximately one year of age, they place the child on their lap, facing outward. Then they place a forbidden object in front of the child, within arm’s reach. As soon as the child reaches for it, they slap him lightly on the hand and say “No!”. The child pulls back. They do this for 15 minutes a day, gradually going through every forbidden object in the house, until the child knows what he can touch and what he cannot.

  What does this teach your child? Boundaries, respect for authority, and accountability.

  But just in case there are any future Darwin Award recipients reading this chapter, allow me to clarify: I still lock up my guns. I still put those little plastic covers on my electric outlets. I don’t leave the Skil saw plugged in.

  I home proof my child so that he doesn’t kill himself. You can child proof your home, but that becomes meaningless when you visit friends without children. Katie bar the door and it’s every man for himself, because the house is trashed! Breaking glass, chewed up knives, giant boogers in the microwave, dogs and cats sleeping together! It’s total bedlam! And all because you didn’t properly train your children.

  When it comes specifically to guns as a forbidden object, I think the NRA’s Eddie Eagle program is right on track. They take children and guns and boil it down to its most logical essence: “Stop! Don’t touch! Leave the area! Tell an adult!”

  My children have it memorized, and I quiz them on it often. Why is it necessary? Here’s a case in point:

  A friend of mine is a serious hunter as well as an avid gun collector. His house is both a museum and an arsenal. It has a nice ambience, and just thinking about it brings chills to my redneck, gun-totin’ body. I love it! But here’s one thing I don’t love. He leaves some of those guns lying around the house loaded and leaning up against walls. That’s an accident waiting to happen, and I’ve asked him to stop, but to no avail. Thankfully, my children have never touched any of them. They are prepared. I quiz/inoculate them like this:

  Once a month, I take my pistol out of its holster, unload it, double-check it, lock open the slide; then I lay it down on the dining room table. I then walk over to the kitchen and clean or make dinner. I wait until my kids notice it, then I watch them. Every time - without exception - they have run up to me and scolded, “Daddy! You left your gun on the table again!”

  I say, “Thank you, Sweetheart.” Then I walk over and put it back in my holster where it belongs, feeling safe and assured that my kids will do the right thing when I’m not around.

  Now, do I believe guns should be in schools? Of course I do! No thinking American would propose otherwise. Every teacher and principal who can safely and effectively use a firearm should be carrying in our schools. As Rush Limbaugh would facetiously say: “It’s for the chirldens.”

  You and I have charged the schools to keep our children safe and to teach them. One gun in the wrong hands can levy a multitude of evil upon innocent children. Conversely, one gun in the hands of a safe, responsible parent, teacher, or principal can literally save the lives of the ones least able to defend themselves. But I’ll argue that point further in a later chapter.

  For now, let’s just all try to get the NRA Eddie Eagle Gun Safety program into the elementary schools. Then we can get NRA marksmanship programs into high schools to teach them discipline and responsibility. I like that. It has a nice ring to it. Happy guns in happy schools! A safe gun, is a happy gun! Let’s all smile now as we reload and double-tap dead-center of exposed “bad-guy” mass.

  “100 yards down the road, the van skidded to a stop, turning sideways in the road, effectively blocking my path. I slowed to 20 miles per hour to give myself time to think. My pulse shot back up again. My hand was still held down steadily on the car horn, and my emergency flashers were still on. But there was no one around. I was on my own for this one.”

  Gutless, Yellow, Pie Slinger!

  I teach my students that once they strap on a firearm, they will never be able to fight again. That probably seems odd to you, so let me elaborate.

  When you carry a firearm for protection, you are also putting yourself in a potentially precarious position. As all police officers know, things have a way of escalating and getting out of hand. Any of you who have been through a nasty domestic experience or divorce also know that “things sometimes get out of control”. As William Butler Yeats, the famous Irish poet once said in his poem: “The Second Coming“

  “Turning and turning in the widening gyre

  The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

  Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;

  Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.”

  That phrase, “The Center cannot hold.” Is crux and core to all of human existence. Things just have a way of breaking down: washing machines, cars, houses, relationships, etc.; they all fall apart, if not given constant attention.

  When carrying a pistol, you must assume that every time you interact with another person there is potential for deadly conflict. Let me give you some good advice: Never argue. Never altercate. Never insult. There is no good that can come from it. Treat everyone you meet with the utmost dignity and respect, and most of your problems will be avoided. As always, the golden rule comes into play: “Do unto others, as you would have others do unto you.”

  I remember once, as a boy of 14, I was being bullied at school. I was looking for a way to protect myself. So I asked one of my neighbors, an adult I respect
ed, this question:

  “What is the best form of self defense?”

  His answer was immediate and unflinching:

  “A kind word.”

  I was very unhappy with that answer, so I disregarded his wisdom. Besides, I was fourteen. What did he know? He was just an adult anyway! Many times since then I have looked back and wished I had taken the man more seriously. It was some of the best advice I ever ignored.

  Since then, I have been in many arguments, fights, altercations, and disagreements. Call them what you want, but none of them were fun and no good ever came from them. In almost every case I should have just walked away.

  I remember several years ago, I was on my way into work at 4AM on a Saturday. The streets were deserted, and I was enjoying the solitude. I like thinking alone in my car. At the time, I was a single father, with custody of two children, and I valued my peace and quiet, though serenity was rare for me.

  But my peaceful introspection was not to last. About 5 miles from work, a white panel van came out of nowhere and got right up on my bumper and began to tailgate me, all the while flashing his lights and honking his horn.

  My first thought was: “Hmm, there must be something wrong with my car.” But I checked my gages, and they were fine. The car was driving well. There was no smoke, no odd sounds, no vibrations. I almost pulled over, but something inside prevented me. It just didn’t feel right.

  At that point, the van pulled up in the left lane beside me. The driver rolled down his electric window on the passenger side and began cursing at the top of his voice. There seemed to be no one else with him, but I couldn’t see in the back. I made a quick determination not to pull over, no matter what he did. Instead, I put on my emergency flashers, maintained a steady speed of 45 miles per hour and pressed down nonstop on my horn, trying to get someone else’s attention.

  I had no cell phone, and the streets were deserted. By now, my heart rate had increased, so I made a conscious effort to slow my breathing and my pulse. This helped some. I pulled my shirt up on my right side to gain easy access to my .40 caliber pistol, but I didn’t touch it or reveal it to him.

  After about ten seconds of honking and swearing, the man sped off. I was immediately relieved. My quick thinking had averted a potential crisis with a lunatic. But wait, 100 yards down the road, the van skidded to a stop, turning sideways in the road, effectively blocking my path. I slowed to 20 miles per hour to give myself time to think. My pulse shot back up again. My hand was still held down steadily on the car horn, and my emergency flashers were still on. But there was no one around. I was on my own for this one.

  As I approached the van, I saw the man get out and walk around the back to place himself between myself and his vehicle. I had two seconds to decide what to do.

  I slowed down a little bit more, then as I approached the van, I drove off the road, into the ditch, and around his vehicle. When I got back on the road, I accelerated to 45 miles per hour again. I glanced back in my rear-view mirror and saw the man run around to the driver’s side and get back in the van. He laid a patch of rubber, and within a few seconds was back, just a few feet from my bumper.

  He honked his horn again and continued flashing his lights. I stayed the course. A few seconds later, he pulled up beside me and continued to insult me with profanity in a very loud voice. I watched him as best I could while driving, just to make sure that no weapon was introduced. At this point, I was fearful but cognizant, and prepared for the possible use of deadly force. I struggled to control my breathing and lower my pulse rate throughout the entire altercation.

  The man stayed another 10 seconds or so, then he sped away and I never saw him again. I drove on into work, a bit shaken, but alive, and my life went on as it had before the incident.

  But I can’t help but wonder: What would have happened if I had pulled over? What if I had responded with anger instead of alertness? How many were in the van? Did he have a weapon? Why was he doing this?

  I will never know the answers to those questions. But at least I’m still alive to ponder them. I’m convinced that pulling over would have been the worst-possible plan of action. As it was, I drove away and carried on with my life. But if I had pulled over, the situation would have escalated. Yeats is right. “Things fall apart. The center cannot hold!”

  Best-case scenario: I would have killed that man. Worst-case scenario: he would have killed me. There was no good that could have come of it. That morning was a valuable lesson for me. Up until then, teaching NRA Personal Protection classes was just all theory and book learning, but that altercation enhanced my teaching, giving it flesh and blood and bone.

  I don’t get into fights. I don’t argue. I don’t gesture disparagingly, and I don’t antagonize or challenge unnecessarily. I avoid places where conflict is likely. I avoid crazy people. In my experience, when you let crazy people into your life, your life becomes crazy. I have no use for crazy.

  When someone insults me, I try to smile. A smile is confident and disarming. If I can say something witty to diffuse the situation, then I do so. If I can’t think of anything good to say, then I keep my mouth shut and walk away. It goes like this.

  “Hey, you ugly jerk!”

  “Have a nice day, sir.”

  I keep walking. Always keep walking. It may not seem like the most masculine or honorable thing to do, but it is the smartest response. It will save you thousands in legal fees, possible death or injury, and your life will go on undisturbed. If you stop, the situation will escalate, and no good will come of it.

  I’m reminded of Marty McFly in “Back to the Future III”. The town bully and gunslinger Buford “Mad Dog” Tannen, has just counted to ten and challenged Marty to a gun fight.

  “Ten! Did you hear me, runt? I said, that’s ten, you gutless, yellow pie slinger!”

  Marty looks around the saloon at all the people staring at him, pressuring him to walk outside the saloon and die.

  “He’s an asshole! I don’t care what Tannen says! And I don’t care what anybody else says either!”

  Marty McFly finally figured it out and so can you. Don’t fight. Don’t argue. Don’t insult. Just walk away.

  “Why should the law prevent us from protecting ourselves in our day care centers, our schools, our churches, and our sports arenas?”

  — Alan Cropsey, Michigan Senator and MCRGO Board of Directors —

  Pistol-free Insanity

  On April 20th, 1999, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold walked into the cafeteria at Columbine high school, at approximately 11:19AM. Another student heard Eric Harris yell “Go! Go!”

  According to transcripts, a call was received by the 911 operator at exactly 11:25:05 AM. Six precious minutes had already passed, and innocent students were already bleeding and dying.

  According to most timelines, the two boys were free to wander the school until 12:20 PM when they shot themselves. For over an hour, two crazy students, armed to the teeth, went from room to room, peering under tables and desks, looking for victims. And when they found someone, they simply shot them in cold blood – with impunity. They were very casual, unrushed, never worried about resistance, they simply killed as many as they could in the hour they had.

  In all, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold fired 188 shots, including 37 shotgun rounds and 151 9mm rounds, killing one teacher, 12 innocent students, and injuring 23 others. How did they do that? Why did no one stop them? How did they kill so many people?

  The answer is: “easy”. It was like shooting fish in a barrel, sheep in a pen; the students, faculty, and staff didn’t fight back; they were unarmed, both physically and mentally. They hid beneath desks, waiting for the police to come and rescue them. It didn’t happen. They died. Society’s promise had failed them. The promise of gun control was a lie. At this point, I’ll repeat the wisdom of Ted Nugent.

  “Let me get this straight: Running, crying, whimpering, and hiding under desks and pews? You mean to say that when an imbecile walks into a church, office, a day
care center, or school, stumbling about, almost zombie-like, with gun-filled hands at his side, blabbering incoherently to his next victim, the reaction of grown men and women is to run, cry, whimper, and hide under a desk or pew? The sheeping of America is nearly complete.”

  One marginal firearm in the hands of a teacher or administrator, even a janitor, could have saved many innocent lives, but it was not to be. Schools are a pistol-free zone, but, apparently, Dylan and Eric didn’t get the memo. They broke a total of twenty-one federal, state, and local laws just to procure the firearms they used in the shootings, then untold more laws were broken when they entered school property and went on their shooting rampage.

  It’s almost as if – dare I say it - they didn’t care about the law.

  Let’s get down to basics for a minute:

  Criminal – Noun – One who has committed a crime. Those two boys became criminals when they broke their first law, which was long before they entered school property. Criminals, by nature and by definition, have no regard for the law. They only care about getting caught, hurt, or killed.