WARNING! LONG READ!
Hello THR,
I wanted to post this story here about a man who had to draw his weapon.
I see quite a bit at times people asking others about their encounters and most of the time, no one answers because some feel that it is very personal. Which is very true.
I had asked "Shrute_Buck" if I can post this story here.
Shrute_Buck is his user name obviously. He did in fact give me permission to post it here as long as I gave credit to where credit is due.
What I have gathered is he is a Firearms Instructor and the firearm he was carrying was a Glock. Anyways, Here is the story. I also asked permission to edit out the profanity.
After your done reading this, I would like to read your thoughts on this particular story.
If possible, If the mods allow, I can post the link to the original forum but there is profanity in it. Well, Just two words but profanity none the less.
in case anyone wants to know, This was posted on a site known as " Reddit"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Responsible Armed Citizen as a Force for Good: Surviving My First Deadly Force Encounter
As a certified Concealed Carry Deadly Weapons instructor I have spent every day of the last 5 years training, preparing for, and desperately hoping to never have to face the ultimate decision. The decision to take the life of another human being is the most serious, brutal, and irreversible decision that a person can ever face. No matter how justified a shooting may be the survivor of that situation will forever know that some family is missing a loved one because of their actions. There is no happy ending for a deadly force encounter, only a terrible situation where you die, or a terrible situation where you survive. After 5 years of uneventful carry, on Friday September 14th, 2012 that decision fell to me.
The bulk of that day had passed as any other normal Friday. Per my usual routine I had closed the books on another week of work, picked up my niece from school, taken her to her home, and then headed to my parent’s house to check in on them. After spending a few hours with mom I had texted my wife to find out what our dinner plans were for the evening. She had homework to be dealt with and wasn’t really ready for food, so I decided to hang with mom on her front porch for a while longer. An hour later the wife finally alerted me that she was ready for food, and told me to come and pick her up. I had opened the gate to leave mom’s yard, but she had one more story from the week to share. The story ended, and I stood around for a bit, but by the time I started to leave again she had another story. Finally the wife texted again that she was hungry and so I prepared to leave again. As I said my goodbyes my ears finally filtered out the specifics of a noise I had been hearing from down the street, someone was having a very heated argument. I stood on my tip-toes and peered over the privacy fence, a few houses down the street my mom’s older brother was engaged in the early stages of a nasty argument. “Mom, it’s Mitchell down the street about to fight your neighbor!” I called out. Mom bolted out the gate intent on breaking up the fight, and my life took a turn for the frightening.
My uncle is a well-to-do local business man engaged in several financial ventures, one of which is purchasing run downs houses, fixing them up, and renting them out. He has a rough exterior, but a heart of gold, and more often than not hires a rough class of person with a sob story to work as hired hands on his remodeling projects. As I would later learn he had recently hired a parolee who had recently left prison after serving 18 years in Federal prison on a murder charge. The man had proven to be a very competent carpenter, but had a prescription pill addiction that had already begun to interfere with his work. On this particular week he had missed a couple of days work due to his addictions, but come pay day he was left confused as to why he was missing a couple days’ pay. My uncle had gone to his home, time sheet in hand, to explain the misunderstanding, but found his employee already intoxicated on a mixture of alcohol and pills, and extremely irate.
As mom and I half-ran down the street to meet the confrontation I already had 911 dialed on my cell-phone, with only the “Call” button standing between me and a police presence. Having cleared only half the distance I was already screaming “I’m calling the cops” in hopes that it would diffuse the situation. As already stated the other party was on parole, and his live-in girlfriend (my mother’s neighbor) has had enough police intervention in her life that she faces the loss of her children if the police are called to her house again. We were still far enough away to not really be able to hear what exactly was going on, but I had hopes that my cries had worked because the other party turned and ran into his house; I mentally thanked God that a confrontation had been avoided, and slowed my pace to a slightly less urgent one. My moment of joy was short lived, as the other party suddenly stormed out of his house and down the front porch steps with a baseball bat in hand. “<deleted>!” I exclaimed as I broke into a flat-out run. This situation now had my utmost attention as I was well aware of how far things could escalate from here. Both parties were still exchanging shouted insults and I hoped against hope that this was going to be nothing more than a macho display that never went anywhere.
I was about 10 feet away from the altercation when those hopes were dashed. My unarmed uncle and his armed attacker were standing about 5 feet away (well within striking distance for the attackers weapon of choice) and suddenly the assailant shifted his weight and drew back with the bat. It was clear from the stance that this was not a simple light blow, aiming for a hit to the body. This was a “Babe Ruth”, home-run, swing for the fences, and it was aimed right at my Uncle’s head. A million thoughts raced through my head as I took one last analysis of the situation. This attacker was fully prepared about half a second away from unleashing a deadly blow to my uncle’s head. It’s human nature to second guess one’s self before using deadly force, but I knew that I now faced the most important decision of my life. In that instant I knew that I was either about to draw my weapon, or see the insides of a man’s skull. I took a deep breath, mentally prepared myself for the terrible consequences I was about to face, and then the training kicked in. My hand dropped to the sub-compact Glock that I’ve carried at my wait for 5 years, and in a split second I found myself in a weaver stance. Everything faded away and the only 3 things in this universe were my front sight, rear sight, and this man’s chest. “Drop the bat <deleted>!” I shouted in a voice that was no longer even human. A mixture of adrenaline, absolute command, and plea filled my voice. I was fully prepared to end a life today if need be, but I really was begging this man to not make me kill him. All color drained from his face, and his eyes were fixed on the muzzle of my sidearm with an intensity I have never before seen. He very slowly, very deliberately, laid down his bat and slowly backed away from my uncle. With gallons of adrenaline flowing through my veins I found that I was acutely aware of every detail in that moment. Immediately to left were 3 more adult-sized individuals that had filed out of the attackers home. I spared a moment of my attention to evaluate them as a potential threat, but fortunately found them to be his middle-aged girlfriend and her 2 teenage sons. The assailant was now several feet removed from his weapon, and his girlfriend was screaming something about her kids.
I double-checked that my mother had finally managed to drag her brother into his truck, the attacker had removed himself from the situation, and that no one else presented an immediate threat. I finally lowered my weapon to my side (finger still indexed along the slide, as it remained throughout the entire situation), hit “Call” on my cell phone, and slowly backed across the street to put some distance between myself and the situation. Finally the 911 operator yelling “911, what is your emergency” cut through the adrenaline and I began the conversation. I explained that there was a fight at X address, and that one of the parties involved had a bat. She asked how many involved, and as I looked up to double-check I saw my uncle pull off in his truck. The assailants girlfriend was still screaming what I now realized was “I’ll lose my kids!”, but her boyfriend was had completely retreated from the situation. I told the officer that it appeared that the situation was broken up, and she asked if I still required police assistance. In an instant I weighed the situation, and told her that “No, I appear to have the situation under control”. She then terminated the call. Both the assailant and my uncle have criminal histories, and are both currently on parole. The situation was over, and even fully justified in my brandishing of a weapon I personally had no desire to spend my afternoon talking to the police. Having finally gotten rid of her brother, my mother rushed across the street, grabbed me by the arm, and headed back to her house. We had barely made it back to mom’s house when the 2 teenaged sons arrive there to make sure that the police were not coming. They attempted to explain what had happened, but I simply told them that I didn’t care what had happened, I wasn’t angry, and had no issues with any of them, but that I was simply not going to watch someone murder someone else with a ball bat. They said Ok, and took off to a relative’s house (mom had sent them away in case the cops did show). I made a quick call to let the wife know what had happened, and told her that I wasn’t sure if the cops were coming, but that I might be a while if they did. I then hung up, sank to my knees, and wept like broken hearted child. For the 30 or so seconds that the encounter lasted I was more in control of myself and my situation than I have ever been in my life. I was not afraid, and was completely prepared and capable to take up to 4 lives had anyone chosen to take the situation in that direction. I was not angry, as I knew that my uncle tends to find himself in bad situations, and at the very least had allowed that situation to get out of hand. I was upset because of the situation that I had just been forced into. That man had forced me into a moment where an inch and a half of finger travel and the 11lbs weight of the trigger spring in my Glock separated him from life and death. I had almost taken a life… I had known it would be hard, but I had no idea how traumatic that decision would be. By most accounts he is not a nice man, he has in the past killed someone, and his behavior since release has shown no desire to change his life. No matter how productive, or well lived, a life is a life and to end one is a decision not to be taken lightly.
For the rest of that night and the next day I was quiet to the point of stand-offish. That encounter was the only thing that anyone wanted to talk about, but talking was the furthest desire from my mind. I spent the first several hours endlessly replaying the events of the encounter. I second guessed and over analyzed my every movement. I ultimately found no fault in my handling of the situation, but by then my mind had moved on to other concerns. Other than the weight of the life and death situation the biggest weight upon my mind was honestly just how easy it had all been. I won’t say I was surprised, because I had spent years training for that moment, but it was still shocking at how easily each movement and decision involved in taking a life had come. In a matter of hours my hands hand gone from typing idly at a computer keyboard to wielding an instrument of death with a precision that only great familiarity could bring. A man always wonders if he might have what it takes to protect himself, but the moment when you irrevocably discover that a killer does live inside you is a traumatic moment and a discovery that can never be taken back. You find yourself staring into the mirror and trying to lie, but the fact is clear and unavoidable.
I was feeling pretty shook up about the whole thing until that Sunday, when something much unexpected happened. The assailant called my uncle to ask if there was any chance that he might not be fired after all that had happened. My uncle informed him that there were no hard feelings, but that it was probably best that they call it quits between them. The man then asked my uncle to please thank me for what I had done. He confessed that he been extremely intoxicated at the time it occurred, and fully prepared to murder my uncle. He admitted that I had not have intervened in that situation he would have in all likelihood have woken up in jail the next morning, likely to spend the rest of his life in jail, and not even have a clear memory of what had landed him in that terrible place. Straight from the horse’s mouth I had a declaration that my actions had saved 2 lives that day. Needless to say, I was bowled over. I fully expected my uncle’s gratitude for saving his life, but never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined being thanked by someone for almost taking their life. It was at that moment that I realized just how much potential the armed citizen had to be a force for good in their community. I also understood why Colonel Colt’s side arm had been called a “Peace Maker”.
As a gun club member, professional firearms instructor, and youth shooting sports coach you hear a lot of talk. A lot of gun guys like to talk about what they could or would do to an attacker. I’ve always been a little more philosophical and reserved about the whole matter and not much of a talker, but after that day I can’t even stand to hear people talk about the subject. Facing a life and death situation is like any other traumatic event; unless you’ve been there you can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like. I’m not put off of the cause, and I can honestly say that I’m more committed to concealed carry and my training responsibilities than even before. I’ve always tried to impress upon my students the gravity of the responsibility that they are assuming. But now I have a passion like never before with regards to instilling caution and responsibility into those who come to me for training. I know that sadly a lot of my students receive their state mandated 8 hours of training from me and never really train for a deadly force encounter ever again. I am now living proof that if you train properly and diligently that the training will not fail you in the moment of truth. Even when your mind wants to fall to pieces you will find your body going through the necessary motions to protect your life or that of another. I only hope that my story will inspire such diligence in the behavior of those that read it, and that maybe you’ll take a little time to consider and realize just how serious a responsibility you accept each time that you strap-on a gun.
Hello THR,
I wanted to post this story here about a man who had to draw his weapon.
I see quite a bit at times people asking others about their encounters and most of the time, no one answers because some feel that it is very personal. Which is very true.
I had asked "Shrute_Buck" if I can post this story here.
Shrute_Buck is his user name obviously. He did in fact give me permission to post it here as long as I gave credit to where credit is due.
What I have gathered is he is a Firearms Instructor and the firearm he was carrying was a Glock. Anyways, Here is the story. I also asked permission to edit out the profanity.
After your done reading this, I would like to read your thoughts on this particular story.
If possible, If the mods allow, I can post the link to the original forum but there is profanity in it. Well, Just two words but profanity none the less.
in case anyone wants to know, This was posted on a site known as " Reddit"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Responsible Armed Citizen as a Force for Good: Surviving My First Deadly Force Encounter
As a certified Concealed Carry Deadly Weapons instructor I have spent every day of the last 5 years training, preparing for, and desperately hoping to never have to face the ultimate decision. The decision to take the life of another human being is the most serious, brutal, and irreversible decision that a person can ever face. No matter how justified a shooting may be the survivor of that situation will forever know that some family is missing a loved one because of their actions. There is no happy ending for a deadly force encounter, only a terrible situation where you die, or a terrible situation where you survive. After 5 years of uneventful carry, on Friday September 14th, 2012 that decision fell to me.
The bulk of that day had passed as any other normal Friday. Per my usual routine I had closed the books on another week of work, picked up my niece from school, taken her to her home, and then headed to my parent’s house to check in on them. After spending a few hours with mom I had texted my wife to find out what our dinner plans were for the evening. She had homework to be dealt with and wasn’t really ready for food, so I decided to hang with mom on her front porch for a while longer. An hour later the wife finally alerted me that she was ready for food, and told me to come and pick her up. I had opened the gate to leave mom’s yard, but she had one more story from the week to share. The story ended, and I stood around for a bit, but by the time I started to leave again she had another story. Finally the wife texted again that she was hungry and so I prepared to leave again. As I said my goodbyes my ears finally filtered out the specifics of a noise I had been hearing from down the street, someone was having a very heated argument. I stood on my tip-toes and peered over the privacy fence, a few houses down the street my mom’s older brother was engaged in the early stages of a nasty argument. “Mom, it’s Mitchell down the street about to fight your neighbor!” I called out. Mom bolted out the gate intent on breaking up the fight, and my life took a turn for the frightening.
My uncle is a well-to-do local business man engaged in several financial ventures, one of which is purchasing run downs houses, fixing them up, and renting them out. He has a rough exterior, but a heart of gold, and more often than not hires a rough class of person with a sob story to work as hired hands on his remodeling projects. As I would later learn he had recently hired a parolee who had recently left prison after serving 18 years in Federal prison on a murder charge. The man had proven to be a very competent carpenter, but had a prescription pill addiction that had already begun to interfere with his work. On this particular week he had missed a couple of days work due to his addictions, but come pay day he was left confused as to why he was missing a couple days’ pay. My uncle had gone to his home, time sheet in hand, to explain the misunderstanding, but found his employee already intoxicated on a mixture of alcohol and pills, and extremely irate.
As mom and I half-ran down the street to meet the confrontation I already had 911 dialed on my cell-phone, with only the “Call” button standing between me and a police presence. Having cleared only half the distance I was already screaming “I’m calling the cops” in hopes that it would diffuse the situation. As already stated the other party was on parole, and his live-in girlfriend (my mother’s neighbor) has had enough police intervention in her life that she faces the loss of her children if the police are called to her house again. We were still far enough away to not really be able to hear what exactly was going on, but I had hopes that my cries had worked because the other party turned and ran into his house; I mentally thanked God that a confrontation had been avoided, and slowed my pace to a slightly less urgent one. My moment of joy was short lived, as the other party suddenly stormed out of his house and down the front porch steps with a baseball bat in hand. “<deleted>!” I exclaimed as I broke into a flat-out run. This situation now had my utmost attention as I was well aware of how far things could escalate from here. Both parties were still exchanging shouted insults and I hoped against hope that this was going to be nothing more than a macho display that never went anywhere.
I was about 10 feet away from the altercation when those hopes were dashed. My unarmed uncle and his armed attacker were standing about 5 feet away (well within striking distance for the attackers weapon of choice) and suddenly the assailant shifted his weight and drew back with the bat. It was clear from the stance that this was not a simple light blow, aiming for a hit to the body. This was a “Babe Ruth”, home-run, swing for the fences, and it was aimed right at my Uncle’s head. A million thoughts raced through my head as I took one last analysis of the situation. This attacker was fully prepared about half a second away from unleashing a deadly blow to my uncle’s head. It’s human nature to second guess one’s self before using deadly force, but I knew that I now faced the most important decision of my life. In that instant I knew that I was either about to draw my weapon, or see the insides of a man’s skull. I took a deep breath, mentally prepared myself for the terrible consequences I was about to face, and then the training kicked in. My hand dropped to the sub-compact Glock that I’ve carried at my wait for 5 years, and in a split second I found myself in a weaver stance. Everything faded away and the only 3 things in this universe were my front sight, rear sight, and this man’s chest. “Drop the bat <deleted>!” I shouted in a voice that was no longer even human. A mixture of adrenaline, absolute command, and plea filled my voice. I was fully prepared to end a life today if need be, but I really was begging this man to not make me kill him. All color drained from his face, and his eyes were fixed on the muzzle of my sidearm with an intensity I have never before seen. He very slowly, very deliberately, laid down his bat and slowly backed away from my uncle. With gallons of adrenaline flowing through my veins I found that I was acutely aware of every detail in that moment. Immediately to left were 3 more adult-sized individuals that had filed out of the attackers home. I spared a moment of my attention to evaluate them as a potential threat, but fortunately found them to be his middle-aged girlfriend and her 2 teenage sons. The assailant was now several feet removed from his weapon, and his girlfriend was screaming something about her kids.
I double-checked that my mother had finally managed to drag her brother into his truck, the attacker had removed himself from the situation, and that no one else presented an immediate threat. I finally lowered my weapon to my side (finger still indexed along the slide, as it remained throughout the entire situation), hit “Call” on my cell phone, and slowly backed across the street to put some distance between myself and the situation. Finally the 911 operator yelling “911, what is your emergency” cut through the adrenaline and I began the conversation. I explained that there was a fight at X address, and that one of the parties involved had a bat. She asked how many involved, and as I looked up to double-check I saw my uncle pull off in his truck. The assailants girlfriend was still screaming what I now realized was “I’ll lose my kids!”, but her boyfriend was had completely retreated from the situation. I told the officer that it appeared that the situation was broken up, and she asked if I still required police assistance. In an instant I weighed the situation, and told her that “No, I appear to have the situation under control”. She then terminated the call. Both the assailant and my uncle have criminal histories, and are both currently on parole. The situation was over, and even fully justified in my brandishing of a weapon I personally had no desire to spend my afternoon talking to the police. Having finally gotten rid of her brother, my mother rushed across the street, grabbed me by the arm, and headed back to her house. We had barely made it back to mom’s house when the 2 teenaged sons arrive there to make sure that the police were not coming. They attempted to explain what had happened, but I simply told them that I didn’t care what had happened, I wasn’t angry, and had no issues with any of them, but that I was simply not going to watch someone murder someone else with a ball bat. They said Ok, and took off to a relative’s house (mom had sent them away in case the cops did show). I made a quick call to let the wife know what had happened, and told her that I wasn’t sure if the cops were coming, but that I might be a while if they did. I then hung up, sank to my knees, and wept like broken hearted child. For the 30 or so seconds that the encounter lasted I was more in control of myself and my situation than I have ever been in my life. I was not afraid, and was completely prepared and capable to take up to 4 lives had anyone chosen to take the situation in that direction. I was not angry, as I knew that my uncle tends to find himself in bad situations, and at the very least had allowed that situation to get out of hand. I was upset because of the situation that I had just been forced into. That man had forced me into a moment where an inch and a half of finger travel and the 11lbs weight of the trigger spring in my Glock separated him from life and death. I had almost taken a life… I had known it would be hard, but I had no idea how traumatic that decision would be. By most accounts he is not a nice man, he has in the past killed someone, and his behavior since release has shown no desire to change his life. No matter how productive, or well lived, a life is a life and to end one is a decision not to be taken lightly.
For the rest of that night and the next day I was quiet to the point of stand-offish. That encounter was the only thing that anyone wanted to talk about, but talking was the furthest desire from my mind. I spent the first several hours endlessly replaying the events of the encounter. I second guessed and over analyzed my every movement. I ultimately found no fault in my handling of the situation, but by then my mind had moved on to other concerns. Other than the weight of the life and death situation the biggest weight upon my mind was honestly just how easy it had all been. I won’t say I was surprised, because I had spent years training for that moment, but it was still shocking at how easily each movement and decision involved in taking a life had come. In a matter of hours my hands hand gone from typing idly at a computer keyboard to wielding an instrument of death with a precision that only great familiarity could bring. A man always wonders if he might have what it takes to protect himself, but the moment when you irrevocably discover that a killer does live inside you is a traumatic moment and a discovery that can never be taken back. You find yourself staring into the mirror and trying to lie, but the fact is clear and unavoidable.
I was feeling pretty shook up about the whole thing until that Sunday, when something much unexpected happened. The assailant called my uncle to ask if there was any chance that he might not be fired after all that had happened. My uncle informed him that there were no hard feelings, but that it was probably best that they call it quits between them. The man then asked my uncle to please thank me for what I had done. He confessed that he been extremely intoxicated at the time it occurred, and fully prepared to murder my uncle. He admitted that I had not have intervened in that situation he would have in all likelihood have woken up in jail the next morning, likely to spend the rest of his life in jail, and not even have a clear memory of what had landed him in that terrible place. Straight from the horse’s mouth I had a declaration that my actions had saved 2 lives that day. Needless to say, I was bowled over. I fully expected my uncle’s gratitude for saving his life, but never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined being thanked by someone for almost taking their life. It was at that moment that I realized just how much potential the armed citizen had to be a force for good in their community. I also understood why Colonel Colt’s side arm had been called a “Peace Maker”.
As a gun club member, professional firearms instructor, and youth shooting sports coach you hear a lot of talk. A lot of gun guys like to talk about what they could or would do to an attacker. I’ve always been a little more philosophical and reserved about the whole matter and not much of a talker, but after that day I can’t even stand to hear people talk about the subject. Facing a life and death situation is like any other traumatic event; unless you’ve been there you can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like. I’m not put off of the cause, and I can honestly say that I’m more committed to concealed carry and my training responsibilities than even before. I’ve always tried to impress upon my students the gravity of the responsibility that they are assuming. But now I have a passion like never before with regards to instilling caution and responsibility into those who come to me for training. I know that sadly a lot of my students receive their state mandated 8 hours of training from me and never really train for a deadly force encounter ever again. I am now living proof that if you train properly and diligently that the training will not fail you in the moment of truth. Even when your mind wants to fall to pieces you will find your body going through the necessary motions to protect your life or that of another. I only hope that my story will inspire such diligence in the behavior of those that read it, and that maybe you’ll take a little time to consider and realize just how serious a responsibility you accept each time that you strap-on a gun.
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