Why I carry guns when I hike and camp

It was many years ago, probably around this time of year, when two friends and I decided to go camping at a remote National Forest campsite up in the Great North Woods. For whatever reason, We had it all to ourselves. No one else was there.

We'd had a good day hiking and fishing and as night fell, we'd just built a fire on which to cook dinner when three men walked into the campsite. They came right up to the fire and told us that we were on their land and had to leave. They were also armed, each having either a pistol or a long gun.

Of course we were nice, friendly city guys, so we politely told them that they were mistaken, as this was a National Forest site in a National Forest. And when one of the men repeated that this was their area, my friend even offered to get the map out and show them the no-doubt inadvertent error of their thinking.

That's when one of the men put his hand on his pistol and said that he didn't care what any map or campsite sign said, this was their territory, and it we weren't gone in half an hour, we wouldn't be leaving at all. With that pronouncement, the three of them turned and left.

We mulled that threat over for about seven seconds, then we doused the fire, loaded our gear back on the truck, and abandoned the campsite. After all, they had real guns and our only armament consisted of an old .22 rifle that one friend had brought along for casual plinking.

We ran into town and stopped at the local sheriff's office. Coincidentally, a deputy and the state DNR officer were both there. We told them what had just happened, and they looked none too surprised. This had apparently happened before. They told us that we'd likely run into either poachers or dope growers, that there were both in the area, and that we'd done the right thing by leaving quickly. We suggested that they go up and catch these guys, since we knew roughly where they were, and the officers told us--no doubt accurately--that they'd never be able to find those guys in the dark forest. They also told us that we were lucky that the bad guys had only decided to scare us off.

We drove all the way back home that night, aware of the fact that we were only alive because those three rednecks had decided not to kill us. And we swore "never again".

Immediately thereafter, I began carrying my Springfield Armory 1911 into the field with me. It gave me a bit more comfort, especially when camping alone at night, but it lacked range to engage targets a bit further out, and the seven-round magazines weren't exactly what I considered to be optimum at that time. So I did exactly what the US Army did in World War Two--I supplemented (or sometimes replaced) the 1911 with this M1 carbine made by General Motors' Inland Division.This little carbine gave me a bit more firepower and range, and at only 5.5 lbs., it wasn't much of a weight penalty on a backpacking trip. Of course back when I bought this little critter, they were only about $129.00 and you could get them at stores like Woolworth's. Yes, that was the good old days, pre-Bill Clinton. And I loved to hike the back country with that little carbine. I always carried plenty of ammo and had a lot of fun plinking at targets of opportunity in areas where I could legally fire it and when it was safe to do so.

Eventually the M1 carbine was itself replaced, this time by a lightweight Bushmaster AR-15 rifle that I personally built with a collapsible stock and 16" barrel. This was a custom job back then, as the M-4 rifle hadn't been adopted by the US military back then and the short carbines really hadn't caught on with law enforcement or civilian shooters yet. I carted this around for a bit, fully confident in it's ability to handle whatever needed handling, but never entirely comfortable with the image that it projected to others that I met on the trails. Firepower is nice, but I wasn't going to war. So eventually I switched again, this time to a lever-action .357 Magnum rifle, usually paired up with my Smith and Wesson .357 Model 66 revolver. I spent a whole summer hiking the Rockies in Colorado carrying this pair, and it was nice knowing that the compatibility between them allowed my to cheaply plink or shoot to save my life with either gun without having to worry about which rounds went to which one. The pistol was good for closer in, and the rifle's longer barrel gave me increased range, accuracy and knock-down power if and when I needed it.

I stupidly sold the rifle a few years back when I needed the money--and I've regretted it ever since--but I still have the revolver and it will never be sold. This one accompanies me on hikes regularly these days, or sometimes just into town when I have to go to the store. I know that I can trust it, and it packs sufficient punch to end almost any problem. And now when I go afield with a pack, I tend to tote a rather shopworn but trusty Winchester Model 94 .30-30...pre 1964, or course. It's light, compact, and reaches out just as well as any of the more modern-looking rifles, but without the "assault rifle" or "Rambo" image. This is a working rifle but one that non-gun people tend to associate with cowboys like John Wayne, Henry Fonda or Chuck Connors--it doesn't alarm people or make them uncomfortable. It's also a lot cheaper than an AR-15 is these days even though it fulfills the same role comparably. Like I said, I'm not looking to take on a whole band of terrorists--I'm more concerned these days with wild animals like mountain lions or bear. Of course if Bubba and his banjo-picking cousins want a go, or Juan and his illegal-alien dope-grower crew take issue with my presence, they're quite liable to learn that it's not the rifle that matters as much as it is the rifleman. I don't look for trouble when I hike the back country, but if it finds me, it'll find me ready and capable and equipped with the tools I need to do the job.

And of course Lagniappe says: "Don't forget your best hiking friend!"

Another day, another run

So today, since it was finally not stupidly humid, I went for another six-mile run in the District of Columbia.

This time, I parked on Hains Point and ran east over the Washington Channel, then down onto Maine Avenue. I followed this along the river to historic Fort McNair, an active military post since 1791 (third oldest military post in America) and now home to one of the military’s premier educational centers, the National Defense University.

I ran up to the main gate at 3rd and P streets, NW and asked if I could enter and run on post. After they checked my credentials, I was granted access and allowed to run on this beautiful campus where most of the impeccably-maintained buildings are over a hundred years old.

Fort McNair was originally provided for as a defensive point when the District of Columbia was platted out by Pierre L'Enfant. It was first known as the Washington Arsenal and used to manufacture armaments and cartridges, and while it played no role in any fighting, it was nonetheless the center of two notable incidents in it's early days.

The first came in 1814 when the damnable British invaded and set about to destroy our Capitol. The arsenal had been hurriedly evacuated, and a large stock of gunpowder that could not be hauled off in time was hidden in a nearby well. An overly-curious (or careless) Brit tossed a match down the well and the resulting explosion killed 30 men and some officers and wounded a bunch more. (Cue Nelson Muntz: "HA-HA!")

The second was similar in nature but considerably more tragic as the victims were 21 women working in the cartridge factory on June 17, 1864. They were killed when an open spark touched off some munitions and demolished the building. President Abraham Lincoln himself took a place in their funeral procession, which numbered over 150 carriages as it wound through the District.

A prison was also established here, and the conspirators in the Lincoln assassination were locked up there prior to their executions, including Mary Surratt, the first woman ever executed by federal order.

Also noteworthy is the fact that he post was also home to a hospital where Major Walter Reed did much of his work on malaria. The District's surrounding swamps were reportedly perfect for his study.

Lots of history here, and a beautiful campus that's virtually free of automobiles. I like it.

I then ran back north along the channel, looking at all of the nice boats in the marina there. I could not, of course, help but notice the number of live-aboard boats that had beautiful women lounging around on them. Obviously I'm doing something wrong here. Why don't I own a nice boat where Lagniappe can bask in the sun all day, joined by my pet redhead when she's done with the cooking and cleaning and such? I'm clearly in the wrong line of work.

Ode to Senator Kennedy

I really wasn't going to go here since everyone else on the internet is already writing about the passing of Ted Kennedy, but I changed my mind and will write a few words simply because everyone else is doing it. Like the death of Michael Jackson, this is becoming an event that is part circus and part train-wreck, and no one can look away no matter how badly they want to.

First of all, I do want to extend my sincerest sympathy to the Kennedy family and close friends. a death is still a death, and it's hard for those left behind.

That said however, I never had any reason to agree with Edward Kennedy politically. Be it military spending, government spending in general, the nuclear freeze, tax cuts, immigration, or almost any other issue important to me and most Americans who understand what this country is supposed to be about, was always on the wrong side of the issue. He tirelessly championed on behalf of illegal aliens, welfare recipients and union fatcats, but only when he could give them things that the rest of us would have to pay for. In fact, Ted Kennedy will never be remembered for his personal charitable giving; he only gave freely when it was our money in his hand. In fact, anything that the people wanted was irrelevant if it came at a cost to him. Take, for example, the time that his neighbours and constituents fought to get a wind farm built off-shore in Nantucket Sound to break the area’s dependence on coal-fired power plants. The project ultimately succeeded but it did so not with the help of Ted Kennedy but in spite of his opposition. He and the rest of the Kennedy clan fought it and worked hard to scuttle it despite overwhelming public demand because it would have been built in an area where the Kennedy family liked to go sailing and yachting. Talk about bourgeois.

Politically, he was the anti-Reagan. He fought to put government in charge of everything and worked to eliminate concepts like self-reliance, personal responsibility, and any stigma associated with being a worthless welfare recipient.

Beyond that, I also cannot forget that it was he who destroyed the integrity that used to surround judicial appointments to the Supreme Court and other federal courts by politicizing the hearings and attacking Judge Bork personally in an effort to keep that highly-qualified jurist off of the Court for purely partisan reasons. That outrageous conduct by Kennedy changed the very nature of the nominating process and it's become the norm today. Supreme Court nominations have never been the same since, and we now get second-tier justices like Sotomayor as a result. Thanks, Senator Kennedy. He was also slanderously vicious towards other fine Americans, notably President Reagan, Ed Meese, and Lt. Col. Oliver North. Kennedy, when he had a microphone in front of him and a political target in sight, was seldom nice or kind.

And politics aside, I can't help but remember him as a guy who had no personal sense of ethics.

--He got caught cheating at Harvard, and was subsequently expelled.

--He ran away from a drowning girl and left her to die in his car while he hid for ten hours without even calling 911 because saving his political career mattered more.

--He staggered drunkenly around a Palm Beach estate with his pants around his ankles and now-Rep. Patrick Kennedy in tow as his nephew William raped a woman there.

I'm sorry, but the guy was not Mother Teresa, nor was he Ghandi. He was just a man, and deep down, not a very good one. And had his last name been “Smith” or “Jones” or anything besides “Kennedy”, odds are good that his public career would have ended in a jail sentence long ago. I can’t lie and say that I’ll miss him because I think that he did a lot more harm than good. 47 years was way too long for him to run amuck in the Senate the way that he did. It's also notable that in all that time, his colleagues never saw fit to nominate him to any substantial leadership post. Kind of tells us what those who knew him best really thought of him, doesn't it?

If there’s any justice in the next world, when Ted Kennedy gets to the pearly gates, he’ll find that St. Peter has gone to lunch and Mary Jo Kopechne is filling in for him.

Democratic Party HQ in Denver vandalized...by A DEMOCRAT!

The Democratic Party's Denver office was attacked by two vandals last night. The two reportedly covered their faces before shattering several windows with hammers and riding away on bicycles. Behind those windows were posters depicting Barack Obama and calling for support of his health care scheme.

Naturally there was immediate outrage among local Democrats when the story broke, and Republicans, Conservatives and anyone else opposed to Barack Obama's health care scheme were blamed and condemned for it.

Unluckily for the Democrats however, the police quickly snarfed up one of the vandals, and it turned out to be a committed leftist (read: "Democrat") by the name of Maurice Schwenkler. And who is Maurice Schwenkler, you ask? Well according to news reports, he's a paid activist for a so-called "Progressive" (read: "Democrat") front group called the Colorado Citizens Coalition, an organization that lobbied for Barack Obama's health care scheme.

Reichstag Fire, anyone? It sure looks like the extreme left has been caught red-handed trying to gin up support for their cause and discredit anyone who opposes them by attacking their own building and crying "victim". I'm guessing that they didn't expect Denver's Finest to be on the ball, but alas, DPD snared the alleged malefactor and darn the bad luck, but it's one of the Dems' own!

This is apparently what we can expect from Obama's crowd, folks. They'll attack us and call us names for disagreeing, and then they'll attack themselves and blame us...all because they can't convince a majority of Americans to go along with any more of their attempts to grab more control of the private sector and spend more money.

Good job, Denver Police. But for you guys, they might have gotten away with this.

UPDATE: More to come on this. Denver Police reportedly have Schwenkler's accomplice in custody now, too.

UPDATE #2: No one else in custody now, but it turns out that Schwenkler is a shemale and radical gay activist. It's friends are trying to raise bail money and they beg--publicly--for people to not call the jail and "out" Schwenkler as a guy who thinks he's a gal. As if making that request publicly isn't going to do that...do those retards think that jail inmates don't watch TV, listen to the radio, talk to family or see newspapers? Come on now...

Oh--and BTW...the number for the jail is 720-913-3600. BWAHAHAHA!

What's the real deal with "pop-up" ads?

Serious question here.

Lately it seems that every time I go to certain on-line news websites, as soon as the page opens, so does a "pop-up" ad for some stupid product or service, usually in a location that prevents me from reading the story that I wanted to read, and sometimes even following the text as I try to scroll away from it.

This is easily one of the most annoying aspects of the internet, even coming in ahead of the ads that open other windows on my screen and force me to take the time to delete them every now and again.

So my question goes out to the businesses that hire the firms that create and place the pop-up ads: Do you idiots really expect me or anyone else to buy shit from you after you've stepped uninvited in between me and something that I wanted to read and basically put your hand over what I was trying to see until a clock runs down or i click on the "close" tab? I mean, think about it... You do about the rudest, most invasive thing that can be done over the internet, and you think that it's somehow going to make the people that you're screwing with want to give you money? Hell, the only reason that I do not use Netflix is because they were one of the first companies to hit me with unsolicited pop-up ads and also one of the most frequent invaders of my computer via their malicious adware. I would definitely have been a customer of theirs had they not done this, but not now...not until their damned ads quit popping up on my computer screen and I forget how much that they've annoyed me. Trust me--that sort of thing does not endear me to a company or make me want to patronize them.

Bottom line, advertisers...my computer is MINE. When you use invasive computer programs to put your advertising into it against my wishes, or when you put your stupid ads up on some page that I want to see and make me wait, I may be unable to punch your CEO in the face but I can definitely retaliate by not buying your product and I will do so on principle even if I otherwise like what you're offering.

Join the militia? Me?

So the other day, I get a comment submitted to the site expressing some positive feedback and inviting me to check out the website of the militia group that the poster belongs to. The poster also suggested that I consider joining.

Now as flattered as I am, I have to assume that he hasn't read my previous postings regarding militias and militia members. But since the request was polite and didn't scream “lunatic” like many of the comments that I've gotten from members of the militia movement in the past, I took a look at their website, first by myself and then a bit later with Nicki, herself a former member of the United States Armed Forces.

We basically decided that they seem like a harmless and essentially well-intentioned bunch as they model their store-bought camouflage and Load-Bearing Equipment (LBE) and discuss the relative attributes of their armaments, much of which appears to be foreign WW2-surplus that fires obsolete ammunition. They also post pictures of their “survival” or “Bug Out Vehicles”, many of which seem to be 1980's-vintage Chevrolet Suburbans or even older pick-up trucks, most of which get about 6 miles to the gallon and all of which undoubtedly have way too many miles and years on them to be even marginally reliable in a crisis. They also talk about “patrolling” their neighborhoods and preparing to do battle with terrorists and looters.

But seriously—if it's how these guys have fun, who am I to judge? I personally don't subscribe to the “militia” mindset or dream of the day when I will spot a “terrorist” somewhere—no doubt decked out in traditional islamist garb and carrying an AK-47 and a bomb as he skulks down the street—but I'm all about self-sufficiency and preparation for bad times, and I'm a firm advocate in fitness and relevant skills training of all sorts for practically everyone, so I applaud these guys for at least going that far. And to their further credit, I was unable to find any obvious anti-government or anti-law-enforcement stuff on their website, unlike on most militia websites and even most “mainstream” gun-related forums that I've seen.

Eventually I marked them “mostly harmless” and went on about my business, intending on just letting it pass. But then last night I saw another comment posted here. This one said that the poster agreed that BATFE is doing right by enforcing laws against gun criminals who supply guys to the drug cartels but believes that regular citizens should be able to enforce those laws too and that his group “actively works with local police forces and some of which support us. [sic]” He then went on to challenge me to stop by and check their site out “if you really are as patriotic as you say.”

Ah. So now unless I go back and look at their site some more, I'm not patriotic. Well to be fair, that didn't really spur me to any further review of their site or motivate me to join their group, but the claim that they allegedly work with local police forces (some of which supposedly support them) caused me to loudly call “BS”. I can guarantee you that there is not a police department anywhere in this country whose chief has ever said “Hey, I think that I'll grant law enforcement authority to Bob's Militia so that they can cruise around in their old Suburbans all decked out like extras from a straight-to-video war movie and arrest people.”

Sorry guys. It's never happened in America and it never will happen. Not ever.

Reading their website, it's obvious that they dream of taking on law enforcement functions and battling terrorists and other criminals here in America because they believe that somehow, they are more “legitimate” in this role than our regular and reserve military forces who, last I checked, were all better trained and equipped and just as patriotic as anyone.

OK, that bit of silliness aside, I do commend their desire to do something helpful in the time of crisis. However I think that they should probably devote their time and efforts into volunteering in a meaningful capacity, perhaps by joining an outfit like the Red Cross or some similar established disaster-response outfit. Yes I know that handing out bottled water and food to refugees is a lot less glamorous that sauntering around with an old rifle and pretending to be The Law, but it's actually realistic, and to be fair, it's exactly what the National Guard and Army Reserve units that were sent to Louisiana in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina did.

Fact is, in any sort of calamity requiring a large-scale assistance effort, law enforcement will be handled by the Guard's military police units and by local agencies with their sworn personnel and reserves, bolstered by other sworn law enforcement officers from other jurisdictions if need be, just as we saw taking place during Katrina. You'll notice that during Katrina, police officers from all over the country were brought in to help but at no time did anyone at FEMA or in the Louisiana government ever get on the phone and ring up Thibodeux's Militia to see if a few guys who had no training and hadn't undergone any sort of background check might be available to run around New Orleans with rifles as a substitute for the real police. Sorry guys. I know that you're expecting to be asked/begged/allowed to do this the next time that a major catastrophe happens but you won't be.

So that said, I would suggest that if you really want to be part of the solution the next time help is needed, that you contact the Red Cross or some similar disaster preparedness group and ask them how you can help. Drop this idea that you're going to step in as some sort of armed paramilitary outfit and operate autonomously with police powers. That's not going to happen. If you really want to be the police or the military, then go through a police academy and join a real police department, or enlist. But if that's not an option, then you're pretty much restricted to helping the existing emergency groups in an unarmed capacity. It may not be as “cool” in your eyes, but it's still important and badly needed, and if you're really serious about wanting to help your communities and your fellow citizens, you'll sign on and start training with your local emergency preparedness organizations. Heck, you might even find that it's more satisfying and fun than playing toy solider.

Bedwetting liberal travel writer won't go to Arizona any more

Say it ain't so!

Arthur Frommer, some travel writer that I admittedly have never heard of before, now says that he won't go to Arizona any longer because that state allows people to (Gasp!) carry guns in public and he fears that he might get killed.

Yeah, ok. Whatever. Apparently he's not noticed the massive disparity in violent crime rates between Arizona and other places where law-abiding citizens can carry guns and places like New York City--his own chosen city of residence--where law-abiding citizens are disarmed by law and the criminal class has a monopoly on the use of force. Of course anyone who reads his column will figure out that his proposed boycott has more to do with his slavish devotion to Barack Obama than anything else, but still...

So he boycotts Arizona. I'm sure that the people of Arizona are all heartbroken that he won't be visiting them any time soon. That's gotta be like finding out that Pee Wee Herman and Richard Simmons can't make your Super Bowl party.

Fuck Aurthur Frommer. and same goes for his travel business. Personally I would have a hard time trusting the recommendations of some old guy who really thinks that I and my family (and dog) would actually be safer in Central Park after dark than on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.

Of dogs and Uzis

So since it's Saturday, Lagniappe and I spent the morning watching westerns on TV. This time, we watched Warlock, a 1959 movie starring Henry Fonda, Anthony Quinn, and one of my favorites, Richard Widmark.(It also stars DeForrest Kelly of later Star Trek fame, and Frank Gorshin had a small, uncredited part as well.) The story was about a reformed outlaw turned deputy and a Marshal and his sidekick who cleaned up a rough frontier town.

I asked Lagniappe if he could clean up a whole town like they did, and he replied that he certainly could, and all by himself, too. He said that he wouldn't even need any help. I asked him how he'd take on all of those armed cowboys all by himself and he ran off and reappeared a minute later.

"With this," he replied.

Great. The dog's got an Uzi.

But then I pointed out that he couldn't possibly do it all by himself even with that.

Of course he wanted to know why. So then I had to point out that he has no thumbs and cannot possibly reload the magazines.

Poor dog.

He went to put it back in the safe.

"But my having it at least means that Arthur Frommer won't be stopping by, right?"

Smart dog got himself a pig ear for that one. (How do you say no to a dog with an Uzi, anyway?) And all was right at Lagniappe's Lair again.

Great job, ATF!

Associated Press - August 20, 2009 7:45 PM ET

McALLEN, Texas (AP) - A Starr County woman who bought 25 guns, at least 1 of which was recovered at the scene of a shootout in Cancun, Mexico, has been sentenced to more than three years in prison.

Mireya Rivera Juarez, 44, of Roma, bought military-style assault rifles and pistols at various stores in South Texas in 2007 and 2008 that she would later exchange for money with a man she only knew as "El Mano." Federal investigators have been going after so-called "straw buyers" to rein in the traffic of guns to Mexico's drug cartels.

U.S. District Judge Randy Crane said Thursday he could not believe that Rivera was unaware that the shady gun buys were illegal and likely fueling Mexico's drug war.

Great job, ATF! Contrary to what the internet paranoids think, BATFE does not just sit around trying to fabricate cases against law-abiding citizens just to bolster their arrest stats. No, they really spend much of their time investigating violent crimes linked to gun trafficking and cutting off the supply of guns to the real bad guys.

In this case, just one of many like it that they're routinely making, a criminal had put at least twenty five guns into the hands of other criminals, and while one of those guns wound up in Mexico, we really have no idea where the others went or will end up. Maybe they'll end up in the hands of other drug cartel assassins or maybe they'll be used to shoot at American law enforcement officers of even average American citizens in our border towns. We really have no way of knowing.

That aside, with the shortage of fine firearms in America today thanks to the Obamaniacs who are trying to keep you and me from buying them, the last thing that I want to see is shipments of our nice guns going out of the country.

So since I try to give credit where it's due, I wanted to applaud the hard-working investigators and special agents of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (BATFE). I know that you guys are hated by a lot of the nut fringe out there because you are charged with enforcing the gun laws that Congress passes, but this proud American gun owner and his dog know that many of you are as pro-gun and pro-freedom as anyone and that your focus is really on the hard-core criminal element, not us law-abiding gun owners. Kudos, and keep up the good work.

A hero recieves his due once more

Well it's good to see that American hero Danny Dietz is still recieving recognition in his hometown for his selfless sacrifice in Afgahnistan.

Long-time readers here may recall my earlier story about the attempt by local members of the VFW to place a statue honoring Dietz in a city park only to have anti-war, anti-gun and anti-American fruitbats like Emily Cassidy and Linda Cuesta start protesting it and circulating flyers and petitions in opposition because they thought that the statue glorified war and guns.

Fortunately the lemon-suckers lost their fight and that statue was placed and dedicated before a large crowd of patriotic Americans, including members of the military and the Dietz family.

LITTLETON, Colo.—State officials and family members of slain Colorado Navy SEAL Danny Dietz will help dedicate a stretch of South Santa Fe Drive in the commando's honor.
The ceremony was planned for 10 a.m. Tuesday at Vanderbilt Park, North of Mississippi Avenue. The stretch of Santa Fe Drive from the intersection with Interstate 25 to C-470 will be named Petty Officer Danny Dietz Memorial Highway.

Dietz grew up in Littleton and graduated from Heritage High School in 1999. He was killed in 2005 in Afghanistan in a gun battle with Taliban forces when his unit was ambushed.

The military says Dietz fought off attackers for more than 45 minutes, allowing one of his team members to escape. He was posthumously awarded the Navy Cross, the Navy's second-highest medal.

If I had my way, those who have attacked and undermined our war effort and vilified our soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines abroad would be forever barred from driving or riding on the section of roadway. And I would specifically bar Emily Cassidy, Linda Cuesta, John Murtha, and any past or present member or supporter of groups like Code Pink.

Sometimes a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do

And when four armed thugs ran into Charles Augusto, Jr's restaurant supply store in New York City and began beating his employees after finding out that there was no money there, Augusto did what he had to do--he pulled out a shotgun from under the counter and aired the would-be robbers out.

"I told them there wasn't any money. 'Take your gun, put it in your pocket, and go home.' They had a chance to leave," Augusto said.

But they didn't listen.

So Augusto, 72 -- known to most as "Gus" -- channeled his inner Dirty Harry and pulled out the Remington shotgun he had hidden under his desk for 20 years. He opened fire three times, peppering all four men with buckshot.

"I did what I had to do," he said. "It wasn't my choice; it was their choice."

The wounded men tried to run but didn't make it far.

The man armed with the pistol, 29-year-old James Morgan -- who had a long rap sheet with nine prior arrests -- took the first shot directly to his face and made it only as far as the shop door before crumpling dead to the ground.

A second man, Raylin Footman, 21 -- who had a prior arrest for robbery and a relative who was a cop -- made it across 125th Street before collapsing. He'd died by the time he was taken to a hospital.

The other two, Bernard Witherspoon and Shamel McCloud, both 21, were picked up by police nearby and taken to St. Luke's-Roosevelt Hospital. They are expected to survive. Both are to be arraigned today on robbery charges.

"I had to shoot them. It was a tough thing to do," he said. "I have to live with that. I'm sad that there are mothers and fathers who lost sons."

But Augusto's beaten employee -- who would only give his name as J.B. -- had little sympathy.

"S- - - went real bad for them, not for me," he said. "I'm breathing. They dead."

The 35-year-old had nothing but praise for his boss.

"I know Gus is a good dude. He's looked out for me since I was 19," he said. "He saved my life, man."

Augusto said: "I don't feel like a hero. I would have felt like a hero if I'd talked that kid down and into going home."

It wasn't the first time lowlifes had tried to rob Augusto. After a robbery 20 years ago, he bought the pump-action shotgun and stuck it under his desk. Until Thursday, he'd never had to use it.

"I hadn't touched it all this time. I didn't even know if it would work," he said. "I never fired it all this time."

But he left it loaded, just in case.

"If every single citizen were allowed to hold a gun, there would be less carjackings and robberies," he said.

The Coast Guard vet, who was born in Yonkers and lives with his wife of 48 years in Irvington, Westchester County, said he had been selling commercial kitchen equipment for nearly 50 years and had no intention of quitting.

"What's the worst they could do? Shoot me? I guess so. I'm not going to lay down and die. I'm just not going to," he said.

Augusto and his employees tried to get back to business as usual yesterday, although it wasn't easy. When a woman came to place a candle outside the shop, J.B. angrily kicked it across the pavement.

"Who's this for?" he demanded of the startled woman. "For the guy who died? F- - - him!"

Typically, the relatives of the thugs defended their scumbag kin and threw out the usual crap about how they were good guys who were just getting ready to turn their lives around.

Morgan's mother insisted Friday, "He was a good man and a wonderful son" who worked as a construction worker.

"He didn't have to shoot him in the back," said the mom, who declined to give her name. "It was a homicide. It was murder. It's on his conscience."

The brother of the other dead man said Footmon was "a decent man."

"He was a good man. He was loved and he loved a lot of people," said the man who refused to give his name.

At McCloud's home, a family friend insisted he was no thug and said he was planning to attend college in the fall. He said he didn't know how McCloud hooked up with the Harlem guys and then shut the door.

I'm sure that they were all just about to get jobs, go back and finish school, and start taking responsibility for all their little illegitimate kids, too. Is there some script that thug families are given to read from whenever one of them gets shot by the police or an intended victim? I have to ask, because they all spew the same crap. Just once I'd like some variety--maybe a mom who talks about how her son was all set to start drug-dealing once he'd made enough money from robberies to be able to afford some dope. I mean, a little honesty would be refreshing if nothing else.

But as it is, all's well. The good guys all went home, and the air is a little fresher in New York now that there are two less scumbags breathing it. The only thing that would have made this better would have been a perfect score of four in the dirt. But I'm betting that when they get out of prison, the two surviving cretins think long and hard before walking into another place of business and trying to take stuff that other men actually worked to earn.

USS Cod Pt.2

Sorry for the scarcity of posts. I've been sick these past few days.

Anyway, here's more of my pics and info on the USS Cod (SS224), the Gato-Class fleet submarine now moored in Lake Erie just east of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in downtown Cleveland.

Our visit begins with a drop down a hatch via a vertical ladder into this room, the forward torpedo room. Cod, like the rest of the Fleet Boats, had ten torpedo tubes, six forward (shown here--the bottom two are hard to see with the decking in place.) and four more in the aft end. She carried 24 torpedoes. A number of the crew also berthed in these compartments among the torpedoes, and they were always happy when some were fired, because it meant that much more room. The torpedoes were either electric or steam-powered and the ones in the tubes had to be withdrawn every few days to have their battery or alcohol levels checked--not an easy task when a torpedo weighed over 3,000 lbs and had to be moved around by block and tackle and muscle power.





Here's a look into one of the torpedo tubes. You're looking at the inside of the outer door twenty-one feet away. When the torpedo is inside, the inner door is closed, the tube is flooded, the outer door is opened, and a blast of compressed air shoots the torpedo forward. as it goes, the torpedo's motor is started and once out of the tube, it's off on it's own, hopefully to run straight and true to the enemy. Sadly this was not always the case, and many torpedoes surfaced prematurely, ran too deep, and in at least two known incidents, ran in a large circle and sank the submarines that launched them. (Tang, SS306, and Tullibee, SS284.)These cozy little bunks in the forward torpedo room were known as the "honeymoon suite" and generally fell to the Stewards--black or asiatic men who took care of the menial kitchen and laundry duties. It was as cramped as any other, but also the hottest and wettest due to condensation from the humid air inside forming on the torpedo-loading hatch above the bunk.
Going aft, we entered into "Officer's Country", where the ship's seven or eight officers worked, slept and ate. They had their own small kitchen (shown here) and wardroom and one shower between them, and except for the Captain, they bunked two to a small compartment. Sorry that I have no pictures of this area, but I was trying to keep up with a hyper-excited ten-year old.

I caught the kid in the Control Room, just aft of Officers' Country. this is where the submarine's electrical panel is as well as her targeting computer and the wheels that control her dive planes fore and aft. Also in this compartment are the handles that operate the valves to the ballast tanks that open to dive the boat and the compressed-air valves that fill those tanks with air again to surface the boat.





Shown here are those handles that open the ballast tanks, just below a panel with red and green lights known as the "Christmas Tree". Those lights represent every hatch and intake on the sub and show with red for open (bad for diving)< and green for closed. when the signal to dive is given, everyone throughout the boat has a job to do, and someone is responsible for closing each of those openings before the boat can dive.These are the switches that activate the various horns telling the crew to either prepare to dive or report to General Quarters ("Battle Stations"). The klaxons still work on the Cod, but these days when you activate them, instead of 80 men jumping to various stations, you get one grumpy mechanic from the Engine Room coming forward wanting to know who is fooling with the alarms.

And since it was obvious that those switches still worked, I decided to leave this one alone.

Back in the day, our submarines were considered state-of-the-art secret weapons and highly classified. So in oder to keep them from falling into enemy hands, they came equipped with a "self-destruct" system (shown here) that would scuttle the boat if capture appeared imminent.

It's noteworthy to mention Captain John P. Cromwell, USN here. He was aboard USS Sculpin (SS191) on November 19, 1943, when she was damaged to the point of being forced to surface. Cromwell had been briefed on the upcoming Tarawa invasion and rather than risk having the Japanese find out about it via torture, he elected to go down with the ship after the rest of the crew had abandoned it. For that act of selfless sacrifice, he was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor.



Notable about the Cod is that her conning tower compartment is partially accessible, something not usually seen on these museum subs nowadays due to liability concerns. But here, you're allowed to climb part way up the ladder into the conning tower and see where much of the actual war-fighting was done. Notice the periscope here. This is where the 'scopes were in real World War Two submarines. Most war movies show the captain using the scope down in the Control Room below. But that wasn't the case in reality; the periscopes (there were two--an observation scope for general looking around and a narrower attack scope for combat use) only came down into this small compartment. Kudos to the Cod Association for opening this up to the public.


Aft of the Control Room there was this small radio room. This was the submarine's only way of communicating with the rest of the world. It was high-tech back in the 1940's, but today one could simply mount more powerful and versatile radio gear on a shelf or two somewhere. This was vacuum-tube equipment!

Then it was aft again, through the crew's galley and mess (shown in the previous Cod post here with Spud at the table.) This set-up fed the eighty or so enlisted men of the crew. One thing about sub duty though was that they got the best food of any ship type in the navy. It was a small perk, but an appreciated one. They also got 50% added to their pay for submarine duty, and 20% for sea duty. Of course the basic Seaman Apprentice was only making twenty-one dollars a month at the beginning of the war.

Aft of that was the main crew berthing area, where most of the enlisted crew slept. At least on these boats, most of the crewmembers got their own bunks, but "hot-bunking", a practice where two men shared a bunk--one sleeping while the other worked--was not unheard of when space was short. Again, I have no pictures of this area, thanks to the kid. I also have none of the engine rooms, but that was my fault, because I was talking to the mechanic about the four General Motors diesel-electric motors therein and forgot to take any. Sorry!
Now back past the engine rooms (there were two--one for each pair of engines) was the Maneuvering Room. This was where the power was channeled from the four engines either into the batteries (recharging) or to the electric motors that actually turned the propellers, or a combination of both. In these boats, the diesels just turned generators, and that power was used to run the boat. The propellers were coupled to electric motors housed in a compartment below this one and not directly hooked to the diesels. This room and the engine rooms forward of it were the hottest and noisiest, with temperatures as high as 130 degrees not uncommon. There was no air conditioning back then, and hearing loss was inevitable.

Aft of this was the After Torpedo Room, and the hatch leading to the deck above.

These are the propeller guards, installed to protect the prop blades when coming alongside piers or other vessels. The prop arc extended out past the normal curvature of the hull, and without guards like this, damage to--or destruction of--the propellers was virtually inevitable.


And here's the view looking back up her deck. The closest hatch is the one coming out of the Aft Torpedo Room, and ahead of that you can see the hatch coming up off of the crews' mess. The yellow tub on the port side is a rescue buoy that would be released in the event of a sinking to mark the sub's position. During wartime, however, it would be welded in place to prevent it from being jarred loose by enemy action. Also note the four rings in the hull around the aft hatch. Those were used to secure specialized diving bells intended to be used to rescue the crews of sunken submarines (in peacetime). This was done in 1939 when the USS Squalus (SS192) was sunk by flooding due to a catastrophic valve failure during a test. 32 sailors and a civilian contractor were rescued.

Note also the decking. It's perforated steel now, but during the war, it would have been teakwood. Teak was used because it's dense and heavy and would sink if broken off by depth-charging instead of floating to the surface to give the sub's position away. Unfortunately, it's hard to get enough teak these days to replace an entire sub deck.
Here's the sub's deck gun, in this case a 5"/25 wet gun. This gun could be submerged under water and still remain functional. It had a five-inch bore, a range of 14,500 feet, and could fire about ten rounds a minute with a well-trained crew. It used two crewmen to aim--one to traverse it right-to-left, and the other one to raise and lower the barrel vertically. This gun was used to attack targets considered too small to waste a torpedo on. Torpedoes cost $10,000 each--a fortune in 1940's money.

And here's the fairweather from the outside. Note the 40MM Bofors gun on the fore and aft decks. These were intended for anti-aircraft use as well as for use against small vessels.

And then there's the scoreboard. During her seven WW-II war patrols Cod fired 122 torpedoes recording 39 hits. Her skippers claimed 10 ships sunk and 5 damaged by torpedo. Cod also chalked-up another five ships, 24 junks and 11 floating mines as "sunk by gun fire".
Note also a martini glass, symbol of a celebration between the crew of the Cod and the Dutch Submarine O-19, which had run aground and was destroyed by Cod after her crew was taken off.
See that video here:


I have to say that Cod is one of the best-preserved museum subs left in the country, and I've seen most of them. It was an honor and a privilege to go aboard this proud veteran and should you find yourself anywhere near Cleveland, I'd recommend that you make the time to see her. And when you do, remember that 52 of these boats went out during the war but never came back. Most were lost with all hands and many still lie in locations known only to God. Over 3,500 servicemen made the ultimate sacrifice in submarines--over 22% of the men who served in them. This was the highest loss rate for any branch of the US Armed Forces in World War Two.

See more of the USS Cod and read more of her story here.

My week with the Spud

Sorry the blogging's been light this week, but I've had a ten year old boy to entertain this week. He's never really had a chance to do "guy stuff" or "outdoor stuff" (or much of anything that doesn't involve sitting in front of a TV set) so there were a lot of new experiences for him this week. And on my side of the coin, I've never had a little kid around for more than a few hours, so it was an experience for me, too.

And let me state for the record right now that back in my day, little kids were not like they are today. When I was ten, ten year olds were always quiet, polite, neat, quick to do what they were told, infallibly respectful of adults and always eager to assume any responsibilities given them. Remember that "Beaver" kid on the old "Leave it to Beaver" show? Well that's how kids where back when I was one.

I blame television and the liberal culture for the changes that have obviously taken place.

But we had fun.
We played baseball. He's actually not a bad hitter.


We hiked.


OK, this hike up Maryland Heights didn't go so well. The climb was a bit much for him, and he suddenly came down with a "stomach ache" that caused us to abort the climb. (It went away just as soon as we started back down, strangely enough.) He later told me that it was because he got "seasick" from walking across the bridge over the Potomac River to get to the trailhead.


There was swimming too. Lots of swimming in the rivers with his guardian, Lagniappe. Spud enjoyed playing "fetch" in the water with sticks, even despite learning the hard way that when you tease a German Shepherd and try to keep a stick away from him, he will get the stick...and you'll typically get some nice new claw marks out of the deal.

I also took him out for his first-ever canoe trip. And he was surprisingly good at it, paddling well and following instructions. Of course to him, every ripple in the water was "whitewater rapids" that he found extremely exciting.And after a few hours of the river, he was pretty proud of his accomplishment.

We camped for a night at Antietam Creek NPS campsite, and he got to try his hand at marshmallows over a fire that he helped build...after we grilled some steaks, of course. Then he got to sleep in a tent with Lagniappe and wake up to real roosters crowing on an adjacent farm.

We rounded the week out with some shooting (of course...) and a flight from Winchester up the Shenandoah River up to Harpers Ferry.
He even got to try his hand at piloting when I let him take the yoke for a few seconds.
Here's the budding pilot, posing post-flight.

And when not out doing stuff, we spent time together running basic errands, eating healthy food in modest proportions (for a change), watching a couple of movies before bed(otherwise, the TV stayed off completely), and doing some Bible reading and discussion. He got to watch my yard deer come down to eat every day, he saw woodpeckers pecking on my trees, and he saw his first wild turkeys. And last night, he told my mother who came to pick him up that he wanted to stay here because it's so much more fun.

I think that it was a good week for both of us, showing him what it's like to actually do real activities that normal little kids should be doing in lieu of non-stop TV-watching, and it gave me a brief glimpse of what parenting's like. ("I thought I told you to go take a shower...Well then go back and take another one, and this time get your head wet and use soap and shampoo!")
It was fun, but if I ever decide to have a kid, I'm just going to adopt a college graduate with a good job--someone who is independent and just waiting for the time when they can assume responsibility for supporting their old man in his later years.

Our Wreck Diving week-end

As we've done in years' past, Aaron and I got together for some diving and shooting, this time joined on the diving by Amy, a fellow amputee diver from Minnesota.

We went up Friday night and camped it. This could have gone a bit better, but we had some jughead on a nearby site who used his car's headlights to set up his campsite but left them on so long that his battery ran down. Of course he could not and would not wait until morning to get a jump start because he wanted some cigarettes from the store in town. So he found some other jughead with a broken set of jumper cables and they dorked around with it for about an hour before finally getting him running.

Then he got his cigarettes and just sat there all alone in his campsite, drinking beer and smoking. Hell, the fool could have done that at home.

Saturday morning, we headed out to Lake Huron and met up with Captain Gary Venet of Rec and Tec Dive Charters. We stowed our gear aboard his 36-foot boat, the Sylvia Anne, and off we went.

The first dive of the day was on the North Star. It's a 300-foot wooden ship that sank in 90 feet of water following a collision with her sister ship, The Northern Queen, in 1908. We did this one a year ago, but thanks to my then-new dive foot that still had a few bugs in it, that dive was a wash. This time however, it went good. We dropped down on the wreck in ninety feet and checked out the engine and a bit of the hull.




Here's Aaron and me. (I'm the more handsome fellow who only needs one air tank.)

Now I should add that Aaron and I have distinctly different styles and attitudes. I'm aggressive and he's very cautious. He takes safety to the utmost (and for the record, he's right to do so) while I subscribe to the motto: "Who dares, wins." Granted this has gotten me in trouble more than once, but then what's life without a bit of calculated chance to make it interesting? Together we often drive each other nuts. But that's what friends are for.

Our next dive of the day was the tug Mary Alice B., which was sunk--some say deliberately--in 1975.
Here's a shot of the ship's wheel in the pilot house. We were each able to get in there and turn the wheel. Other than the infestation of zebra mussels all over it, this tug looks as if it could be floated and put back into service. It's totally intact and upright in ninety feet.

I also ducked down into the engine room via the open hatch and swam back out through the open skylight, again somewhat irking Aaron. Sorry dude, but I did manage to resist entering the open and inviting hull of the Regina, right?

And on Sunday, we went back to the Regina, a 250-foot steel freighter that was one of eight ships sent to the bottom during the massive storm of November, 1913. She was only discovered in 1986, lying upside down on the bottom in about 75 feet of water.

The last time we dove this, we dropped in on the stern and played around it's massive rudder and propeller. This time, we went down on the bow, landing almost right on her massive port-side anchor, which is still in place. We saw some of the raised lettering of her name, and some very inviting openings in the hull, which I abstained from out of deference to Aaron as I know that he has a thing about just wandering into enclosed spaces. Granted, I was on a single tank with no spare air, had no entry line with me, and my air was running low, so he was right, but it was still damned tempting. I must be getting old. A few years ago I'd have been so in there.

I still ducked inside just a bit though. After all, this is a famous ship, chock full of history, and when adventure beckons, I gotta be me.

Here's Aaron holding an old glass bottle that we found on the wreck. Since it's a preserve, we had to leave it there.

And yes Aaron, I DO kick up a ton of silt. But I'm working on that. And I did surface with just under a thousand pounds of air though, so there was a bit more margin to play with than you gave me credit for in your version of this story.

Finally, we finished up on the wreck of the Eliza Strong. This was originally a 205-foot steamer which burned while under tow with a cargo of white pine in 1904. It was cast adrift and sank in 25-30 feet of water right off of Lexington, Michigan, so close that she was twice dynamited to keep her from being a hazard to other ships. Now it's just 145 feet of decking, spars and other bits and pieces, but lots of fun to just play around.


Here's me and Amy on this one. She's the one with the bright yellow spare air bottle.










The shallow depth of this wreck gives divers lots of bottom time and makes for a refreshing change from the cold temperatures on the other, deeper wrecks. And as a plus, this one's chock full of bass! We had a ball on this one and it was a great wreck to end the trip with.

Now maybe by next time, Aaron and I can work on our pre-dive planning a bit better. He's quite good at diving with other divers, whereas I've always been a solo diver before these trips. He knows a ton of really cool hand signals that I'm sure come in quite handy when communicating with his regular dive partners, but alas, I do not know these signals, so his using them with me is like him trying to play charades with the dog. I just smile and wave back and make the "OK" sign and watch to see what he does next. I was also slow to grasp the concept that one must always stay very close to a "dive buddy"...apparently merely being on the same wreck is not close enough. But I'm working on it.

Oh--and in the "credit where credit is due" department, I have to say that my diving foot, the Rampro Activankle, finally worked well, in marked contrast from previous dives and casual swims. It was tweaked a number of times before getting to this point, but this time I was actually able to swim with the fin extended at a proper swim angle (thus allowing me to allegedly swim away from Aaron, even though he has two feet and should never have been able to let me outdistance him on the Regina) yet I could also lock it into a proper 90-degree angle for walking and was able to do so and exit the water via the boat ladder without assistance for the first time. Fantastic!

I'm back

Sorry for the absence--had to head up to Lake Huron for a week-end of wreck diving and shooting with Aaron of The Shekel. I had a good drive up, and we got in plenty of great diving and some shooting. Now I'm back, and I'm blessed (or cursed...I haven't decided yet) with the presence of my ten year old nephew whom I shall call "Spud".

Now this will be the first time that I have had a kid around for a whole week with no other adults around to foist him off on. We'll see how this goes. I have one week to turn him into a man and/or make him into a little "Mini-me", and I'm not really sure how to go about it. I have been looking to R. Lee Ermey for some pointers on how best to motivate him, but I'm not 100% convinced that it's the right way to go about it.

On the way down, we stopped in Cleveland for a few hours.


I took the boy on a tour of the USS Cod, a World War two Gato class fleet submarine. It's moored off E. 9th Street just east of the Science Center, and of all of the surviving museum subs I've seen--and I've seen most of them--this one's probably in about the best shape.



Here's the Spud climbing down the ladder into the forward torpedo room. He was totally in awe of being able to do this. He had to touch and see everything--he was so fascinated. Seeing him have an actual interest in something that's actually real and not a video game was terrific.

And here's the Spud in the crew's mess. He looks like a natural, doesn't he? FOOD!!!

After seeing the whole interior from bow to stern--and seeing what happens when his uncle flips the switch to activate the still-functional "Dive" alarm (a staff member comes forward from the engine room and demands to know who is monkeying with the alarms when you do this, just so you know when you visit.)--we went topside and he got to spin the cranks and traverse and elevate the deck gun.

He loved this submarine and wouldn't stop talking about it and telling me how "cool" it was...at least until we got to the next thing to see...the Great Lakes ore carrier William G. Mather.













This beautiful ship worked the Great Lakes as part of the Cleveland Cliffs fleet from 1925 until 1980, when she was retired. Now moored at the Cleveland Science Center, it's a fantastic example of what shipping on the lakes used to be like.

Here's the Spud, trying his hand as a wheelsman.














And here's a shot of the engine room, showing the massive diesel that the Mather finished her career with. The engine room is larger than a typical house and is four stories tall. And when a volunteer asked the Spud if he had any questions about it all, Spud just pointed to a nearby drinking fountain and asked "Does that still work?"

Kids...




But apparently I tired him out, because he slept much of the way back after that.











And Lagniappe? He was just happy to be rescued--Uh, I mean "retrieved"--from Nicki's house and brought back to the Lair.

So now that I've got a kid for the rest of the week, what am I supposed to do with him? Any ideas?