I always liked to think of myself as a tuned machine. (chuckle)
At least when I was young and foolish. As my Father used to say, “I used to be young and foolish, I’m not young, anymore!”
Of course, I wasn’t finely-tuned. I’d taken a couple years of Kenpo Karate, and had held my own sparring with a brown belt Shotokan guy, but I was still disabled and young. And reverted to my training.
And most of my firearms training came from books and magazines. Guns and Ammo, Shooting Times, Guns, where the names George Nonte, ‘Skeeter’ Skelton and (of course) Jeff Cooper leapt from the pages into my psyche. I spent many hours practicing clearing leather into a modified Weaver Stance, and dry
firing practicing (sorry Colonel!), and doing speed magazine changes.
Back in the Seventies…
crime security, both at the country club, and in civilian clothes as a PI was Ron. Ex-Air Police – Thailand, Okinawa, SAC. It was he with whom I sparred and held my own. As long he didn’t get hold of me. He was also a practitioner of Ju-Jitsu, and once he was able to grab my gi, I was hurled about and ended up looking up at the sky. Again. Punch, block, kick, grab, thud … About 20 times one afternoon.
So, one dusk while at the country club, we were walking to the rear of the main clubhouse, toward the golf course, and adjacent to the walled Olympic-sized swimming pool.
BANG! A shot rang out!
And we reverted to our training.
I went into a kinda FBI-Style crouch, hand on the grip-frame of my Model 39 Smith, and listened for the direction of the action or perhaps another shot.
My partner (who obviously had more training and experience than I) had proned-out, his 1911 drawn, head down, listening, looking. Flat against the concrete walkway.
Perhaps 15 long seconds later, the mystery was solved.
The country club was doing swimming competition trials for the children of the members.
With a starter’s pistol.
The powers-that-be hadn’t bothered to alert security (us) of the event. And with the wall in place, we couldn’t see or hear the festivities. Until the gunshot.
But, I often think back to that day, and the differences in our training.
And I keep training and learning, as best I can.
Even though I’m now an old, rusty machine.