security guard

This category contains 21 posts

Attitude? Belief? Mindset?

One of my regular readers (and a dear friend) teaches at the college level.  Obviously, when school shootings, such as recently occurred in Oregon happen, it gets her attention.

She wrote on her blog regarding the grief and the aftermath.  And of her decision to NEVER carry a gun into her classroom, lest she be forced to assess her students as potential threats.  In her words, I’m not going to go there.


As a part-time, professional firearms instructor, I may disagree with that choice.  But it IS her choice.

I’ve been carrying, possessing, having-nearby, wearing both concealed and/or openly, a sidearm most of my adult life.  Doing so is part of who I am and what I do.  I did so openly even when attending community college, before it was ‘restricted’ by law.

And I have already made the decision to take action, should that become necessary.  Jeff Cooper called this having a mindset.

Be polite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everybody you meet.  –  Major General James Mattis (USMC – Retired)

Mattis reportedly said this to his Marines as one of his rules to live by while they were stationed in Iraq.

And that’s different from participating or teaching in a college in the United States.

The question is how different?

Certainly, one should be in Condition Yellow in a public place.  Generally aware.

But how one responds to a threat is a personal choice!

I think a wiser choice would be to be armed.  However, some folks just aren’t built that way.  And unless they radically change their mindset, it’s best they choose NOT to be armed.

Hopefully, it will always be a choice…


Yet another friend lives in a gated community, for folks 55 and over (a mobile home park).  They have drive-in gate ‘security’, but they are not trained, nor armed.  Usually their function is to direct you to a person’s residence.  And the walls around the park are four feet, or less.  The closest to ‘security’ are the speed bumps.

And he advised me the other day that he NEVER LOCKS HIS HOME!

Again, his choice.

I suspect he’s not particularly aware…

Some folks just aren’t built that way.

I pray all my friends are safe, and take reasonable measures to ensure that security – whatever their choices.


Tam Has The Last Word

(No snark, just fact!)

Once again…

…an otherwise undistinguished loser demonstrates the easiest way in America to get your own Wikipedia page and your name on the president’s lips.

And they’re all over it on the TV, and this dillweed’s actions are the topic of everyone’s conversations, and they’re interviewing every student who can claim they caught a glimpse of him and all I can keep yelling at the television screen is “Why didn’t you shoot him?

Seriously, this guy allegedly has time to huddle people together and hold dialogues on their religion? Sounds like there was ample time for any even moderately competent shooter to smoke check his ass. But no. We’re yet again going to be bombarded with discussions about taking guns away from the wrong people instead of arming the right ones. There weren’t four too many guns in that classroom, there was one too few.  (View From The Porch)

My understanding is even campus security only had some kind of Mace.  Because this was yet another ‘victim disarmament zone.’! 
How do we react under such attacks?  WE CALL FOR GUYS WITH GUNS TO END THE PROBLEM.
Just as with military installations, we need to allow citizens present to possess arms.  Then it would be less likely they would have to call government agents to end the problem.
And there would be fewer victims.

“I’m Shocked! SHOCKED!” (Part whatever…)

Say Uncle brings us this titillating bit of ‘news’…

You should instead hire men who have guns.

In height of hypocrisy, Bloomberg wants to retain his security detail and is offering them money to leave the NYPD and come stay with him. This is a man who doesn’t think you should own guns.

Once again, paging Captain Renault…

cap renault

“I’m shocked! Shocked!”

Message Received


Ol’ Guffaw has his routines.  Routines are comforting, because they provide order and structure in an otherwise disorderly world.  I like my routines.

I’ve been ‘carrying a gun’ now, on-and-off since 1974.  Thirty nine years.  That’s a long time.  And since Arizona has had CCW laws in place, almost daily, unless I was severely restricted (like at my former workplace).  I carried.  Of course, I did carry to-and-from the workplace.  Don’t tell anyone.

It’s part of my routine.  Shower, dress; put wallet in one pocket, keys, cellular telephone, speed strip and folding knife in another, the snub in her holster in another. (Unless I’m carrying the 1911 IWB).  I’ve taken to carrying the snub more.  Laziness, I guess.  It’s my routine.

Unless I’m distracted.  My roomie had to work late, so, I was on my own for din-din, a rare occurrence.  Not my normal routine.  A distraction.  Went to Ted’s, a Buffalo NY origin hot dog place (charcoal-grilled, don’t ya know!).  Then to an event at a nearby public library (I know, I’m wild and crazy!)

Upon arriving at Ted’s, I did the usual self-frisk, checking to have keys before locking the car, wallet, knife, and sidearm.  (This is known in my circle as ‘spectacles, testicles, wallet, watch’, if you know the joke.)

And I had no firearm!  For some reason, I simply didn’t gear up before leaving home!  I had my wallet, keys, cell, speedloader and folder.  No gun.

I thought, “Oh, well, I have my knife” (like I’m a freakin’ ninja!) and had dinner @ Ted’s, then went to the library thing.  The usual door was locked, with a sign reading, “Must Enter By Front Door”.  So, I had to walk all the way around to the front, a semi-serious distance for a disabled guy like me.

And I asked at the information desk.  Seems they are now locking secondary entrances after 1830, due to increased crime in and around the facility!  WTF?  Fortunately, nothing happened.bugs-bunny-pointing-copy1  (There was a security guard who looked up from her smart phone long enough to see I was in the building, then went back to more important stuff.)

And tonight’s the night I was the opposite of vigilant!  What a maroon I am!

Message received. 

It’s gonna be ‘spectacles, testicles, wallet, watch’, with more emphasis on the watch, in the future!

(FTC – Ted’s gave me nothing – I paid for good food, myself.  WB didn’t either.  You’re maroons, too!)

“What a SAP she had!”

(I don’t know if it’s my age, or what, but I keep channeling Firesign Theatre references – my apologies)

A NC Gun Blog recently posted a post entitled The sap is a fun and interesting defensive tool.  This got me to thinking.  When I was in private security, I used to carry both a nightstick AND a sap.  And I had two saps, one of woven leather straps wound around a cylindrical spring (with a bulbous lead end); the other flat steel – beavertail shaped – with a lead-weighted tip, as well.  It was fortunate early on my partner Ron showed me all about knees and collarbones, otherwise I might have inadvertently killed someone!

In my early days of private security, sometimes, we were not allowed to carry firearms.  So we carried these assorted striking implements.  (This doesn’t mean that we also didn’t have firearms – shhhh!).  I remember Ron responding to drunken altercations in the exclusive country club where we worked.  He’d pop open his Samsonite briefcase and take a half-second to decide which sap was the best, then head out.  It was almost like Arnold Palmer deciding which iron to use.

As one of the other blogs said, I never considered carrying a sap as a primary tool before.  But where the prohibition is against firearms and/or knives, this might work (?)

Darwin Award Candidate?

Charles Darwin

Bells A Ringing reminisces about teen-aged pranksters, and possible consequences.

And reminded me of a similar incident.

When Bob P. and I were guard supervisors (he a Captain, I his Lieutenant – woo hoo! /sarcasm) we would patrol to each of the contract guard posts and check to determine if the guard assigned was awake, alert, doing his/her job, or even there.  Sometimes, they weren’t!

One late afternoon, we went to a cafeteria-style restaurant, largely for Bob to flirt with the cashier.  This was in our area, but not a guard post.  Just a place to stop and get a bite or a soda.  And Bob liked to talk to the girls.  I was happily married, so I didn’t care.

The cashier animatedly and laughingly told us that about five minutes earlier, a masked individual had approached her and stuck a revolver in her face, and demanded money!  She laughed, because after the initial shock, she recognized the voice as that of her boyfriend!  And it was Halloween.

Good thing we weren’t early.  Bob and I would have walked in and simply shot him.

Sounds like a Darwin Award candidate to me!

h/t kx59, Southernbell

Warm Bodies

Back in the early 80’s, I was working as a security guard supervisor for a small, mid-West security company.  They had a satellite office in Phoenix, and a few security guard contracts.
As a supervisor, my job was to maintain payroll, staffing and scheduling – which meant if someone failed to show up to a guard site, if I couldn’t blackmail cajole bribe sweetly convince an off-duty guard to fill the void, then it was up to me to do it.
Many double shifts were worked, and many guards convinced to take an extra shift, because they were offered 10 cents more an hour for that shift.  Sometimes a nickel more.  Seriously.
It was the height of the recession, and finding warm bodies was often difficult.  Most security work was not rocket surgery, however.
We used to joke about trolling The Deuce for warm bodies to put guard suits on to fill the vacancies.
If you ever saw the movie Armed and Dangerous, all those characters really exist.  They worked for me.
One of my warm bodies I had worked with a few years earlier at the Legend City amusement park.  His name was Nick Teslevich and he was an old Ukrainian guy.  He had a very heavy accent, and the joke was Nick spoke 12 languages, unfortunately, none of them was English.  He didn’t have a car, so, if you wanted him to fill a spot, you had to go get him and take him to the guard post.
Another was, for lack of better description, a biker chick.  Muscles, tattoos, the whole bit.
Because she wore clogs and carried a machete (!) she was only assigned to construction sites.  At night.  Low public visability.
I certainly didn’t want to mess with her.  (Sorry, Dave, I cannot remember her name!).
One of her charms was a small cadre of friends with whom she ran.  Many would sometimes accompany her to the office to pickup her paycheck.
One was a kinda scruffy dude, skinny, dirty, uninteresting.  The rumor was he was a poor little rich boy who had been cut off from the family fortune and was slumming with the biker chick and her machete.
Later he cleaned up his act, put some weight back on and got back in the family’s good graces. He was quite an accomplished musician, and had previously done much work in Hollywood.  He also sang as part of “The Utility Muffin Research Kitchen Chorus” on Frank Zappa‘s triple album Joe’s Garage (1979)
Eventually, he owned and managed the Wrigley Mansion (and the Wrigley Mansion Club) in Phoenix.
His name was ‘Geordie Hormel’, heir to the meat-packing family fortune. He passed away in 2006.
Not everyone was just a warm body.  I never hired him, though.

Geordie Hormel

Modern Technology (c.1978)

Back when I was working for Bob Powell @ B**** Security, we had the latest technology.
I was an assistant guard supervisor.  My job was to patrol the guard posts and make certain our security guards were both present and awake.
This didn’t always happen.  Sometimes, they’d call in sick.  Sometimes, they wouldn’t call in – just not show up.
As such, my job was to try to connect with the guard, determine why he wasn’t at work, and get another minimum wage sucker warm body guard to come in to cover the shift.  By telephone.  This was before cellular phones existed.
And, because we had contracts we needed to fulfill, I got to race to the guard post and fill-in for the missing guard, until a replacement could be found.  I worked many seven days-in-a-row, many of my days off.  Many lonely guard posts, located at BFE the middle of no-where.  With no telephone.
I carried the latest in communications technology.  A beeper.  Not just a beeper, but a voice pager!  This meant Bob or the office could call me and speak a message to me.
The office drones answering service would often call.  They had a standard message, “Call the Office!  Call the Office!”  What was the point?  Why not just a beep?
And sometimes, just like the cell phones of today, you wouldn’t hear the message.  Just static.
Regardless, you had to find a pay telephone and call in.
Bob liked to play jokes.  One of his favorite movies was Close Encounters of The Third Kind.
I was filling in at a construction site West of Buckeye (30 mi. W. of Phoenix).  Freezing to death in the desert.
Even in the car with the heat on, long underwear and heavy jacket, I was shivering.  It was in the 20’s.
And my beeper/voice pager goes off.  “Beep – SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”.  Nothing but static.
This, of course meant I had to go to the nearest pay telephone, about a mile South of the site, and call the office.  It might be important.  At least actually driving made the engine warmer, and the car’s heat worked a little better.
I arrived at the phone booth (that foreign-looking contraption pictured above), and called the office.  Finally Bob is on the end of the line.
He says, “Did you get my message?” chuckling.  I say, “No, static, what’s up?
And he tells me how he qued up the (in)famous Five Tones used to communicate with the aliens in Close Encounters, and played them into the voice pager for me! John Williams ‘Close Encounters’ 5 Tones
At least I was warmer during the ride to and from the site.

Low Batts!

Oft repeated in these pages, I’m Old School.
My first police flashlight (from John’s Uniforms, of course!) was a 3-D cell Kel-lite. (1974?)  And the first ‘tactical’ technique I learned was to hold the flashlight with my weak hand straight out to the side from the shoulder.
The idea was if fire was sent toward the source of the light, it wouldn’t be toward the center-of-mass.  (Questionable, anyway,  for a lefty like me!)
Shooting was still accomplished one-handed.  Not a very solid shooting platform.  And difficult to move down a dark, narrow hallway.  (I’ve since adopted better tactical techniques!)
Sadly, eventually, the D dry cells leaked, and I tossed that flashlight away.  Subsequently, I found out the switch mechanism could have been repaired.  Oh, well.
I now have a 3-D cell Mag-lite.  As I’m no longer performing private security, it’s standing on the floor, adjacent to my night table.  But, it’s rarely used.  And dusty.

My go-to flashlight is a Streamlight Scorpion.  It sits on top of my night table, right near the drawer wherein the Bob Hall Signature Model 1911 lives at night.
Small, handy, and rubber-coated, it’s getting worn after it was purchased in 2004.  It runs on 2-CR123A lithium batteries.
It’s not as cool as the $100+ tacticool flashlights in the same size, but, it works, and was only $35.00 at the gun show!  I bought a second one for my then girlfriend, who still carries hers in her purse (with her Nighthawk, of course!)  Can’t be too careful.
If you’re familiar with lithium batteries, then you know they are not like the traditional dry cell.  Dry cell light begins to fade, warning you might have a few minutes of illumination left.
Lithium batteries work great-they they don’t.  Boom.  No warning.
So, I always try to keep a few batts in reserve, because, when they fail, it never fails, you need it.
I recently went to Battery and bought 2 boxes of 12 CR123A batteries, as I was getting low.
One box for me, one for the ex-g/f.  She uses hers mostly to locate keys and other flotsam/jetsam in the deep recesses of her purse.  So, she uses more batteries than I do.
My one complaint is on level surfaces, the flashlight is apt to roll.  I need a square rubber washer (or something) to stop it.  (Looks like the newer models have an octagonal gizmo-good for them!)
Other than that, it’s great!
FTC – no funds were exchanged.  I purchased the flashlights and batteries retail.  Good day!

A little game of chance

Back when I was contracted to perform private security at the old country club, there were a number of regularly scheduled events.  One of these was a famous golf tournament (years later moved to another venue) and various other sundry events for society and charity.  We provided security for all.
One of the lesser known events was a private card game in the club room, almost every Sunday night.  I never knew when it began, but it usually ran way past closing and the clubroom grillman always had to stay to make certain the participants were properly fed and watered.  And boozed.
One of these regulars was a nephew of famous Senator, famous himself in California politics, another a local businessman in the construction business, the owner of the business.  The third, yet another local luminary.
And they’d meet almost every week to play cards.
Usually they’d sneak out some one-way exit without security knowing, but every so-often they’d ask for a security escort to their cars.
One early Monday morning, about 0300 as I recall, they called security asking for just such an escort.
I arrived quickly to the clubroom, the grillman gone, the game just ending.
They were ‘settling up’.
“Let’s see, that’s five thousand to you, and eight thousand to you.” one said!  These weren’t matchsticks or pennies.  And out came the rolls of bills.
Soon, we were on the way to the parking lot.  A couple of Mercedes and some other luxury car.  One of the guys tried to tip me, but I declined, as that wasn’t allowed (and I thought would be poor form, anyway).
I was glad none appeared impaired, as I’d hate to have let them on the road in such condition.  Rich and drunk.  They were just rich, at least by my standards.
I was bringing down $90.00 a week!  (1975)

"One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas - how he got in my pajamas I dunno!" - Groucho Marx as Captain Spaulding in Animal Crackers

This election is not about who gets voted off the island.
It’s about who is at the tiller of this Republic’s Ship of State. - Guffaw



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