Why Handguns?

Many of you have read the things I have posted about guns over the years, but I think that a lot of you who don't know me that well would be surprised to hear why I am so serious about gun rights. I thought in light of recent events including the latest public shooting in Arizona that I would spend some time detailing my views on firearm ownership and the somewhat traumatic event that led me to my current stand.

My Dad grew up on a ranch, and to him hunting was commonplace. The stories that I heard included obscenely early starts, and large game being prepped and dressed out by sunrise. But that hunting culture was never passed down to my large family of brothers and sisters due to my Dad's soft heart. After hearing a rabbit scream during a hunting adventure he gave up hunting and moved on. (I think I have those details right.) So in our home the only gun I was aware of was an "investment" shotgun with a beautiful wooden stock - still in the original heavy machine oiled packaging. I think my dad still has it, never fired and waiting for the day when he wants to cash in on that investment.

Other than the occasional foray into .22 rifle range schooling through the Boy Scouts, that was the sum total of my gun exposure until I moved away to go to College. one of my best friends at the time had a Ruger 9mm, and he invited me to go shooting with him a few times my freshman year. I ended up buying my own Ruger 9mm that year, and went shooting with my friend as a diversion on occasion until I was called on a 2 year mission to Guatemala. I left my "semi-automatic" as the news calls them with my parents along with the majority of my belongings and left for my mission.

I returned from my mission and attended a college in another state for a year. Once the schoolyear was over I was transferring to BYU so I packed up my things and headed from Idaho through Utah to my summer sales job in Arizona, where I would work until school started in the Fall. Then back to Utah for school. It was on this road trip that my thoughts about guns and their use took a dramatic turn.

After getting a late start from Rexburg ID, I chose to spend the night in Provo with my cousins before getting an early start to Arizona. I had to open up a bank account in town before I left, and I wanted to do that on the way out of town.

The next morning, through some quirk of fate I was not the only one who had decided to hit the bank right after it opened. I filled out the new account paperwork, and was standing at the first teller. I had just given the woman my money, and she had processed it and handed me my reciept when I heard a man yell from the middle of the bank. He said, "This is a STICKUP! (seriously, that's what he said) Nobody be a hero!"

He wore no mask, no gloves. There was no subterfuge. He had a handful of bags in one hand and his other hand held the same exact handgun that I had learned to shoot with my friend, a Ruger P93 9 millimeter semi automatic handgun.

He moved to a teller that happened to be at the middle "window" though there was no glass, as the bank had more of a solid wall of chest high desks as teller windows. He pointed his gun at the forehead of the girl that was stationed there, I still remember her name. Wendy was slim and had long blonde hair. She immediately began to cry.

The man yelled at her to back away from the counter and hopped the counter, leaving behind a clear shoeprint on the top surface. He progressed to my teller first, and I noted that the gun was cocked and the safety had been removed. He was ready to fire with his finger on the trigger.

They cleaned out the first drawer of cash, including the "bait" pack which is supposed to set off a silent alarm. No one realized it but the banks alarms were not functioning. While all of this was transpiring, someone across the room dialed 911 and asked "Our bank is being robbed... should I be calling you?" 911 dispatch sent the police - not the alarm.

After the man finished pulling all of the money from the tills and hopping to the other side of the counter. It was at this point that one of the paper bags that this man had stuffed his money in split open and the money fell on the ground. (It was a greasy McDonald's bag)

The man knelt for a moment. He set down his gun. He picked up the money and placed it in the bag. There was a perimiter of space around this man- I was nearest to him at 14 feet away. That distance was tempting, and yet it seemed like a vast divide. The man with the gun at his feet had power to control the people around him. We were helpless.

I know this is getting long, but I have to express to you how it feels to be on the other end of a gun. The shadowed barrel seems ten times as big as it looks when it is in a safe environment held under control by someone who knows how to make it "safe". In this situation I feared not the gun, but the deranged man behind it - the man who upon a whim could end life.

He never focused on me. He picked up his gun and his money and went out the door. Short seconds later we heard the screech of a police car pulling up, and a number of shots were fired - one of them hitting the incoming police officer. We learned later that he had been hit and injured, but would be fine with time.

That man robbed a number of banks after learning that he had been infected with HIV. I don't know the whole story, but I heard he had been caught some time later pulling the same thing at a bank in Nevada.

I am not ashamed that I could do nothing to stop that man. I had no power to resist. But I made a choice that day that I would not be left defenseless again. When the summer ended I got a new job - working at a gun store. I found a new hobby, perfecting my aim. And I got a new license, to carry a gun concealed. Standing in front of someone who is breaking the law and threatening me with force is not an experience that I would like to repeat. I carried a gun for 5 years, every day, hidden under my shirt, to make sure that such an experience could be averted for those that surrounded me every day.

Now I live in California, and I walk among other people, just as helpless as I was the day that bank was robbed. Some politician in Los Angeles controls my ability to defend myself as I go about my daily business, and they do not allow regular people to defend themselves in such a way. That which is my desire and my right is taken from me by someone who does not care for my preference.

Now comes news of a young man slaying undefended people at a public venue. Democrats and Republicans blaming eachother for violence that should not be blamed on either. People demand why didn't someone notice him before he went crazy? Why didn't his family see this coming? They cry about political rhetoric causing madness.

There are only two things to blame, and they do not fall in any of the reasoning that you hear on the news today. The blame lies at the feet of a crazed lunatic who made horrific choices... and with the defensless public, who leaves their confidence in law enforcement and denies their right to self defense. I was once like them, and have returned to their ranks not by my choice, but by the choice of others.

I can only pray that I am never in such a situation with you by my side, because if this happens to us, we will be left defended by no more than our wits - and God help us survive such a horrible state.