GUNS/BARMS

[Matey]

Gun novice's decision on packin' heat

Anita Chang
Associated Press
Jan. 23, 2005 12:00 AM

COLUMBUS, Ohio - The guns were laid out on blue rubber mats printed with the Smith & Wesson logo.

I sat in my seat for several moments, just looking at the smooth metal of the barrels and the darkness of the empty chambers. I was surprised at how much they looked like the toys my brother and I used to shoot each other with when we were kids.

Tentatively, I stuck out my index finger and spun the cylinder on the revolver. Cooool. It was the first time I'd ever touched a real handgun.

A revolver and a semiautomatic were set out in front of each of the 17 students in my class. We would spend a long day together: eight hours in the classroom and four in the shooting range.

If we passed a written test at day's end, we would be eligible to apply for permits to carry concealed handguns.


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Summer camp, when I was 9, was the only time I ever shot a firearm, and that was a rifle. So I was a surprised three years ago when my father said: "You need to get a gun. And a concealed-carry license."

I was moving away from my hometown to start my first real job in the big city of Dallas. I'd be living on my own for the first time.

Although scared, I wasn't about to admit it. The plan was, if things got rough, I'd get a big dog.

The "real world" changed my outlook. I'm petite - small enough to wear kid-sized T-shirts - and look about 16, maybe 19 if I wear makeup.

Like many young women, I sometimes get harassed, even when doing mundane chores.

I bought pepper spray to ward off one creepy security guard. Then I took up boxing. But I didn't think of myself as someone who should be packin' heat.

That was before the harassment on the highway.


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There were plenty of motorcyclists on the interstate that Sunday, but none as reckless as the two who were merging into traffic riding only on their rear tires.

As they sped toward me, one went on the passenger side, the other the driver's side. That one leered at me, his craggy, stubbled face inches from my window.

Next, he sped ahead and, while going at least 60 mph, did daredevil tricks. .

But it wasn't long before he slowed down and was right next to me again.

While his friend rode ahead, the maniac moved in front of me, then accelerated and slowed unpredictably. I resisted the urge to go around for fear I'd accidentally hit him.

The bikers exited the interstate with me. And kept following. I could see the guys pointing and talking to each other.

What would I do if they followed me to the store? Into the store? A big dog couldn't help me now.

Two miles later, I turned and the jerks kept going straight. I turned into the store parking lot, and sat there, shaking and sweaty.

Why was I so powerless to protect myself? My second thought: I need a gun.


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Ohio's concealed-carry law went into effect in April, after nine years of debate in the Legislature. Ohio joined 45 other states that allow concealed handguns; only Kansas, Nebraska, Wisconsin and Illinois do not.

Generally, concealed-weapons laws require a person be at least 21, not a fugitive from justice and not mentally ill. Conviction of a long list of crimes also precludes getting a permit.

As soon as I got home from the store I called New Albany Shooting Range.


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My class was about half men, half women. Most were middle-age; I looked to be the youngest.

A table held more than two dozen revolvers and semiautomatics from which we could choose for practice.

I began to feel butterflies as instructor Terrie Bussey turned on the fan that blew downrange so the smoke and lead from the cartridges wouldn't cloud the shooters. I put on blue plastic earmuffs and smudged safety glasses.

First, I practiced dry firing. The gun looked cartoonishly oversized in my small hands.

Click, click, click.

My clammy fingers shaking, I loaded a cartridge into the one o'clock position of the cylinder. I stared at the bull's eye, squinting and squeezed the trigger.

BANG!

It was as if a bomb went off in my face. A flicker of flame burst from the barrel, followed by a curlicue of smoke and a whiff of gunpowder.

Firing a gun is shown on TV and in movies as a fluid and natural action, something that can easily be done with one hand. For me it was violent and jarring.

I later fired a .45-caliber, which was like being jolted on the tight turns of a rickety roller coaster. My neck and head snapped back, and the gun ended up over my head from the recoil.

After stationary target shooting, we had a new challenge. A target with the silhouette of a man's torso and head was programmed to move toward the shooter from 50 feet away at about the speed of someone running.

The instructors told us to yell, "Stop!" then shoot five times.

Up to this point, I'd been soaking up the safety rules and gun basics, and I even hit the target with all 10 of my shots during the first practice round with a semiautomatic. I felt confident.

When the newsprint target started fluttering toward me, I squeaked "Stop," then squeezed the trigger five times fast.

I missed.

I couldn't even hit a target moving in a straight line in a well-lit room. How was I supposed to shoot a bad guy in a dark parking garage?

I thought: What if I had a concealed gun and was confronted? Would I have the time, and the composure, to draw the gun, aim and shoot accurately? If I didn't bobble the gun and shoot my foot, there's still no guarantee that the bad guy wouldn't just snatch the gun and use it on me.


Even as a person whose job is to follow the news, there was much I didn't know about Ohio's concealed-carry law.

It requires a person with a gun to use any means to ward off an attack before resorting to deadly force. In my confrontation with the bikers, I could have driven to a crowded public place or called the police.

In this state, unlike some others, a gun can be used only when a life is threatened, one's own or someone else's, not, for example, to protect property.



After thinking it over, I paid $45 and got the concealed-carry license.



I feel better, safer, with the license.

Maybe one day I'll change my mind and get a gun, too.

http://www.azcentral.com/arizonarepublic/news/articles/0123packinheat23.html