Controlling one's own destiny.

Well-known and well-thought-of firearms trainer Louis Awerbuck passed away this week.


I never met the man, but I’ve friends who knew him (like Tam and Rich). I have of course read his stuff for years.


There is something to be said for placing no dependence upon others, if that is your greatest fear (it is not mine). There is yet more to be said for going out on your own terms.


The freedom to decide how we meet our fate is ultimately what most of us who meet here and at my other haunts are talking about. No sane person wants to get into a gunfight. But nobody wants to have all of their options taken from them, either. Louis Awerbuck, it seems to me, made his career out of helping others to maintain their options. 

Just that easy.

A commenter in my previous post suggests that I could probably get the best loan rate from a savings and loan. I sure don't dispute it, though we don't have an S&L in my community.

Perhaps I could have shopped around and gotten a better rate. But I think I'd have ended up within a 1/4 percent of what I'm getting, and in this case, the banker saw me walk in, called me by name, offered some services that will permit me not to make a round trip into the Dallas area and which will hurry things up, and also permitted me to not have my wife come in from work to do some paperwork during the business day.

Small town banks and honest small town bankers are part of what makes things happen. This guy bent over backwards to grease the wheels for me, because he knew that I was a member of his community, a patron of his bank, and a good risk, even when I got out of a 15 year old Honda and walked in wearing a bad haircut and a rumpled shirt. He also knew that I needed to hit that coffee machine before sitting down.

The last time that I'd seen him, he'd been sweating over a grill, selling cheap burgers and hotdogs at a community event to raise money for the community youth activity fund, in this town that he grew up in.

I'll pay that extra quarter percent, I think, and never look back.

Hospitals suck.

My partner up and got his bell rung, and we're waiting around the ICU to make damn sure that the doctors and nurses don't screw things up.

I'm with his wife at Big City Trauma Hospital, which happens to be in pretty much the WORST part of town (aren't they always?). My main job is to keep the night watch, send his family home so that I can do that, and be a stoic for his wife for times when doctors with more medical training than bedside manner (or sense) announce to his wife and mother, "He has a bleed!" without preamble or much explanation.

Looks like the old boy is going to be okay, but my runnin' buddy is out for a bit. The things that some guys will do to get to use their sick time. . .

It's mildly amusing to see how we fill an ER waiting room when one of us goes. My buddy has a lot of friends and family.

I find that I'm both, now.

In the interest of promoting manliness.

I direct you to 1001 Rules For My Unborn Son.

I did not write it, and I will never have a biological son.

But I approve.

Damn.

I first became aware of William Zeus Bligh-Glover, MD back in late 2007. He posted on my blog and on others, and started up his own, under the moniker "William The Coroner." Thy guy was laser-sharp, and a fierce proponent of civil liberty. Science was science, without regard to politics. Pathologists are the ultimate Crime Scene Investigators, and of course I found myself drawn to read this guy. He tried to give me a bubba'd-up SMLE once. Anytime that we had discussions, I found that his take on civil liberty was even more stringent than my own. How could I not like him?

I always meant to call him. I had a case study that I wanted his professional opinion on, and meant to mail him some stuff and chat with him about it over the phone. Why didn't I?!? I guess that I thought that his time was too valuable for my prattling.

Yesterday I started to hear in the blog community that William Zeus Bligh-Glover, MD, a.k.a. William The Coroner had passed away. I went to Breda, and she gave me the bare details that she had: he had been sick for a while, and was found on Saturday to have passed. I was stunned. He had just blogged on Friday afternoon!! The man was only 43! Friend Rabbit and I raised a glass last night to his memory last night. Euripides had a point about debts.

When I got the confirmation today that it was true, I read his brief obituary, and learned that his family requests that any memorial gifts given in his name go to Heifer International.  Hey, if Bill was like me, he'd rather you spend the money on something worthwhile rather than flowers. So I looked up what this worthy organization is about. They have a project where they get dairy cows and chickens and goats and the like to starving people to manage and help themselves. Their motto is "We give a hand up, not a handout." I like that.

I'm going there to donate right now.  I don't have much. But hell, I'd have at least bought the man dinner. That's worth $25, right? Can I get you all to kick in just $5 each? Make sure that it's known that you're doing it in the memory of William Zeus Bligh-Glover, MD.

We lost a good one, this week. Make it count.

"'We're all worm bait waiting to happen. It's what you do while you wait that matters.'” --Kinky Friedman, quoted on William The Coroner's Forensic Files.

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EDIT: Okay, there doesn't seem to be a dedication place, though you could register your donation as coming form William Bligh-Glover, and then fill in the credit card stuff from yourself. Or just make mention on your blog or to a friend that you did this thing in his memory. BTW, though they would like you to buy a share of a heffer or a flock of ducks or trio of rabbits or a llama or whatnot, they'll also do whatever number of dollars you want to donate, to wherever the need is greatest. I trust that Bill's family chose this charity for a good reason.

A retraction.

A month or so ago, I wrote about Dr. Bill Holda's misstatements about the Killeen massacre. The statements were harsh contrasts to historical reality, and were being used to explain his position against concealed carry on the campus of the college over which he presides.

I declared him a liar.

It would seem that I was wrong: he was simply not educated on the matter, and is doing what he can to educate himself.

Popgun has contacted Dr. Holda, and invited the college president and his wife out for an educational day of shooting.

Go read. Seriously. It's a remarkable story.

Dr. Holda is thinking outside of the box that he had been led into.

For that, I applaud him.

I formally retract my declaration. A large note will be placed on my original post.
----
H/T to Tam, and a bigger tip of the hat to PopGun. GREAT job, friend!

Butter Bar

Unless I'm mistaken, I now have the honor of announcing that my friend, SPC John R. Shirley USAR, has faded away. He has been replaced by Second Lieutenant John R. Shirley, USAR.

Our nation's service is thus enhanced.

Thanks, John.

Nebraska. 2 The People.

As previously mentioned, I took a little trip to go hunting with my new friend, up in Nebraska. He had friends who were farmers who have been praying that the state of Nebraska would let them shoot more deer, as they've been overpopulating the state at an amazing rate. They spend much of the days in the woodlots, and come out in the evenings and nights and eat the corn and soybean crops. They get very, very large. They are healthy, and their offspring thrive, too.

The farmers are very tired of the crop nuisance.

I like good red meat.

A common goal is achieved.

The Good Farmers
Vine took me out on Saturday, and introduced me to Jim and his wife Pat, a very nice couple. The word "accommodating" is simply not strong enough. The word "friendly" is not strong enough. They are very decent, civilized, excellent people. They are, from what I see, fairly typical of the good people of Nebraska, but they bear special mention, nonetheless. Jim is a classical farmer, who keeps track of the price of corn and soybeans and their futures, and considers how many more seasons his old International Harvester grain trucks will keep giving service. He maintains his combine, trucks, and fuel and water pumps by himself, without a professional mechanic. He leans strongly conservative, but clearly dotes on his liberal wife. He dispatches nuisance animals, but doesn't really hunt. He grins sheepishly as he talks to his named farm cats out front of the house.

Pat cooks large farm meals from scratch, serves them toothsomely to her house guests, and cheerfully talks about local and world events, as well as family lore, with bright intelligence. She's educated, and has a full-time job in addition to being a farm wife. She's active in her church, but doesn't give off even the slightest hint of judgement when you don't.

They both clearly are in love with their daughters. To say that they are proud of their daughters' ongoing career successes would go without saying, but it's also clear that they don't really worry about whether their offspring are financially a success-- they just want what's best for them. Like any good parents would. And make no mistake-- these are good parents.

After over three decades together, they still obviously appreciate the company of each other.

Are you beginning to get the idea that I liked these people? Because if you haven't been, then either I'm not articulating clearly, or you're not paying attention.

They clearly think highly of my friend Vine, which is another good reason for me to think well of him, myself.

Bringing up Men in an age of sissies.

I've a good friend (let's call him Red) who has married a good woman, with two boys. At ages 12 and 9, they're decent kids, but they've been reared for the previous several years by their mother, alone, and before that, with an ufortunate man. Red's new bride is delighted to see the boys now have a positive male role model, and my buddy Red is more than happy to step in and provide them direction in that role.

Long before Red proposed to her, he began helping the boys. After they got married, he began working in earnest to show them how to grow up to be Men. There are little things, like how to shake hands like a man, and how to wear clothing. Then there were bigger issues, like not coming inside and just sitting on the couch to watch television all day long, simply because it's hot outside. (It's Texas. You can expect triple digit temperatures in the summertime. Drink lots of water, and get back to playing outdoors.)

The younger boy has shown an uncommonly strong love of WebKinz. Okay, says Red. Fine. But try not to be silly about it-- boys at some point shouldn't carry around dolls. And when that doll is a wolf, a boy traditionally names it "Fang," or "Spike," or "Timber"-- not "Jenny." Red isn't trying to impede the boy's creativity, but he does insist that the doll get left home in the boy's room when they're out and about town.

Wailing and gnashing of teeth were observed.

Looks like Red has his work cut out for him.

The other day, Red reported to me that his boys were coming in the house, whining about what to put on an ant bite that each had sustained. He was incredulous. "You could rub some dirt on it," he answered. "If that doesn't work, maybe we could find you some cream for it, from your Mother's bathroom!"

Red isn't intolerant. If the boys grow up to actually be gay, he's fine with that. But he will be DAMNED if he will let them grow up to be wussies.

We have discussed how the world has changed since we were kids. Nowadays, boys are taught that there is zero tolerance for violence, so that even throwing a punch back at someone who has punched them in the face is grounds for expulsion. Boys are taught to cry more readily, and come seeking the ready attention of their mothers, rather than learning to deal with adversity themselves. Red's wife is a very, VERY good mother. She gives her boys lots of mothering. The problem is, they've been receiving double doses of mothering, without much fathering, in the past. Red is trying to overcome that. He figures that he doesn't have much time.

The good news is, the boys have taken to him like a duck to water. They will literally follow him around, doing work with him. They learn lessons from him about telling the truth (this has been an issue with them), treating their mother and other women with respect (also an issue), and speaking plainly. Of course these aren't exclusively the providence of men, but some lessons seem to take better to boys, when taught them by a grown man whom they respect, and who walks the walk. Talk is cheap.

I reckon that Red is just doing what's right, and no more. But because so few seem to do just that, it makes him stand out some. I'm proud to call him my friend.

We've been talking about culturally manly things to do. He takes them fishing, and they do the sports thing. I mentioned that he needs to watch some John Wayne movies with them. Maybe The Cowboys, and The Searchers, and The Sons Of Katie Elder. I like The Wind And The Lion, partially because it's actually a movie about men, rather than just cultures.

Any other ideas I can pass on? Favorite books? Important activities?

I myself was fortunate to have been reared with a definitive positive male role model.

David Benke.

When it is Go Time, you must have your decision made, already.

David Benke, a math teacher and track coach, had several points to his advantage yesterday when a crazy man* was shooting children at a Littleton high school: he could run, and he could think, and he had at some point made up his mind to do what needed doing. In this story at CNN, Mr. Benke mentions being conscious of how long it took the guy to rack a round in after each shot. He launched his 6'5" frame into the guy, disarmed him, and held him. Yeah, yeah, others helped, and that's good. But who shall bell the cat? Who's first?

Why, it's the person who already decided before it all came down. If you will keep it in your head that you are a sheepdog rather than a sheep, then you are a lot closer to winning than some might think, even when apparently "unarmed."

There are some things worse than dying. I'm glad that David Benke didn't get hurt, but he would still have been a role model if he hadn't been successful in his attempt to stop the attempted murderer.

You are the first responder. Act accordingly.
___________________________
*Whose name I'll not bother mentioning here. He gets no glamour from me.

Late to the party. Again.

You ever had friends reference a book as being great, and you nod, knowing that you SHOULD have read it, but can't quite admit that you haven't? You're agreeing that it probably is good, because people you know and trust have said so, but you're not saying "Yes, I read it." That would be dishonest.

But still, you don't want to openly admit that you're among the unwashed who hasn't yet read this classic.

Maybe I'm the only one.

Anyway, I've been acquainted with Larry Correia for about 7 or 8 years. I wear shirts that he designed and distributed for The Firing Line staff (Larry had actually joined the site months before I did). We've been staff members together on The High Road.

Larry's an interesting guy. Big. Really big. Portuguese descent, lives in Utah, is an accountant who put himself through college the hard way. He also, I believe I've mentioned, started up FBMG, a fun little shop that sells any kind of firearm that can be had. No, not just those-- ANY kind. They have a bit of fun out there in the high desert.

Well Larry's latest iteration of self is that he's a writer.

A writer who discusses the practical extermination of monsters.

Vampires? Sure thing. Three kinds, and thanks for asking.
Werewolves? First shake out of the box.
Zombies. Wights. Gargoyles. Golems. All are slain in Larry's first novel.

Slain with shotguns, pistols, rifles, Gurkha knives, flamethrowers, and RPGs.

For every one of you out there who's sick and tired of the Twilight series taking over everything, this is your vindication. In Larry's book, vampires are killed by the good guys, because they are dangerous, predatory, and evil. (Seems like there's a moral in there, somewhere.)

Most of you reading this already know very well that I'm talking about Monster Hunter International, the critically-acclaimed book by Larry Correia that was released by Baen books back on July 28th, 2009.

Larry writes about what he knows. He knows about being a giant in a small man's world (right there with you, pal). He knows about being an accountant who has "other skills." He knows about guns. He knows about having to deal with a big government that he doesn't have a whole lot of respect for. And you gather that he's always known, down deep, that there's something less-talked about, which lurks beneath the concrete surface of reality as we know it.

I'm ashamed of the fact that I hadn't yet read it, even though I had been around to read some of his early drafts before he sent them off-- even before Kathy Jackson proofed them.

I meant to. But I wanted to have my copy inscribed by Larry, himself.

So it was with great pleasure this Christmas, when I got a nice package from FarmGirl and FarmMom, with cookies... and a copy of M.H.I that had been personally dedicated to me by Larry Correia, with his logo above his signature. What a delightful and thoughtful gift from FarmGirl.

I'll tell you right now-- it's a great read. At over 700 pages, it's a surprisingly quick read, as well.

On his bio at The High Road, Larry Correia lists his occupations as "Accountant, gun/gear dealer, wannabe writer." I've since read that he's updated his bio elsewhere to "accountant, writer, retired gun dealer, and finance manager at a defense contractor."

If his next book is as good as his first, he'll need to retire the other jobs, too.

Go get a copy, and enjoy a fun read.

The name of one who did the right thing.

Friend Pax said in comments:

Great post.
They have released the name of the officer who took him down: Benjamin L. Kelly. In a just world, his name -- and not the name of the scumbag -- would be the one all over the news tonight. Officer Kelly is a hero and should be lauded as such. He did the right thing, did it well. I hope he sleeps the sleep of the just tonight and every night to come.

As for the Fourth Officer, he earned an honor guard in Valhalla. *toast*

WV: pardn, which Mike Huckabee should be deeply, humiliatingly ashamed of having done.

There you have it, folks. If you're in the Pacific northwest, and you come across a Seattle cop named Ben Kelly, please see to it that his drinks are free. I'll sure contribute to the kitty.

He did the right thing.

I had dinner last night with some of my favorite people.

John Shirley, for one. My mother, for another. Then I had my wife and my two girls at the table all at once, which is lately a bit too rare a circumstance. We had my Carribean grilled chicken with plaintains red bananas and rice with green salad and assorted beverages of interest. We talked long and walked a bit.

My mom especially liked John more than a little bit. I had thought that she would, and was glad to be there while they made each other's meatspace acquaintance. My home was honored by his presence, and I hope that he'll allow me to host him again.

Stand at thy right hand.

To those of us who like a little classical history mixed with our modern guns and science fiction, there are few more beautiful stories than "Horatius," as told by Thomas Babbington Macaulay in Lays Of Ancient Rome. Whether or not the tale of Horatius Cocles is true, it should have been. I've always liked the concept of the valiant captain of the guard, but too have also liked the concept of his two buddies.

"Who?" you might well ask? "Horatius stood alone." Well, yeah, sort of. Actually, he stood first, and two other Roman citizens volunteered to stand with him: Titus Herminius & Spurius Lartius. You never hear their names, do you? Horatius fought with them at his side, and finally sent them away. But they also served. Their names are just not remembered.

Proud, honorable, anonymous service is a trait that I very much admire, in life as well as in literature. For the past few years, my email address has come from a line uttered by Lartius: "'Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, And keep the bridge with thee.'"

While I'm not such a geek that I sit around constructing GIF animations to show the battle at the gate, I will admit to smiling a little bit smugly that, one time in my early twenties, I seduced a chick with my reading and partial recitation of "Horatius."

And as they: Any lady who would be seduced by such a thing, is worth seducing. :)

Team effort.

Yesterday, 155 passengers and crew all managed to live, after their skilled and calm pilot, Chesley B. "Sully" Sullenberger, managed to set his Airbus A320 into the Hudson River when both engines choked on birds during climb out from LaGuardia Airport.

As good a job as Sullenberger did (he's probably the most celebrated man in the 5 boroughs tonight), he frankly was doing his job. What's impressive is how well everyone else did to pitch in and save his passengers, crew, and Sullenberger himself. Coast Guard vessels were there, lickety split. FDNY, the traditional heroes of New York, were on scene. And, too, there were commuter ferries that rushed to the scene, and participated effectively in rescue. Almost like they had been training to do that all along. *

Oh. Wait. They do train to do that. NYPD also showed up on scene, and rescued more than one person with their divers.

The water was 32 and a half degrees. The ambient air temp was 20 degrees. People waded through water that would crystalize but for that half a degree, and perhaps some brine from the sea. Thank Gawd for that half degree; this would have been pretty messy if there had been an inch of ice on the river.

Who else? Well, there were some pretty impressive design considerations that had to have come into play. Somewhere, there's a team of aeronautical engineers who are toasting each other, and rightly so. The plane floated long enough to get everyone out. That's amazing. Traditional logic for a long time was that these things sunk. The doors came open immediately upon landing. Design? Good crew training? Both? I don't know. But it saved lives to get people off the plane. Small rafts were deployed. Good job, there.

Those flight attendants are more than just waiters to serve you drinks and show you how to use an O2 mask. They used to be called "stewards," meaning, "one who attends to the needs of another." If they opened the doors, deployed rafts, and helped evacuate the plane, then they did exactly that, and apparently did it pretty well.

While everyone raises a glass to the pilot, remember to toast the other heroes and she-roes who went to work on the Hudson on January 15th, 2009. Damned good work, that.

________________________________________________________________
*Check out the doings of this ferry captain Brittany Catanzaro. Youngest ferry captain for New York Waterway (19 years old.) First female ferry captain on the Hudson. I think of what I was doing at 19, and I have to be pretty impressed. I wasn't given that kind of responsibility.

The fathers of the Greatest Generation.

Even before our Greatest Generation was born, there were those who fought the First World War to the first Armistice Day. So many died, that it was sometimes called "The Lost Generation".

There are a few --a very few-- who remember serving in that war.

How good fathers react to adversity in their kids' lives.

My online pal Don Gwinn found that his boy had been taunted because of a situation that could have been prevented:

Kane's class had a mock election yesterday.

Kane voted for McCain. The rest of the day, the other kids taunted him and called him a racist. It was a pretty good preparation for adult political discourse, come to think of it. We had a little talk about it, and I gave him the same advice I give grownups--if you know you're not a racist, what do you care what "they" say? Being called a racist is a sure sign that you're winning an argument, anyway.

I'd like to say that I would have been this reasonable in my response to such a situation, but the truth is, my first reaction probably would have been to get fired up with anger toward the teacher for setting up such an incident. Only after I had blown out might I have done as Don did, which was to see this for what it was: an opportunity to teach his son a valuable lesson that he could carry into manhood.

I believe that I've mentioned before that Don's on my Hero List.

Nicest people you'll ever meet...

"You know, snuff film actors and crew are the best folks you'll ever meet..."

Don exposes his idealistic position that all people are basically good, throughout the world.

Worth voting for.

My pal LawDog has been nominated for the Blogger's Choice Awards. Frankly, he deserves the recognition, and more.

If you don't yet know him, you might check him out. How many north Texas cops do you know who were born and reared in the Mediterranean area, and grew up in Africa under the tutelage of a Scottish nanny, with a deep love of his roots in Texas? After serving as a soldier, he took to Texas law enforcement, where a cop with a funny accent and a love of good books and good teas is an anomaly.

He also has a way with the written word.

LawDog is famous for his rants.
LawDog is famous for his amusing LawDog Files-- funny tales of rural Texas law enforcement.
LawDog is not as famous as he probably deserves to be for his tales of growing up abroad.
LawDog should have more fame from his heart-touching tales of life, seen from his unique point of view.

I know it's a pain to do, but I'd consider it a personal favor if you'd take just a second to go vote for LawDog's blog. I voted for him as "Blogs About Stuff."

Use this pink AR-15 to fight breast cancer.

Online pal Larry Correia watched his mother in-law go through the treatment for the cancer. Cancer of the breast.

Guys, think about how unhappy you would be if a certain symbol of your manhood were in danger of being removed. Now picture how unhappy you'd be if that was an outwardly visible (in shape) symbol of your masculinity, and it were threatened. Over half a million people a year die from breast cancer, and a whole lot more are cut on or poisoned to survive it.

So Larry, good guy that he is, says, "I have to do something." So he commissioned this very nice rifle to be built. It's a Stag 15, and if Larry says the work is good, then it's good.

Larry and his guys are auctioning this pretty off for $5 a ticket. $5 clams. 499 pennies plus the one you snag from the Give-A-Penny-Take-A-Penny tray at the grocery store. A sawbuck. 1/4 of the most typical denomination given you by the ATM. Well under the price of a McNastyburger Meal with large fries and large coke.

If you don't have an AR, you should buy a raffle ticket.

If you don't have a pink AR, you should buy a raffle ticket.

If you have a pink AR, but you know someone in your life who really needs a pink AR, then you should buy a raffle ticket.

If you HATE GUNS, and believe that no one should have an AR of any kind, then you should buy a LOT of raffle tickets, to take this Evil Pink Rifle Of Death out of the hands of those who would willingly... uh, shoot it or sumpin'.

As a matter of fact, without regard to your gun situation, you really need to buy several raffle tickets, because it goes toward breast cancer research. And it will. Larry is the type of man who will donate everything, and then empty his pockets to add more. And he'll send it all in.

Go HERE to find out more.

The raffle winner will be announced in October, but don't, don't, DON'T let it go 'til then, because it will be too late. And you won't get your pink rifle, and will miss your funnest chance to Nip Breast Cancer In The Bud.*

_______________________________

*(I really should be writing tag lines.)