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An Incident At The Range

A True Story

Long before I was sworn in a full-time police officer, I spent many years as a security officer. Now security officers or rent-a-cops don't hold a real high slot in the hierarchy of law enforcement due to a variety of reasons.

Most of the time they are just warm bodies in blue uniforms. They receive no formalized training. And usually, it's a company supervisor that instructs new hires in their duties.

They carry no baton, handcuffs or firearms. They have issued a flashlight, a can of mace and sometimes a portable radio that is usually left at the job site. They walk a patrol in some building or on the grounds usually during the hours of midnight to six.

The problem occurs when one of them believes themselves to be a pinnacle of law enforcement and attempts to hold someone for the local police.They usually wind up calling the local police if someone stares too hard at them.

When I decided to become a security guard, I took the advice of some of the police officers I knew and attended a well-known college here that offered a course in private security. It met the state's mandate for those that wished to carry firearms while on duty. So I worked during the day and attended classes at night.

I was taught and became certified in basic first aid and CPR. Baton training and hand-to-hand combat were also taught along with the mundane tasks of foot patrol and report writing. Then came the block of firearms training. This is where my story takes place.

Now the class was almost ready to take their final exams when the school Commandant informed us that there was a small problem. One of the firearms instructors forgot to renew his teaching certificate. He was a decorated police veteran that taught at his department; he simply forgot to submit the paperwork to renew his teaching certificate,

Now this college that also turns out many fine lawyers. They knew that some unsavory barrister could use this oversight to have a law suit thrown against the school. So it was decided in order to cover their legal asses that everyone would have to re-qualify on the range again, and this time the school would purchase the ammunition. 

Now there was a new problem. In the beginning, the classes were broken down for safety sake, and there was a weeks notice before having to report to the range. This time every student would be on the range at the same time. 

It was then discovered that not every student had a firearm, many had borrowed one for the class.

 Now the school had a few pistols that they would loan the class, but people would have to share. So on the appointed day, we gathered at an indoor range for another round of shooting. When I saw the police officer/instructor loan his sidearm to a needy student in order to speed the process, I decided that if someone asked I would offer mine up.

That's when Greg approached. He was a young, thin black male that could only be described as pretty; he made the late Michael Jackson look tough. He had a duty belt, holster, and holders for his speed loaders but that was it.

"Drac, could I borrow your pistol and speed loaders?" he asked in a rather feminine voice.

Speed loaders hold six rounds of ammunition and can be dropped into an empty cylinder in record time. I opened the cylinder of my .357 and handed it to him. He inspected it and the barrel to ensure all were empty before closing the cylinder. He took the speed loaders and then holding the barrel toward the ceiling he moonwalked to his stall.

He filled the speed loaders and placed them in the carriers. He then loaded his pistol and holstered it before placing the sound arresting earphones on his head.

"Watch me, ladies," he sang out.

"Each time the target faces you are to place six shots into it. Do you understand?" the Range Master said in a loud voice.

Pause for an explanation. Back in the day, the targets that you've seen in many police movies hung on the rotating hanger that was controlled by the Range Master  When you stepped into your stall you saw only a side view of the target. A button was pressed, and the targets turned giving the officer a full view of it. The term faced was used for quite some time.

With a loud whir, the targets faced the students. With unbelievable speed, Greg unholstered his weapon and placed six rounds in the center. The target turned and moved five more feet down range, and he quickly reloaded his pistol. Once again, the target faced and once again Greg placed six rounds dead center.

This went on for a total of eighteen rounds and each time the target was moved further away from the firing line. Then the targets were brought to the firing line so the instructors and Range Master could inspect and grade them. We all saw that the center of Greg's target was completely gone.

We stood around just staring at it and marveling at the speed he had shown.

"When you're pretty in the ghetto ya gotta be bad," he said in a matter-of-fact voice.

We rolled on the ground laughing until we had tears.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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