Monday, November 23, 2009

Get a grip

Black skateboard tape is available at the hardware store.

On a 1911 a 1/2" x "2-1/2" piece of skateboard tape on
front of grip makes for secure purchase; and a 5/8" x 1-1/2"
piece on each side at the rear of the slide greatly
improves purchase when you pull the slide to the rear.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Report from El Salvador

Jan 2010 issue Soldier of Fortune magazine
page 10 Report from El Salvador

Within two months after the election of the communist
FMLN and ex-CNN reporter Mauricio Funes to the presidency
of that nation, the FMLN removed all of the higher personnel
of the Policia Nacional Civil and all other federal agencies and
replaced them with personnel from the FMLN. The new Justice
and Public Safety minister was involved in the murders of
the Marines in the US Embassy in the Zona Rosa
nightclub/restaurant area.
The Salvadoran legislature has not yet elected a new attorney
general, but it is safe to expect that he will be a communist.
This is a typical pattern whenever the communists take
control of a country in Central America. They always move
first to take control of the police and then subsequently the
armed forces.
So, we won in El Salvador, but subsequently lost
the peace. The election in the US of the far-left black Lenin,
Barack Obama, was very much a factor in the Salvadoran elections
this past March. I spent twenty five years of my life going to El
Salvador to help their army's special forces and the national police.
That has all been flushed down the drain.
You don't need to ask if I am bitter, angry and deeply saddened by this.
How terribly, horribly tragic.

Peter G. Kokalis
former Technical Editor
Soldier of Fortune magazine

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

pictures of tomorrow

read thoroughly as you scroll down - clickable links underlined, well worth your time

see pictures of tomorrow
and a couple of short videos, coming to YOUR home-

"Woe to those who decree unjust statutes and to those
who continually record unjust decisions, to deprive the
needy of justice, and to rob the poor of My people of
their rights ...
Isaiah 10:1,2 (NIV)

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Jeff Cooper tactical residential architecture

click this link to see illustratoins;read=124897

by Jeff Cooper
It is easy to deplore the degeneration of our social order, difficult as it may be to explain it. But it is not impossible to do something about it. Before doing so, however, one must admit that it exists. The news tells us that we live in a savage society in which subhumans prey with relative impunity upon the innocent and the decent; but, as with death, these facts are hard to accept.
Since most people respond to hypothetical peril with the assumption that it will not come to them, the first step in adjusting to our present social situation is the hard, clear, unflinching understanding that it can indeed come to us—personally. It is amazing to read of people who did not choose to believe this until after they had been victimized. They all knew that burglary, robbery, assault, and murder were not only possible but frequent, but they took no precautions because they simply would not admit that they, themselves, could be the victims.
Once you accept the fact that you actually may be the next target—today—you have taken the first great step toward your own physical security. Having made this simple, if difficult, admission, you can never afterward be surprised, and surprise is the greatest single element in tactics—offensive or defensive.
Defense of your person is your first concern, and it is a very elaborate study to which we have given a great deal of professional attention over the years, but let us turn for the moment to the defense of your home. Street crime is certainly horrific, and it is our national shame that we cannot maintain safe streets in our big cities, but more shocking yet is the thought that we cannot even go home, shut out the street, and relax. The goblins follow us even there. Consider the Manson atrocities as only the most notorious on a long and horrible list.
Defense of your home may probably be stated better as defense in your home, for saving your life is the main concern, whether on the street or home in bed. There are things that can be done to avert burglary in your absence, but they are only effective if they are incorporated into the house as it is being built, and they are dauntingly expensive. To build a house that cannot be broken into is to build a fort, and even then it can be defeated if the intruder has the time and the wit. (The pyramids were designed to be burglar-proof, by kings who commanded unlimited wealth and labor. The tomb robbers broke into them almost as soon as the funeral flowers wilted.)
But we can make certain arrangements to insure that our homes are a good deal more secure when we are in them, and I think we should.
In a recent visit to Southern California we were depressed to note the efforts made by householders to harden their homes; first because this was necessary, and second because the systems employed did not seem very effective.
To see iron bars and barbed wire around the houses in which we grew up without even door locks is sadder than to see a city smashed by war, but still worse is to see good people relying on completely passive structures which can never succeed against an evil will. We saw great, electrically operated gates which could be climbed by any active schoolboy. We saw heavy locks on doors which could be burst open at the hinges. We saw guard dogs which could be bribed with doped hamburger. We saw nothing that was specifically designed to enable the homeowner to counterattack. Evidently the doctrine is that one covers up, keeps his head down, and calls the police.
Let us agree on one major point right here. The police cannot protect you in your home. If goblins break in upon you the police should be called—as soon as you get around to it—in order to write our reports and clean up the mess. But the goblins are your problem. Bear that always in mind.
Several features in a house can help you defend it. Some must be built in as the house goes up, but others may be added to structures already completed. In most cases they need be neither unsightly nor inconvenient.
Point One:
When you are asleep you are helpless. Few things can be more nightmarish than to open a drowsy eye to see a shadowy figure standing over you in the gloom. This need never happen.
Bedroom windows must be ironed, obviously in such a way as to permit their opening from the inside in case of fire.
(A prominent United States senator must live out his life with the memory of his adolescent daughter who was murdered in her bedroom by a monster who simply kicked open the French windows—because he, the senator, had not protected his own child.)
But just the windows are not enough. There must be a strong barrier between the sleeping quarters and the rest of the house. A bolted door will do (dead bolt, not a pickable latch), but an iron grill is better because you can see through it—and shoot through it.
No barrier is impenetrable, but if it causes a racket if attacked it will awaken you, and that is all you need. If you are awake, armed, and aware, you cannot be defeated by any predator, human or otherwise. Clearly the iron grill must be fastened in such a way that it cannot be unfastened by stealth. Use your imagination here.
Point Two:
Sleeping quarter protection can usually be installed in a ready-made house, but door arrangement is another matter. You must be able to see who is at the door without exposing yourself. Peep holes are better than nothing, but essentially all doors—front, back, and side—should be recessed in such a way that anyone seeking entrance may be viewed in full, from the side or preferably from behind. When a visitor knocks on your door he should be, in effect, surrounded by your house, aware that he is in view of the people inside from several angles. Even if he intends a coup-de-main he will be at such a tactical disadvantage that he may well chicken out.
Observation must include the capability to fire, so the observation ports must be unscreened, narrow, and openable with one motion. Several sorts of slit windows made for trailers serve this purpose very well if set vertically.
A proof door is an expensive luxury but it does promote sound sleep. Our lower-deck door, which is farthest from our bedroom and therefore hardest for us to hear, is a plywood sandwich with an armored filling, and fastened from the inside with cross-bars rather than a latch. It would be quieter to come through the grouted block wall.
Point Three:
Any house which is properly designed for the Age of Aquarius must permit its perimeter to be visible from inside it. This is the "Vauban Principle," and you must start from scratch to achieve it completely, but even if stuck with a blind rectangle, a single added bastion on one corner will give you coverage of two of four walls, and two diagonally placed bastions will cover all but their own backsides.
Clearly nothing is perfect. Existing structures may be all but impossible to harden, and terrain will often render specific protective features unnecessary, but this is where architectural ingenuity becomes important. (Remember Castle Dracula, protected by frowning battlements on three sides but light and airy on the fourth, which overlooked a thousand-foot precipice?)
Point Four:
Roman patricians, when in town, dwelt in houses designed for an urban jungle no less savage than our own. Outside walls, right on the property line and generally rectangular in plan, were proof against anything but a ram and pierced by very narrow doors. The open living space was inside. This plan was borrowed by the Spaniards and exported to the New World as the patio. This design has much to offer today, where building codes permit. With one side of the quadrangle serving as a garage, and bastions at the four corners, it offers a hard carapace to the outside while providing as large an interior garden as space permits.
IMG]Point Five:
No inanimate structure or device can provide physical security in and of itself. Furthermore, no fortress nor sconce can withstand intelligent attack by determined besiegers. What tomorrow's house can offer, however, is comfortable living space which is hard enough to daunt the casual savage and, in addition, will permit the inhabitants to sleep secure in the knowledge that any prospective intruders must (1) make enough noise to alert the defense, and (2) be placed at a serious tactical disadvantage.
Naturally it is desirable for all walls to be relatively proof against small arms fire—especially those which include observation ports. This is not as critical as might first appear, however, since the criminal cannot undertake a siege and must count upon surprise to gain his objectives. You can prevent this by correct observation techniques coupled with a manifest willing- ness to use lethal force against him. Passive defense can succeed only if the cops are within earshot—and not always then.
For those who wish to build a strongpoint in the boon- docks—as opposed to a house in which to spend extended periods in comfort—the Army Department has a nifty field manual on the subject. This is FM 5-15, Field Fortifications. It is not classified.
It should be unnecessary to point out that the shield is useless without the sword, and that neither is of value with- out the brain. Lincoln and Trotsky and Castillo and Sharon Tate and the LaBiancas and General Dozier and the victims of the Boston Strangler could not have been helped by architecture. Their killers were allowed inside. A stranger at your door must be considered a possible target until proven otherwise. And this is not fear, much less the popularly misused term "paranoia." This is intelligent caution. The great leopard of Rudraprayag had no "fear" of people. He was able to terrorize his district for eight years because he was very, very careful. In today's savage world we need not be afraid, but we do need to be careful.[/IMG];f=27;t=000172

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

I killed my dog today

Feeling Like the Scum of the Earth
No Catchy Title for This Column

By John Ross

Copyright 2004 by John Ross. Electronic reproduction of this article freely permitted provided it is reproduced in its entirety with attribution given.

I killed my dog today.

Molly was the best dog I’ve ever had, a very handsome mixed breed that looked like she was half Australian Shepherd, and half something else. Like all good dogs, she thought her owner was the most wonderful person in the world who could do no wrong.

We got her from my friend Ray, who restores vintage Corvettes. His wife had found her, abandoned, walking along the side of the road. She must have been abandoned that same day, because she wasn’t malnourished or afraid of people, but had no collar or tags. Ray was keeping her at his shop. When he found out we were looking for a dog, he told me I could have her if I wanted, since he already had two Dalmatians. I took her home that day. My wife and stepdaughter named her Molly. That was in 1990.

I won’t go into all the endearing dog things she did over the years, except to say she was always glad to see me, loved children, and was happiest sitting with her head on my leg, having her ears and spine scratched.

When Caroline moved out four years ago, she took Molly. She told me later she had planned to leave her so that when I came home the house wouldn’t be completely empty and the shock wouldn’t be quite so bad, but the girls had started crying, so Molly went with them. She was so glad to see me every time I’d come by for my daughter that I still felt like she was my dog.

Like all creatures that don’t die young, Molly got old. Her eyes got milky-looking, and her balance got worse, but she always knew where she was going, and never bumped into anything, at least not while I was around.

A few weeks ago, Molly started bleeding from her nose. The vet gave Caroline some medicines, but said that if they didn’t have any effect, Molly probably had cancer. He’d have to cut her open and look, and since Molly was at least 14 ½ years old, there wouldn’t be much he could do.

The drugs didn’t help. This morning, Caroline called, crying. She’d arisen to find the house spattered everywhere with blood. Molly had to cough and sneeze to clear it out of her lungs and head, and she was spraying blood all over. I told Caroline I’d be over mid-afternoon. There were some things I needed to do first.

When I went over to pick her up, Molly was just as glad to see me as ever. We drove out to my mother’s place in the country. I rolled the passenger window down, so Molly could stick her head out the car window and feel the breeze. I had to drive very slowly when rounding corners, or she’d get unbalanced and fall off the seat.

There were two one-pound ribeye steaks in Mom’s refrigerator, and I cooked them up, medium rare. I cut one of them into little pieces and laid the plate on the kitchen floor. By the time I had taken the first bite of my steak, Molly was finishing hers, so I cut up the second steak and gave her that one, too. She had a decent appetite for a 45-pound dog with internal bleeding.

We went outside, and Molly trotted around, stumbling occasionally, but gamely chasing off any squirrels bold enough to venture near. Even though she hadn’t been there for four years, it was still her territory.

Soon she got tired. The exertion had made her lungs fill with blood again, and she began coughing and sneezing to clear it out. There was a lot of it. Animals can’t complain or even let you know when they’re in pain, they just soldier on.

I sat down in the grass in the shade, near the grave I’d already dug, and Molly came over and lay down on her stomach next to me. I scratched her ears and her spine and she wagged her tail gently. After a while, Molly’s eyes closed, but her tail still made slight twitches. When even these stopped, I knew she was asleep. Without stopping my gentle scratching along her spine, I picked up the suppressed Ruger with my free hand and held the muzzle an inch from the base of her skull.

I was crying when I did it, just like I am now.

She wasn’t going to die at the hands of a stranger, under fluorescent lights on a cold stainless steel table in a room stinking of antiseptics.

Molly deserved better than that. She was the best dog I ever had.

John Ross 9/14/2004