There have been comments to the post below concerning the lack of “stopping power” of the .25ACP cartridge, and I can’t say I disagree with them, but I would like to share one story of how a .25 saved one man’s life. Back long before I started blogging, I spent a lot of time on the rec.guns and talk.politics.guns Usenet groups. J. David Phillips was a contributor to both of those groups using the handle “Flimflam”, and was a genuinely interesting guy. He ran a pawn shop out of Crystal River, Florida, and one day I and the other users of these groups were stunned to find out that David had been the victim of a sword-wielding maniac.
David was in the hospital. His attacker was in the morgue.
His story, from September of 2000 is good reading, and I’m going to archive it here:
I own a one man pawn and jewelry store in Crystal River, Florida. On September 26th, 2000, a South Korean came into my store to pick up a revolver he’d paid for the preceeding week. Due to my county’s three day wait period, he had to wait until Tuesday to pick up the gun. He was waiting on the step when I arrived to open at eleven. ( yeah, I know banker’s hours)
When I called the gun in, FDLE said it was a ‘conditional refusal’, and that allowed them three more days to make up their mind. Well, the customer wasn’t too pleased about it, and said he wanted the gun NOW. “Nope, can’t have it until FDLE clears you.” That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, so he sulked out the door. I got his phone number before he left, and assured him I’d call when the information was relayed to me. After the verbal exchange we had, I decided that there was NO WAY I was going to transfer a firearm to this guy , period!
A little while later, a good friend of mine came into the store to BS awhile, and said there was a guy “stalking around” in the bushes of the building next door. I went out the back of my store, and there was the customer “stalking around” in the bushes of my next door neighbor’s resturant. huh? I asked him what he was doing, and he replied he’d lost something. Ok, I can somewhat understand that, as I’ve done the same thing. However, not in my neighbors bushes.
My friend left the store at approximately, 1:15pm, and before he drove away, he came in to tell me the guy was still on the other side of the building just looking around. At this, I decided to call the local police, and dialed their non emergency number.
Within a few seconds of my friend’s car leaving the parking lot, in comes the guy, walking real fast down the main aisle of the store. I’m still waiting on the phone to ring, when he suddenly produces a 3 ft Ninja Sword from behind his back and states “This is a Ninja Sword”, and sticks it into my right shoulder very deeply.
At the instant I ‘sorta’ realized what was happening, I pushed hard against my desk, as I was sitting down in a roller equipped chair. That propelled me backwards at a rapid rate, until the wheels reached the edge of the protective plastic cover over the carpet. When the wheels reached the carpet, the chair stopped, and my fat ass was launched backwards onto the floor. Instantly, I was upside down on my back, bleeding like a stuck pig, and wondering what in the hell was going on with this?
My Glock 19, that I carried religously, was lying on top of my file cabinet under my desk. I passed it by rather quickly when I was propelled backwards by arms and fear. I wasn’t able to grab it, and never got back to it again.
Anyway, the jerk with the sword had run around my desk, and I was finding myself fending off repeated stabs to me by using my hands and arms as parrying instruments. Not recommended behavior. I’m starting to get a headache while writing this. It is not pleasant to recall.
When I had finally struggled to my feet, I’d been stabbed another couple of times, but nothing as serious as the first one. I was bleeding profusely by now from all of the minor and major cuts. The only thing I could think of at the time, was to distance myself from the blade, as my arms just weren’t long enough to combat this threat.
I cutoff the battle, and made a dash to my office door, which was about five steps away. He was right there with me as I opened the door. I fought my way inside the door, and slammed it as hard as I could on him. The sword came all the way through the steel cased door, so I guess it was fairly sharp 🙂
Next, I ran to my desk, as I knew there was a loaded 38 Chief’s Special in the desk drawer. As I got to the desk, I tripped on some of my usual junk in the floor, and sprawled out on top of the desk, destroying my computer and everything on top of the desk. At that moment, I realized that the 38 was in the drawer, but hell, not only was it not loaded, it wasn’t even in one piece. I’d taken it apart the other day or so to clean it, and it was still in pieces. haha, jokes on me 🙂
Got up from the desk, and turned to face my attacker. Then, the jerk gave me the worst of it, as he stabbed me in my left abdomen, right above the belt line. It went all the way in , within a half inch of piercing my other side. Hurt like hell. But, I was pissed, so I kept on fighting anyway. By this time, I was starting to fade, as I’d lost a lot of blood, and my hits on him didn’t seem to be having much of an effect. In actuality, I was going fast, and was pretty demoralized, as I realized that this was probably it for me, and this jerk was going to get the best of the situation.
We waltzed around my office for a minute or so, while I was trying to pull out the sword with my left hand, and he was using both of his hands to try to push it in deeper. I had bruised marks on my left joints of my fingers for a couple of months, where I had a death grip on the damn thing.
At the moment when we danced to the front of the office, I realized I had a way out. I finally remembered my little Beretta 950SB in my right pants pocket. Yep, a lowly 25ACP, with rounds in it, that I hadn’t even bothered to purchase. A friend of mine gave me a box of 25 ammo ( cheap Winchester hardball stuff), and that is what was in it. NO ONE will EVER realize the way I felt when I realized that I was not going to go alone. People talk about an epiphany, but that doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling when someone gives you the ability to fight back. I pulled it out very deliberately, and thumbed the hammer back. All the while, my attacker was still trying to stuff the sword in deeper, and I was doing my best to keep him from succeeding.
I knew using a sub caliber firearm center mass would be a joke, so I pulled it up in front of my right eye, while thumbing back the hammer. When he realized what was about to happen, his eyes became REAL large. That was what I aimed for, his left eye. I only thought I’d fired about two or three times, but in reality I fired five rounds. That was a surprise to me when they told me that.
I hit him four times in the left eye, and the other round was taken into one of his hands, and went through my front office door fifteen feet behind him. The door is a steel cased door, and the bullet penetrated all the way through, out into the parking lot.
Two of the four bullets that went into his head penetrated all the way through, and fell spent, on the ground ten feet behind him. The last two bounced around in his head, one lodging in the upper cervical region of his spine, and the other in his grey matter. He dropped like a brick, and made a lot of back and forth motions on the floor, like someone having a seizure. Yeah, I guess it ‘was’ a seizure.
I stumbled out to the show room, and bent over the desk holding my guts in while dialing 911. I stayed on the phone until some kids came into the store before the black and whites showed up. I told them they really ought to go, as this was not a good time to shop 🙂 The B&Ws grabbed them as they were getting ready to drive out of the parking lot, so I had to stumble out front to tell them the kids had nothing to do with this, and not to shoot them.
I was glad to see they did not get shot in the process. Sometimes kids will do strange, unexpected things, and I was concerned with all of the adrenalin flowing in the cops, they might get anxious with the kids. No sweat, as it worked out ok.
The meat wagon showed up in a few minutes, and I was finally allowed to lie down on the gurney. That alone, was worth the wait. It had been a long fifteen minutes since my friend had left.
They plugged the holes a little bit, and gave me oxygen. The local airport is about a half mile down the road, so I was taken there to be “slicked” away to St. Joseph’s in Tampa Trauma Unit.
I stayed there for a total of ten days, with the first three in intensive care. For the first eight hours or so, they didn’t know if I’d make it or not. Obviously, I did.
The perpetrator’s plug was pulled the next morning, as he was brain dead. I talked to the para’s a while later, and they stated he was only breathing about four times a minute when they pulled him from the floor. I still have a huge stain in the carpet to remind me.
1. ALWAYS have your choice of firearm on your person. An arms length away can be too far. Mine was.
2., ALWAYS have your firearm ready to go– chamber loaded, safety on or off– your choice. I kept my Beretta chamber loaded, and hammer down as it is a single action gun. All that was needed was to thumb the hammer back. My Glock is even better, as all that is needed is to pull the trigger. Nothing is faster to bring to bear to fire. NOTHING.
3. ALWAYS think of a way out, no matter where you are. My success in this incident was due to a lot of different things that came into play for me.
a. I was of a stronger will than my opponent. I had more reason to live , so I was motivated and pissed as well.
b. I was well versed in pistolcraft, and practice frequently with what I carry— including my backup. I know full well the limitations of my backup, as well as my primary piece.
c. I was extremely lucky, as luck would have it. If the jerk had been a true ‘messenger of death’, then I’d have been stabbed in my left chest, and died at the desk. He wasn’t, and I wasn’t. Therefore, that opened up an opportunity for my self defense.
I fought fiercely and relentlessly. I offered no quarter and gave none. This was for my life, and I was not going to go peacefully.
I did not.
The .25 ain’t much, but it beats having nothing but foul language.
More info is available in this post. Unfortunately, David passed away a couple of years ago in South America from a tropical disease. I would imagine his wounds were a contributing factor.