“If bullshit was a street,”

To: tactical-life@harris-pub.com

Your Mind is Your Ace in the Hole

     First, let me state that, without reservation, I am the greatest BS artist who has ever lived.  I have only used this ability about a dozen times in my life but, when I do, it is awesome.  I only use it for special occasions, and the last time I BS’d someone, it probably saved my life.  If I was an evil person, I would be truly dangerous.

     I have had twelve previous submissions printed in Combat Handguns and Guns & Weapons for Law Enforcement, and every single word in those submissions, and in this one, is absolutely true.  In every single encounter with one or more bad guys, whether you are armed (as I was on many occasions) or not (as I found myself in this last instance), your most important weapon is your brain.

     I firmly believe that, in many cases, a person’s profession can be discerned by the look of their face.  I have correctly guessed someone’s profession many times this way.  I have known, for a very long time, that I look like a cop.  I’ve had a police officer ask me if I was a police officer.  Aside from the fact that I look like a cop, my command voice is in a top percentile, and I exude a quiet self-confidence.  That saved my life, when I didn’t have a gun, or any other kind of weapon on me, and was about to be robbed at knife-point.

     Every single gang-banger/convicted felon in this country knows two things:  1. Only two kinds of people will look them directly in the eyes; other gang-bangers (who will be shot for doing it), and police officers.  2. They all know that off-duty cops are armed, and so are most retired cops.  As I am now in my sixties, I now look like a retired cop.

     It was about 10:30 P.M., and my small pick-up truck, with a camper shell, was the only vehicle in a parking lot.  I was parked all the way in the back.  I had just opened the rear gate and shell, and was walking to the open driver’s door.  An individual about 30 years old, 6′ 1″ tall, 200 muscular pounds, with a shaved head and prison tats, was walking straight towards me.  He had much better looking clothes on than I did, but he said, “You got any spare change, man?”  I looked him right in the eyes, with my #1 dirty look, and said, “No, man.”  He walked around to the back of my truck and looked inside.  He stood about three feet from the open rear corner of my truck, on the passenger side, and remained standing there for about five minutes.  No other words were exchanged.

     I made four or five very slow trips, moving stuff, while giving that guy my #1 “don’t mess with me” look almost constantly.  He was doing a lot of thinking.  He was a smart guy, because he didn’t think that I was stupid.  He had several things to think about:  1. Just inside the camper shell was a 7 1/2 ” bowie-style knife, in a sheath, held in place with a bungee cord.  2. He could get to that knife a lot faster than I could.  3. He knew that I knew that he could see the knife, and that he could get to it first.  4. I didn’t seem too overly concerned about him grabbing my knife.  5. I kept giving him the “hard look.”  6. I looked like a retired cop who was armed with a gun, and was not reluctant to use it.

     As I said before, he was a smart guy, and decided that he didn’t want to make the classic mistake of showing up at a gun fight with just a knife.  He took off, and I went about my business.  If he had decided to rob me, I was defenseless, and he would have had to kill me because of his distinctive look, his very distinctive clothing, the fact that he was on foot (no car), and the fact that I had been staring at him for five minutes and had memorized everything about him, which put the fool in jail a few months later.

     Fellow students of armed self defense:  before, during, and after you have mastered your weapon(s), train your mind.  The best way to do that is by reading Combat Handguns magazine and the books by Mas Ayoob and others.  Don’t ever think that you “know it all.”  I’ve been studying this subject for over fifty years, and I learn something new in each issue of CH.

     To extrapolate a bit, I would have done absolutely everything exactly the same way if I had been packing.  Think about it.

     An addendum to this story is that a few months later I witnessed this same individual sell drugs to another person.  Less than 48 hours later, he robbed EIGHT gas stations.  I was the person who ID’d him and caused him to get sent back to prison; this time for 25 to life.

Richard Gearon


The foregoing is a submission I sent to COMBAT HANDGUNS magazine, which they didn’t print.  They HAD printed 12 of my previous submissions, for which I was paid a total of $1,850.  The former editor, a Mr. Harry Kane, with whom I spoke on the phone one time, left, and the new editor fucked up the whole deal.  The entire organization, Harris Publications, went out of business at the end of April, this year, no doubt caused by the new guy.  Harry Kane quickly came to realize that every single word, that I write, is true.   New guy probably didn’t believe the story.  I’ve given this matter a lot of thought; why people don’t believe my stories, and I have THOUSANDS of stories, and I’ve decided that almost everyone has never had a SINGLE experience like mine.  It’s never happened to them, so they don’t believe someone who tells them that it has happened to them.

I was in a senior-living apartment facility, and became friendly with two ex-Marines, both of whom had fought on Guadalcanal, with Chesty Puller, and one of them had been at the Chosin Reservoir, in Korea, with Chesty.  They told me some of their stories and I told them some of mine.  I thought, “Great, I’ve got two guys who believe my stories, because they both were in heavy, sustained combat.”  Then, one day, one of them, out of nowhere, said to me, “If bullshit was a street, you’d be the PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY.”  I was stunned, but immediately replied, “No, if bullshit was a street, I’d be the motherfucking SAN DIEGO FREEWAY.”  That really hurt me, that they thought I was bullshitting them.  I decided that even combat didn’t cause someone to believe my stories, because nothing even remotely like what has happened to me, had ever happened to them, as CIVILIANS.  On murderbymedia, I’ve related how a joo cocksucker professor, called me a “racist antisemite,” in front of a college class in Sociology, and I yelled back, “Don’t call me a ‘racist antisemite,’ you fucking asshole.”  How many times, in the history of the world, has anyone ever called their college professor a ‘fucking asshole?’  Once?  I’ve cussed out a Nation of Islam motherfucker, and others of that ethnic persuasion, so I don’t go off on just the hebes.

I am the greatest BS artist, in the world, but you won’t see any of it when you read my stuff on the web.  Thank you.




9 thoughts on ““If bullshit was a street,”

  1. I have been thinking a couple of times about asking you, when you where going to post a story again. Finally!
    I agree, it is important to be cool and not show fear. Bad people like easy victims.
    I think, that people often are distrustful for a number of reasons, one would be that there are so many liars out there!
    We have crazy bikers here, who used belt fed machine guns, rocket launchers and plastic explosive.
    So why are people so distrustful about regularly gun stuff, specially in USA where you have so many guns and are aloud to carry them around legally.
    I sometimes think, that your criminals often have a much more “born to lose” mentality than over here. We have drug addicts and colored people here, too! But somethings are just different.
    we usually say that we are a few decades after you when it come to things like fatness, drugs, crime and multicultural stuff in general.

  2. Speaking of “crazy bikers,” the first story I had printed, in COMBAT HANDGUNS, was about a coke-headed YUPPIE biker, on a Harley, who DID bring a knife to a gun fight. My gun vs. his Buck 110 folding knife. The magazine deleted a direct quote I said to the idiot, thinking that nobody, AT THAT TIME, could have come up with such a snappy comeback. SHEEEEIIIITT, I’m a master at the ‘snappy comeback.’ The SECOND time they printed that submission, they included it, because Harry Kane had decided that I was the real deal. After I told the yuppie scum that he couldn’t park his motorcycle in my parking lot, he said, incredulously, “What do you mean, I can’t park here, I live in Belmont Shore,” I said, “I don’t give a fuck if you live at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, in the White House, get the fuck out of my parking lot.” That’s a great story that I should put on this blog.

      1. Indubitably. It was one of the calmest moments in my life, and I was SMILING at the shit-head during the whole incident, until his six friends literally dragged him off down the street, about two seconds before I was going to make a .25-second draw and fire, aiming for the bridge of his nose.

      1. The “belly gun,” stuffed down the front of your pants, is the fastest position from which to draw. With an almost identical gun, but in .357 Magnum, in a belt holster, at the 3-o’clock position, UNDER a leather jacket that is zipped all the way up the front, I can get THAT baby into action in about .50 (1/2 sec.) of a second. I reach UNDER the jacket to get it; none of that jazz about sweeping the jacket back, as that takes almost a full second, for even the fastest draw on earth. Another advantage to the belly hold, is that you can access your weapon with your non-dominant (weak) hand, if you have to.
        NEVER stuff a Glock down the front of your pants, for obvious reasons. Lots of ghetto thugs have emasculated and/or castrated themselves doing that.

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