Close only counts in horseshoes and heart attacks

Doesn't every boy growing up in the USA fantasize about being a big, tough cowboy?

Maybe that's what I was secretly doing: living out that childhood dream. I mean, maybe that's why I wore that big black hat and those snakeskin cowboy boots all the while I was driving that 18-wheeler from coast to coast. Oh yeah, don't forget that big, silver belt buckle. That's OK though because it all fit perfectly with that big Kenworth, and I must admit that it was fun- for the most part.

I'll never forget the day that I loaded those women's cosmetics in Sweet Home Alabama and trucked them on up to a warehouse in that backwater town, Henderson, North Carolina.

I arrived in Henderson at about 10 pm and pulled up in front of that warehouse, which was locked up tight for the night. My appointment to unload was for 11 the next morning. Man, was I tired! Well, now I could relax and put my feet up for a while. What I needed now was a nice, cold beer.

On the way in I'd noticed a 7-11 store and it was right around the corner from that warehouse, so I decided to hoof it on over there and buy myself a 6-pack of Budweiser.

Now you'd never expect to have any kind of trouble in a little town like that, but I always prepared for the worst, not only in New York or Los Angeles, but everywhere I went. My grandpa always said, "It's better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it!", so I locked and loaded that chrome-plated 380 semi-automatic of mine and stuck it behind my belt. I pulled my army field jacket on, put my hat on, and began to make my way over to that 7-11. Now there was an old, abandoned gas station on the corner, so I cut across behind it and kind of came up to that store from the back. What I saw in the side parking lot of that store kind of surprised me. It was filled with big, fine cars that were being polished by their owners- at 10 o'clock at night in the light of those parking lot lights. Now where I come from there's very little racism, but it's just a simple fact that they were all black. The crushed Colt 45 Malt Liqueur cans littering the ground, as well as the fact that everybody had a full one in their hands, gave testimony to the fact that they had all been drinking, and they obviously hadn't been holding back much.

Well, that was none of my business so I just headed toward the store's entrance and kept to myself. All of sudden one of those fellows called out to me, "Hey cowboy, where's your horse?" At the same time eight of them started over towards me. I couldn't resist playing macho and said, "Well, I got so hungry that I cut his throat and ate him raw!" They laughed and we stood around laughing and joking for a few minutes. Suddenly I noticed, however, that they were slowly beginning to surround me! I took a step back just to be on the safe side but they moved quickly to cut me off and before I knew it they had me surrounded!

That's when they started talking in a whole different way. They asked me what in the world I thought I was doing there? This was a black neighborhood and no whites were allowed. I told them that I had to deliver over yonder the next day, but that didn't phase them in the least. This was a black neighborhood and they didn't want any whites around, and now they were going to beat the living daylights out of me as punishment. At that point a gentleman behind me voiced the opinion that beating me up would be much too strenuous and that they should just cut my throat and be done with me. At the same time I heard the snap of a switchblade knife opening up back there! Now I had hated my drill sergeant back in army basic training, but at that moment I could have given the man a bear hug because that military training just took over. I became absolutely calm and still inside. Time slowed to a crawl and I began thinking strategically. First I'd shoot what seemed to be the chairman of the committee- the one with the big mouth standing in front of me, then I'd do an about face and shoot the one with the knife behind me. Then a left face and shoot and another about face and shoot. While I was planning I was unzipping that field jacket so I could get at my weapon- should it become necessary.

I figured I had a real chance. You see, when Clint Eastwood pulls the trigger on his 44-magnum in some dark alley a cute little red dot appears on the bad guy's chest, he says ouch, and falls over dead. But that's not the way it is in real life, no sir. Every soldier knows that shooting someone makes a real big mess. Blood splatters all over the place and everybody around gets sprayed with bone splinters that fly in every direction, just for starters. I knew that and was expecting it, but I was willing to bet that they didn't, and would be in shock for a few seconds when I started blasting and things got messy. Maybe they'd all run away- the ones who survived the first volley, that is...

Still I tried to talk them out of it. I said, "Now listen, fellas, you don't have to do this. There's still time to just turn around and walk away. Just think about what you're doing here. All you guys ganging up on one man, now that's just not right. I'm sure your parents raised you better than that. Just turn and walk away, would you?"

"No way, man", said Mr. Chairman. You broke the rules and now you're going to pay. I just stood there and waited, ready to draw if necessary. What else could I do? Call a cop? I was perfectly still inside and in complete command of myself (Thanks again Sergeant Taylor). If one of them had so much as twitched a finger I would have pulled that gun and started blowing people away. No warning shots like you see on television. That would only give Mr. Switchblade time to stab me in the back. In a real life danger situation like that you just draw and shoot, and you shoot to kill. It was me or them, kill or be killed...

Just then the guy standing diagonally to my right saw the butt of that 380 under my field jacket and said, "Hey, that dude's got a gun!" The chairman said, "Huh? You crazy man?" "No", the other one said, "I see it under his jacket!"

They all took a step back and and half raised their hands and started telling me to stay calm, don't shoot, they hadn't meant all that seriously, they were just kidding the whole time, they just wanted to play with me a little, they wouldn't really have done anything to me...

I did a right face without hesitation and headed for the entrance of that store. They parted like the Red Sea and let me go. I went into the store and bought my beer. Those gentlemen were still standing there in a small group when I came back out and I admit I did something that I should not have done; I walked right through the middle of them with my head held high! Well, they let me pass, wishing me a nice evening and thanking me for my patience.

As I walked away I could hear them talking among themselves; "Man, that dude was crazy!" "Yeah, he would have killed us all!" and, "Man, did you see that dude's eyes?"

I know what they saw in my eyes and I have to thank Sgt. Taylor again. They had expected to see fear, but what they saw was confidence, readiness, and absolute control. My eyes testified to the fact that I was ready to kill if need be.

Thank you 2nd Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America!

When I finally got back to my truck I locked the doors, pulled the shades, opened a beer, and fell apart. The tension that had been hiding under that absolute control came gushing out and I just plain feel apart.

I wasted no time getting out of there after unloading the next day...