HOLY SH!T! It is precisely BECAUSE the story you tell is so foreign from the experience of most that I, and I'm sure others, would be interested in learning more details.
Your response seems to go further than warranted to my response to your post. I did not say that I didn't believe your post. I asked hopefully that you were joking. Apparently you've not watched much "television" if you think that folks who have seen some of the things on television and have incorporated these into their own experiences cannot embrace the concept of toddler to teen fight clubs. I have little doubt that many of the kids that go missing in the US each year undergo horrid abuses and deaths never to be found alive again. You made it out. I'm happy and impressed. Peace be with you JakeJ.
I'm afraid I don't know how to access whatever it is you are trying to show me. I've seen these I-MG things before. When I, "click," on them, w/ my finger, because my phone is my only online connection, nothing much happens. I replied to one of them under a funny pictures, etc. thread, asking what I'm supposed to do, because all that happens is that the, "MG," moves up to join the, "I." The only response I received to that post was 1, "like," from Browerbird (who apparently thought that I was making a joke). Can you provide me any enlightenment, either on the tech side, or else on the nature of your reply?
I've seen this often on a forum. If a person tells a highly unusual story, particularly a sad story, they are assailed as liars. If a member had a thread for people to tell of bad childhood experiences, and Natascha Kampusch Sorry if I misread your message. I do understand people tell fantasy tales on forums for attention or whatever other reasons. Thanks for your follow up message. I am very pleased with how my life went after that to this day. It just kept getting better and suspect far luckier than most.
@Grey Matter @JakeJ To Grey Matter, I read where you said you believe Jake, so don't take this the wrong way. But it may interest you to know that Jake and I got to know each other through this website several years ago. Without going in to it, we have some things in common. We exchanged a bunch of long, detailed private messages. Back then, Jake told me about his early life, and the story he just told you is perfectly consistent with what he told me back then.
I was a peaceful kid and didn't know much about fighting, nor did I want to fight. So, I have nothing of interest to talk about from my childhood. I remember a couple of kids took a poke at me once or twice in elementary school, but that's about it. But I became interested in law enforcement and ended up joining the Army in 1974 and going into the Military Police. In MP School I got my first formal training in unarmed self defense. When I got out, I worked as a department store loss prevention officer, mostly catching shoplifters, and I took classes in Kenpo karate. I then got hired by my local Sheriff's Office as a Deputy. I learned more about unarmed self defense in the police academy. After a year and half of that, I switched to a police department and worked as a police officer and patrol sergeant until I retired in 2008 at age 53. I didn't really retire because I still work about 2/3rds time as a survival skills trainer for law enforcement recruits. I'm 65 now, so I've been in the business all of my adult life. During my time in law enforcement, I've been involved in countless physical struggles with suspects. But one thing you try to do in law enforcement is to put the odds in your favor and play smart. You must be as prepared as you can be to fight alone, but you always seek to outnumber the bad guy whenever you can. So, in 99% of those fights, I was not alone; I had at least one other officer with me. In those cases, the whole objective is to get the bad guy down to the ground, keep him down, and get him handcuffed, and to do it quickly. So, although I can't even remember them all, such incidents are relatively boring to talk about. In essence, two or more officers wrap up a guy and take him down ... no big deal. But I do remember this one time ... I was on patrol on a graveyard shift. I responded to a prowler call. Some unknown guy was trying to enter a woman's apartment. When I got there, I saw the guy at the apartment door. I called out to him, and he came downstairs and to me. I could tell he was intoxicated. We were both about the same age, in our 20s, and about the same weight. He didn't live there, so he was trespassing and creating a disturbance - two misdemeanors. Also, in my state we could take intoxicated adults into custody if they were intoxicated and presenting a danger to himself or others. This was not a criminal offense in and of itself, but more of a statutory civil authority. So, for all of those things, I was going to arrest him. My nearest back up was about a mile and half to two miles away. When I told him he was under arrest, he backed away and then tried to push past me, and the fight was on. My instincts were to get him to the ground, and now, thinking about it, I don't even remember how I did it, but I did get him to the ground where it seems like we struggled for a long time. As intoxicated as he was, it was hard to get him in a painful wrist/arm hold that he could feel. I remember making a quick call on my portable radio that I needed help. Towards the end, he was still fighting furiously, and I resorted to previous training. I managed to get behind him and put on a "carotid restraint", also known as a choke hold. I cranked on that hard too. And as I was doing that, to my relief, I could hear a siren getting closer. I managed to get the guy groggy (not completely out, but weakened) with the choke hold, and I let off of it as my back-up arrived. The guy was cuffed, and the fight was over. I was pretty tired but unhurt. My uniform was messed up, but I was fine. I also had a simple shoplift case go sideways on me one time. I was sent to a grocery store where they had a male adult in custody. But when I got there the guy tried to get away, and we had a prolonged struggle that ended up out in the parking lot. I managed to get this guy down to the ground, but I wasn't really winning this fight, I admit. I was lucky because the owner of a hardware store next door got wind of it, ran out, and helped me. Other than some minor scrapes, I was fine, but parts and pieces of my uniform were all over the parking lot. Lol ... @Grey Matter I've got a few sort of amusing Taser stories if you're interested. Seth
Having restrictions on using a chock hold is reasonable, but prohibiting officers using it is a terrible mistake and in a sense not only truly endangers the officer(s) but can require them to more seriously injury someone resisting. Some people think that police officers must be not only the world's greatest fighters and wrestlers, but can do so against anyone without possibly risking harming the other person. I have no doubt officers using choke holds far more often has prevented suspects from being seriously injured than have seriously injured suspects. The purpose of a choke hold is to end the fight and anyone being hurt, not to harm the person being restrained. If an officer wants to hurt someone, they're not going to use a choke hold to do it. They're going to do it in other ways.
Absolutely right. I saw people rendered unconscious with a properly applied carotid restraint many, many times, especially when I was a Deputy many years ago. Times have changed, but back then, we carried nothing but a set of cuffs in the jail. When inmates became assaultive, deputies tried to use commands, control holds, and then if those failed, the carotid restraint. I saw that end many fights including people high on drugs that could feel no pain and who would never stop fighting otherwise. In every case, the person was only "out" for about 30 seconds or less before regaining consciousness, but by then they were handcuffed and under control.
Oh man, what a great story. Hilarious. It reminds me of the time my frat brothers tried to throw me out naked. Different circumstances, but I duplicated your methods, what I lacked in skill, I made up for in enthusiasm. I successfully avoided getting hauled out of the house buck naked to be paraded around the front of Greek row. I think I was maybe influential in ending the practice as well. Apparently it had become something of a fake struggle that some of the guys would put up. Nope, they were gonna have to battle to earn sporting me around like I'd seen them do to another guy a few weeks earlier. Whatever, that was just silly, not even a fight really. I just kinda flung them off me until I started to get tired. Might have been like four guys giving me a go of it, but not well coordinated. I told them, look, fine, you can carry my ass out naked but you're gonna have-ta earn it and I'm getting ready to start punching, so I might get mine, but I guarantee you one of you is gonna get hurt if this keeps up. Let's just say that I was pretty opposed to this kinda gay ass thing that had apparently developed some kind of tradition at this frat. In my mind, it would be more respectable if the guy getting paraded around had a bit of blood on his face, and if at least one or better yet two of the victors had some as well. Anyway, when they figured out that I was not going quietly into that good nakedness they fortunately decided I was no fun and gave it up.
A hot summer night, a small apartment with no air conditioning, and a domestic disturbance. I and one other officer responded. It felt like an oven in there. The guy was out of control. He was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. He decided to fight us. We got him to the ground, on his stomach, but he continued to fight us furiously. We were cramped in a small space between a bed and a bedroom wall. I was using my forearm across his shoulders to hold him down and applying pressure. My partner was behind me trying to control the guy's legs. I wasn't letting him up on my end, but he kept pulling up one leg or the other and then kicking hard at my partner. Finally, my partner took out his taser and warned him, "Stop kicking or you will be tased." He kept trying to kick, so my partner disconnected the taser cartridge that shoots the darts. In that mode, you can tase someone with direct contact. He put the taser against the small of his back and pulled the trigger. Now, this guy, as I said, was only wearing some shorts. It was hot, and he had been fighting us. His entire body was covered with a sheen of sweat. I had my whole forearm pressed across his shoulders. When my partner pulled the trigger on that taser, I heard it start its cycle. It sounds kinda like a little toy machine gun. He screamed like a girl. But the funny part is that the moisture all over him allowed that electrical charge to cross over his back to where my forearm was holding him down. All of sudden I felt a strange sensation and my arm started shaking uncontrollably all the way up to my shoulder. Sh-t! I was getting tased too! Instinctively, I pulled my arm up off of him to break contact. The taser cycle is 5 seconds. As soon as it ended he tried to get up, and I forced him back down with my forearm, but he started trying to kick again. My partner warned him again, no dice. So he got tased a second time, and for the second time, I got tased too - my arm shaking up to my shoulder. He continued to resist and trying to kick, and my partner warned him a third time, "Stop fighting or you'll be tased again!" I turned and looked at my partner and yelled out, "Don't tase him!" ... and he didn't. The guy tuckered out a little, and we got him cuffed and under control. True story of the time I got tased twice at the family beef.
@Grey Matter Rainy season, and it was raining. Night time call to a family fight. When we got to the apartment complex the fight was out in the parking lot. It was between a father and his adult son in his 20s. The son was high on drugs and alcohol (great combo, eh? You want this job?) My partner was a very capable and experienced female officer. The father and son were both standing and locked up with each other. Using two hands, I forced one of the son's hands away from his father and twisted it around to his back and locked it back there with one of my arms. But I still needed to get him to let go of his father who he was holding on to with his other hand. I tried, but I only had one arm free because my other one was busy keeping his other hand locked behind his back. I found that I simply didn't have the leverage or strength to reach around his shoulder, and dislodge his free hand which was locked onto his father's shirt. I yanked on it one-handed a couple of times to no avail. It was dark out there and pouring rain. A slight depression in the asphalt had created a sizable puddle next to us. My partner didn't hesitate. "Stop fighting or you will be tased!", she shouted. I tried again to get him to let go of his father, but he held on tight. Pop! She fired those taser darts right into the side of his rib cage. Remembering what happened to me before, I let go of him instantly as soon as I heard the pop of the taser. He fell into the puddle beneath us. I'll never forget the sight. He fell onto his side, in the puddle. The taser was doing its toy machine gun noise, delivering a 5 second "ride". On his side, as the taser was working, he immediately goes, "Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!". He's on his side, and his legs start trying to run away from what was happening to him, but they were running in air. And then, to complete the picture, it's dark and soaking wet, and I literally saw blue light zipping over his torso. He was done. He didn't want anymore of that, and it was over. It's nice to be retired ...
#2 Ok, ok, so here is my fight story that I really want to tell because it is so amazing that I can't even believe it sometimes. Now, this story also comes to my mind around this time of year because it is almost literally the same kinda story from A Christmas Story. After getting into a couple of scraps at 6 and maybe 7 I didn't have any involvement in fighting until I was 9 and this was one I really couldn't avoid. So I'm in 4th grade at this point and my little sister is in 1st grade. And we don't get along all that well. I probably tended to be a bit of a jerk to her more often than not. She broke her collar bone at some point and then did it again once when she fell off of the back of the bike while I was toting her down the sidewalk and maybe took a curve too fast, or braked too fast. I thought Dad was gonna whip my butt for that, but I was surprisingly pleased that this didn't become the case. Another odd thing in our family was that Dad liked to punch me every once in awhile. He would call it frogging me. What!? Yeah, I know, just weird. He'd make a fist and buckle up his middle finger knuckle so that it protruded out and nail me in my bicep or thigh. So, I did this to my sister a few times until Dad caught me and frogged the crap out of me. I think I made a complaint that if he could frog me then I could frog my sister. So the frogging ended all around. Ok, so there is a kid in the neighborhood that lives a couple of streets over. He's also a red head as it turns out, like my buddy Chucky, but I can't remember his name. We were never friends, never hung out, not in the same crew or the same grade. He was either in 5th or 6th grade I think. Everybody was scared of him. At least everybody that rode our bus was scared of him. He was always being a jerk if not an outright bully. Like in the movie, A Christmas Story this guy was a tall lanky red head kid that enjoyed bullying kids and we all tried to avoid him as much as possible. Kids even avoided walking near his house as I recall. I know I avoided it. So starting in fourth grade, I had a little sister that began riding the same bus to school. And this brat rode the bus too. And I'd successfully avoided having him target me for one or maybe two previous years, I can't remember when he moved into the house that put him on my bus. His family moved through at least three houses in the same school district over about three or four years. I had a bad feeling when my sister started riding that bus with this kid on it, but it seemed to be ok for several months and then one day in mid spring he decided to pick on my sister. I think he might have done it a couple of times before to a different degree. There may have been a couple of discussions at dinner about it. I had new rules from Mom at this point. Dad was oddly silent looking back, still strikes me as weird that he didn't offer some rules. Anyway, my rule with this kid or any fight was that I was allowed to protect myself and my sister, but if I got into a fight I wasn't allowed to throw the first punch. That particular day I was one of the last kids to get on the bus and when I did I found this kid giving my sister some grief to get out of her seat and give it to him. This particular bus was at the time at about 100% capacity. So I was stressed about being late to get on to find a seat and then on top of it here this guy is picking on a kid to give him her seat, and in this case, ugh, it's my sister! Oh man, I'm so screwed. "Hey, leave her alone," I say. Kid stops and looks at me and mocks me first, "Oh, leave her alone" and then adds, "who's gonna make me?" Now, I hadn't really thought this far ahead, so I was genuinely kinda surprised to hear myself say that I guess I would. Holy S. I'm in for it now. Well, do somethin then he said. No, I'll do somethin when we get off the bus I said. I'm not going to the office for fighting on the bus. OK fine he said. So he left my sister alone and he found another seat and I found a seat and that whole 10 or 15 minute ride from school back to where we got off the bus was tense af for me. I wanna believe that whole bus was filled with tension and unusually quiet, but I'm not really clear on that. Anyway, we finally get off the bus and I remember this pretty clearly. All the kids stayed seated and let just me and him get off. And then we literally squared off right in front of the freaking doors. Whatta ya gonna do he says. You gonna fight or what? My mom told me never to throw the first punch I say, improvising on the fly. Ah, ugh, what is it with the mocking? He repeats what I just said with a sneer of course, Oh, your mom told you never to throw the first punch, and then he takes almost a fake swing at me that was, not to be misogynistic, but surprisingly reminiscent of the weird way that girls throw different than guys. Boom! Launch codes released! I beat his ass. I have no idea how. I can't remember anything between when he took that fake swing and when my mom came running from our house three doors down in her freaking bath robe at 3 or 4 in the afternoon and pulled me off the kid yelling at me to get off of him. Which confused me, no mom, I'm on top, No no no, stop I yelled at her, I'm winning! She dragged me off the kid who jumped up and ran like hell. I had somehow ended up sitting on his back with him face down and covering the back of his head with his hands as I was pounding on the back of his head. Holy S. How did this happen? Mom literally drags me to the house, I wanted to continue beating this dickhead, badly, passionately. I went full Ralphie on that kid! After I calmed down I started freaking out. There was no way I should have won that fight. The kid was older than me and taller than me, and I assumed that he was a lot meaner than me. I was certain that I was gonna get pounded the next day or soon thereafter. Never happened. That kid became a nice guy after that, more or less. He quit bullying kids on the bus anyway and some of the kids that knew him a lot better than I did said that he really changed a lot after that fight. I don't know. He creeped me out and I was still kinda scared of him actually, even though kids actually kinda treated me like a hero for quite a while.
Nice. Freaking muppet getting lit up like Luke Skywalker by the Emperor. Nope, I do not want that job. Domestic violence is I think one of the highest risk incidents for cops to respond to, isn't it? And in the pouring rain, always a bit of a miserable circumstance. Fortunately I've not had to work in the pouring rain since the 80s.
Yeah, domestics are really dangerous. Anything can happen. Never fun. I live in western Oregon ... rain country.
My background is actually fairly similar. A pacifist, as well as career military. And for 3 years I also did loss prevention. And in that job, I was in dozens of altercations. I still have the scars from bites and being assaulted in that job, but the most I would ever do is grapple a subject, I refused to ever be "offensive" in making a stop. But so many times I would get jumped, by either the person I was stopping, or by others that were with them. Once by 6 others that were waiting for her outside (she had $200 in steaks and $400 in baby formula in her bags).
