Hu, I was far more focused on finding pool games back then rather than learning anything more about guns. I did know how to shoot a .22 rifle and an M-14. Self taught on the first and the Army taught me on the second one. I killed crows at 100 yards plus with the .22 (long rifle of course) and the M-14 would bring down any man at 300-400 yards with ease. I only bought my first Browning .25 in Dayton when I was 21. I bought it because if was tiny and would fit in the back pocket of my jeans. I didn't have any illusions about how powerful it was (about equal to a .22 short) but I knew I had a fighting chance if someone jumped me. Without it I was unarmed and overmatched. With it, I could defend myself in a pinch and maybe get away. In all the years I carried it I only needed to take it out once, when two guys tried to rob me outside my first poolroom. Just seeing that little gun in my hand was enough to discourage them, and one guy had a large buck knife (yes, it was cocked and loaded and my finger was on the trigger. One more step and BANG!). One other time my GF had it in her purse and took it out when some guy came toward me with a pool cue. She would have shot him for sure, she was a little bad ass. I was playing Monk 9-Ball for 20 a game and after hours of back and forth I told him I was quitting. We had ridden all the way to Vegas from Bakersfield on my Honda 880 Chopper, walked in the poolroom and got in the game right away (I felt really tired and wanted to take a break). I wasn't sure how I stood, but might have been a couple of games ahead. He didn't say anything but one of his buddies started getting nasty with me. Lucky for him Monk told him to back down and leave me alone.
I was there when Bill Stepp (a serious outlaw) took three shots to the chest at point blank range from a .25 at the Cue & Bridge in Dayton, Ohio in 1964. He just stood there and didn't say a word while the old man who shot him walked out the door (Bill had given the man's son a severe beating a day or two before). Bill told a couple of his friends to take him to the hospital. He seemed okay when he walked out the door to the car. One of his friends was my close buddy Terry Johnson who went with Bill to the hospital. He told me later that Bill was okay at first but started having trouble breathing on the way there. He was gasping for breath when they arrived at the ER. Terry told me that when they took his shirt off you could see the purple lines in his chest where the bullets went. Bill almost died on the operating table, but he still told those two guys not to touch a hair on the old man's head. So for anyone who thinks you can't kill someone with a .25 they are dead wrong.
My own story was about a cop in Bakersfield who had it out for me. A couple of guys had been dealing drugs (H) out of my restroom without me knowing about it. This cop came in and rousted me, thinking that I was somehow involved. He frisked me and found the little Browning in my back pocket. He held it up in my face (I was cuffed) and asked me what I thought I could do with my little toy gun. I told him if it was held up against his head he wouldn't be saying that. That earned me a trip to the station where this little tough guy cop (Joe Sverbilis) debated with his partner about giving me a beating in the basement of the police station (and they could have gotten away with it). Fortunately his partner didn't want to beat on me like Joe did. I was unarmed and cuffed, totally defenseless. I still had to bail myself out ($750) and it took a month to get my gun back. It was legal for me to have that gun there. I had gotten a permit from the police chief himself!
