One afternoon (in the early fifties) after a short time in the Police Academy, I’m on foot patrol on F Street when I find myself in hot pursuit of a shoplifter. A kindly lady sticks out her foot and trips the guy in front of Woodward & Lothrop’s Department store. The guy plows up two feet of pavement with his face.

Seconds later, I’m standing straddle-legged over the suspect. From a police tactical standpoint that’s a really stupid thing to do. Imagine what the perp can do to me with his feet.

I order him to turn over. When he does, he has a filleting knife in his hand. I draw my .38 caliber revolver from its already unstrapped holster. Now it’s a standoff! The guy is trembling; his face soaked with sweat. I’m soaked with sweat and my gun-hand is trembling.

I’m scared but I’m also angry. I move my gun-hand closer and closer to the guy’s face. Now he’s really trembling. He knows he’s a dead man because I have advanced my gun until the muzzle is sticking inside one of his nostrils. I remember saying ever so softly, "I’m the last person you’ll ever see if you don’t drop that @*#&*$% knife." There’s a "klink" sound of the sidewalk. The crisis is over as bystanders give a polite applause.

Pushing his way through the crowd, my sergeant cuffs the prisoner and drags him out from under me. Sarge says quietly, "Holster your weapon, there are people standing around." As I go to holster my weapon I notice the end of the muzzle is dripping with goop from the guy’s nose. Yuk!

Back at the station house I considered throwing my holster away and buying a new one But leather is expensive. I knew I got too close to the guy. My grip on the gun was so tight, the guy would have never heard the bullet. This is the only time I’ll ever point a gun at another human being. Thank God for that.