GLOCK Home Defense

When I was 16, I was sick and stayed home alone from school one day. My dad had just bought his first pistol, a GLOCK 23, a few weeks back and had given me adequate instruction on how the gun operated before he locked it in a safe that he also had given me access to. During the day that I was home, I was watching TV in my room and heard the front screen door open and close.

Thinking it was the mailman, I initially gave it just a passing thought. But a few seconds later, I heard it again. At that point I felt I needed to find out what was making this unusual noise. I muted the TV, got up, and as soon as I left my room and stepped into the hallway, I heard a loud banging at the door and the sound of wood cracking.

I ran into the den at the other end of the hall, opened the safe and grabbed my father’s GLOCK. I stood at the end of the hall with my GLOCK in hand as the front door was kicked in. Astounded and starting to feel the tingling of adrenaline that ignites the fight or flight mechanism, I just stood there and watched as two men walked from my living room into the dining room, where I could clearly see them from my position in the hallway.

I held the gun up in a shooting stance and said, “Don’t move.”

They turned around, and the look on their faces was priceless. Of course, I was as scared as you could imagine, but I held my ground and kept those two guys at gunpoint. They put their hands up. I told them to get on the floor, and they did. I called the police, and just about every cop in the city showed up within minutes. The police were amazed at my bravery, as was my dad when he got the phone call at work. It turned out that those two were on crack cocaine and had broken into several houses before ours and gotten away. I cannot imagine what they would have done to me if the TV was turned up too loud, my door was shut, or I had been asleep.

However, I do know that with my father’s GLOCK and the simple instructions he provided, I had the courage to stand my ground and protect our home and property from these drug-addicted thieves. —DF, MI

Rude Awakening

I grew up with firearms. I used them to put food on the table in my youth, later in the military, and then in USPSA and standard pistol competitions. As I got older, my job priorities and family obligations drew me away from active firearms use. My 9mm GLOCK sat in a safe for nearly two years without being touched. My wife tried to persuade me to sell the GLOCK, stating there was no need for it. After all, we lived in an urban area with an excellent police force. In Canada, we are only allowed to have pistols if we are active pistol competitors and members of gun clubs, so I decided I would stop my club membership and sell the pistol.

But just before I sold the GLOCK, I was awakened, both figuratively and literally. It was a Friday night, just after 4:00am, when my wife woke me, screaming, “Get your gun! Get your gun! Someone is trying to kick down the door!”

I told her to call 911 and she replied, “Get downstairs and stop them!”

I was in awe. The same lady that wanted to be married to a quiet, compliant, unarmed professional was all of a sudden screaming for “Rambo.” It never ceases to amaze me how fast opinions about firearms ownership change when people suddenly need a firearm for protection!

I grabbed my GLOCK, a handful of cartridges and a magazine. I loaded several cartridges into the magazine as I went down the stairs, dropping more cartridges than I loaded, and inserted the mag into the gun as I moved across the kitchen to the back door that the assailant was trying to kick in.

I started yelling through the door at the assailant on the outside. I said I was armed and would defend my family if he came into my house. The assailant pulled himself up to look at me though the small window at the top of the door as I racked the slide and took aim directly at hIm. The person took off running. The police arrived several minutes later. Afterwards, they caught the assailant and took him into custody—apparently he was known to police.

Some time later, the same thing happened to an older gentleman that lived up the road from my family, but he was beaten to death. Five years later and the murder still has not been solved by the police. I am firmly convinced having a firearm present during the episode that transpired at my house that evening prevented violence, saving my family from grave bodily harm or death.

I practice with my firearms now, have purchased several new ones and keep flashlights and a cell phone handy. I am now also firmly entrenched in the belief that Americans should preserve the right to keep and bear arms. Don’t let that right be diminished as it has here in Canada. That night I learned firsthand the old adage, “When seconds count, the police are only minutes away,” is an accurate one! —MK, Canada


My story starts on the 4th of July in downtown Sparks, Nevada. I had been carrying my GLOCK 26 Gen4 for around a year at this point. My girlfriend and I went to see the fireworks late that night. We were searching for a spot to watch the fireworks and stopped by a casino in the area so I could use the restroom. As I finished, I stepped outside the stall to wash my hands, and there were three rather large men using the urinals. Without any provocation, one of them started to call me profane names, and his companions, sensing a fight brewing, joined in on the insults.

I ignored them and started to make my way towards the door, which immediately made them more agitated. To my disadvantage, the door was right beyond the urinals where they were standing. The biggest of the three positioned himself in front of the door—blocking my only way out—and the other two filled in the remaining space, totally blocking any exit opportunity. They continued their insults and then started threatening me, saying how they were going to harm me.

At this point there were no more words I could say that would keep this inevitable and unprovoked fight from taking place. Outsized and outnumbered, I was faced with the most terrifying of choices. The only solution where I would have a chance to come out unharmed was to introduce a more fearsome force that would make them back down or pay a dire consequence for their evil intentions.
I pulled out my G26 and pointed it at the closest man. I calmly said, “Gentlemen, no one is beating me up tonight. Now step away from the door.”

Their hands went up, and they had the most shocked looks on their face that I have ever seen. They stepped away and I exited the bathroom unharmed and untouched.

Not to become a victim later, I proceeded to notify the authorities immediately of what happened, where it happened and what they had done to make me draw my weapon. I feel that my GLOCK saved my life that night. I can’t even imagine what the physically superior group of thugs would have done to me if I wasn’t armed. —BM, NV

Domestic Disturbance

We had just gotten out of our squad briefing at the sheriff’s office in Charleston, South Carolina, when I got my first call of the day. I got dispatched to a collision on Johns Island. I was almost to the call when headquarters gave two other units a domestic-violence call involving a gun. The caller on 911 advised that the suspect had been standing over the victim with a revolver pointed at her head, threatening to kill her. As the call went out, I realized that I was about a mile from the call, and the other units were coming from about 5 miles away. I advised headquarters of my location and that I would be en route.

I stopped short of the location where the call was supposed to be to wait on the other units to get closer before approaching. The house was on a large lot on the corner. At the end of a long driveway, I saw the victim run out into the backyard followed by the suspect. I couldn’t wait for backup—I started down the drive in my cruiser due to the distance.

The suspect saw me coming, jumped into his pickup, and started down the drive toward me. I stopped the vehicle and bailed before the suspect got to me. I drew my weapon, a GLOCK 22, and started moving to cover. The suspect put his vehicle in reverse and began heading for the back of the property.

I ran to the victim and told her to run for the house while I kept sight of the suspect. The suspect got to the back of the property and couldn’t get out—he was still in his truck when I saw him raise a revolver to his head. He began screaming at his wife and me. I was approximately 20 yards from him.

I already had my weapon pointed at him, but I didn’t see the gun until it was at his head because of the “A” pillar of the truck. I ordered him several times to drop the gun, but he refused and told me I was going to have to shoot him or he was going to shoot himself. I kept asking myself if I should shoot him to keep him from committing suicide or try to talk him down. If I shot him, he would have a better chance of surviving that than if he shot himself in the head. Whatever I was going to do, I had to do it quickly.

The suspect was becoming more and more agitated. He began revving the engine of his truck. When he began yelling at the victim again, she ran out into the yard—toward me—telling him to put the gun down. The suspect made his decision at that moment. He lowered the gun from his head—instead pointing the gun towards the victim and me.

I don’t remember making a conscious decision to shoot. All I can remember is seeing his gun pointed at me and feeling mine go off in my hand. My round traveled through his open driver’s window and struck him in his upper right arm, near his shoulder. He fell back in the seat, and his gun flew across the inside of the truck. I ran to the vehicle, pulled him out onto the ground, and secured him in handcuffs. The dispatcher had heard the shot over the 911 open line and began frantically calling for a status.

Once I got my gloves on and had the suspect secured, I called in a Code 49 (our code for a shooting) and asked for EMS and a supervisor. I continued first aid until a volunteer from the rescue squad arrived and took over. It seemed like forever, but only about two minutes had passed from the time I arrived on scene until I was calling in the shooting. Luckily, no one died that day. – SJ, SC


On March 29, 2012, my detached garage (man cave) burned to the ground. I had a 64-gun safe rated at 1,600 degrees for 30 minutes. Only one gun made it out alive.

My GLOCKs were in our home since we use them for home defense. I did have several GLOCK magazines on my reloading bench with no protection at all. The following week, I started digging around to see if anything in the garage had made it. To my surprise, I found the GLOCK magazines in the mess. I brought them into my attached garage and wiped them off. I was shocked—they were not damaged.

I took one mag that was not in the fire and one mag that was in the fire to one of my hunting friends and asked him to look at the two mags and tell me which one was in the fire. He looked for a short while, then smelled each one. The smell was the only way he could tell which one had been in the fire.

I delivered one of the G23 13-round mags to GLOCK U.S.A. in Smyrna, Georgia, and gave it to an employee. I said to him, “If everything in my detached garage had been made of the same material that GLOCK mags are made of, I would still have everything.”

By the way, the fire department estimated the fire was over 2,000 degrees. I’ve always known that GLOCKs were tough, but this event has given new meaning to GLOCK’s toughness. In short, I’ll always be a GLOCK owner. Period. —JK, GA


On December 31, 2011, my dad, my 12-year-old son Derek, and I decided to go to Logan, Utah, to get a new TV. As we drove up the canyon, the roads had a bit of snow on them from a small storm that had blown in overnight.

There is a turn just north of mile marker 473. This is the same turn where we crashed into the river in November 2009. Back then, my brakes had locked up and we started to slide towards the river. At the last second, the front tires grabbed and we drove straight in. Thankfully, no one was hurt, but every time we passed this corner, we joked, “There’s our corner.”

We drove about a half-mile further, and that’s when I saw a white minivan on top of the little bridge—and its front end was hanging off.
I looked under the bridge: A car was upside down in the river. I got out and ran towards the vehicle. Then I jumped in the water. A man was near the car yelling, “My kids, my kids!”

I reached under the water and tried to open the doors, but they wouldn’t give. All the windows were up, too. So I removed the GLOCK 23C from my hip and said, “I’m going to shoot the window out!”
I shoved the G23C completely under the water, pressing the barrel against the window. Once I pulled the trigger, the bullet would break the glass. Then it would lose velocity rapidly and lodge into the ceiling of the vehicle. If it had more momentum, it would go into the riverbed.

I pulled the trigger and heard the firearm discharge. I then reholstered the gun and reached both hands inside the vehicle, feeling for anything: hands, hair, legs, clothing, etc. I couldn’t feel anything. I remember bumping the front passenger seat a couple of times and trying to pull it, mistaking it for a person.

I told myself, “These kids will come out, and we will get them out.” That’s when I heard someone say, “We are going to lift the car.” We pushed the car far enough to where I could see inside the passenger’s side rear window—that’s where I saw Kenya looking at me wide-eyed. I had to use my pocketknife to cut her seatbelt and pull her from the car.

Then I looked into the driver’s compartment and saw Mia, one of the little girls, floating in the water and extremely gray. Someone pulled Mia out of the car, and I noticed the last child, Baylor. We were able to free him after I cut his seatbealt as well. Now out of the river, I was afraid the children might have hypothermia. Thankfully, help arrived and the children were all taken care of. Now, as they say, “the rest is history.” In a matter of minutes, my family grew by three kids and 15 friends. —CW, UT

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