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ILEETA
Use of Force Journal The late morning sky was deceptively clear. Despite the sunshine, the chill of the past few days, punctuated by a brisk winter wind, had not let up. The frigid weather seemed to be keeping traffic to a minimum, which suited Grant Jameson just fine. For no apparent reason, his enthusiasm for the job – never lacking before -- was at very low ebb. He just wanted to put in his eight hours and go home. The city swept past him at a steady pace as he guided his patrol car along the interstate. He had served on the State Highway Patrol for about six years, and was currently assigned to the metro unit in one of the state’s largest urban areas. The area’s population of 1.5 million often created a heavy workload, and Jameson was hoping it would stay quiet. Trooper Paul Helms voice broke a long silence on the radio, "532, dispatcher. Suspicious occupied auto." He went on to say that the vehicle, a brown Plymouth, was failing to stop on westbound Highway 94 near Interstate 193. A few moments later, Helms notified communications that he was now in high-speed pursuit of the vehicle on southbound I-193. Jameson activated his roof lights and siren, and accelerated toward Helm’s location. He was less than two miles away when he heard Helms say the Plymouth was stopping on the exit ramp at Easton Avenue. Almost immediately, Helms added that the driver was fleeing across the highway toward a wooded area on the other side. Helms said he was holding the vehicle’s two other occupants. Jameson arrived on the scene within moments, and, after obtaining a description of the suspect from an off-duty police officer who had stopped to help, quickly determining that he was not needed at the scene, and began to search for the suspect. He turned left from the exit ramp, and crossed under the highway overpass toward the wooded area where the suspect had last been seen. As he emerged from under the overpass, he spotted a city bus picking up a passenger in front of an abandoned service station at the edge of the woods. The isolated stretch of road seemed like an unusual place for a bus to stop, and it was too close to the suspect’s last known location to be a coincidence. Jameson decided to check it out. He crossed over to the other side of the road, pulled up in front of the bus, and motioned for the driver to wait. Jameson called out his location, stepped out of his car, and moved up to the front door of the bus. As he started to board, he noticed a man meeting the suspect’s description seated directly behind the driver. The man’s breathing was rapid and deep, and his pants legs and hair were dotted with burrs. Jameson knew he had the right man, but as he quickly glanced around the bus he sensed a guarded hostility towards him from the other passengers. Nothing specific, but he felt it nonetheless. He turned his attention back to his suspect and, in a firm but calm voice, ordered him to turn around and lock his hands behind his head. The man -- later identified as Melvin Davis, a wanted parole violator -- just sat there and glared at him. After a long pause he started to argue in open hostility, "Whatcha pickin’ on me for?” he asked, his voice dripping with hostility, “I’ve been on this bus for at least a half hour. I didn't run from nobody." Jameson hadn't said anything about running. Any lingering doubts about the man’s guilt disappeared. "Officer," the bus driver interjected, "he just walked outa those woods." Jameson glanced at the bus driver, turned back to Davis, and repeated his command in a firmer tone. Davis hung his head in a gesture of apparent submission, and then rose. He turned to around as if to comply, but then took a step towards the aisle. As he moved, his hands moved towards the front of his waistband and disappeared from view. Jameson instantly alerted on the movement, but was reluctant to draw his gun because of the antagonism he sensed from the other passengers. Concerned that they might misconstrue his actions and become openly hostile, he left his S&W Model 66 strapped in his holster. Instead, to keep Davis from turning on him with a weapon, he grabbed him by the collar and waistband, and threw him face down on the seat. He followed Davis down onto the seat, grabbed his hands, and pulled them around back into a cuffing position. As Jameson reached around and unsnapped his cuff case with his left hand, Davis suddenly broke into a desperate struggle to free himself. Although short and slight in build, Davis was surprisingly strong and agile. Jameson managed to keep Davis' face down in the seat by thrusting all his weight forward on top of him, but had trouble maintaining his grip on the man’s sweat-slickened wrists. Gradually, Jameson began to draw Davis’ hands apart. But then, with an abrupt surge of effort, Davis pulled them free and buried them deep under his belly again. Jameson reached around and worked his hands down Davis forearms. Clamping his hands down as tightly as he could over the man’s wrists, he began the laborious process of trying to drag them out from under his body. Slowly, Davis' hands inched apart. Suddenly, Davis' right hand broke free from Jameson’s grasp and whipped back towards Jameson's groin. "He's got a gun!" The bus driver's outcry was punctuated by the crack of a gunshot. A red-hot poker seemed to sear its way through Jameson's lower left groin and out his left buttock. The warning had taken some of the edge off the surprise and shock, but Jameson had to fight back a surge of overwhelming panic. He let go of his adversary, stood, and started to back up toward the door, still fighting off the approaching panic. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the growing fear was replaced by embarrassment, then anger. There wasn't time Jameson instantly alerted on the movement, but was reluctant to draw his gun because of the antagonism he sensed from the other passengers to hesitate. He had to stop Davis before the man killed him or someone else. Jameson reached for his holstered .357 magnum. As his fingers wrapped around the familiar grips of the weapon, he saw Davis pushing himself up from the seat, his right hand clutching a small .380 autoloader. Jameson pulled on the gun, but it was wedged in place. In disbelief, he pulled on the magnum again as Davis spun to face him. Still, it wouldn’t budge. As he yanked yet again, the problem suddenly crystallized in his mind -- he had forgotten to release the snap. Like a surrealistic, slow-motion monochrome movie, the drama before him slowed to a sluggish pace and lost all color. At the same time, tunnel vision set in, shutting out everything except Davis and the gun. As he watched in desperation, Jameson could see his adversary square off in front of him, the deadly little auto coming around into firing position. He let go of the magnum, shot his hand down alongside the outside of the holster, and raked his clawed fingers upward. The snap opened, but Davis, the .380 now held in a two-handed grip, was thrusting the pistol up toward Jameson’s face. Jameson slapped his hand around the grip of the magnum again and pulled. “Why isn’t he shooting me?” Jameson wondered as he whipped the gun up to stomach level and fired. Despite his unfamiliar one-handed hold on the powerful magnum, Jameson barely felt the recoil. He was surprised to see Davis flinch only slightly with the impact. The muzzle of the .380 drifted downward. Davis shuffled to his right, then thrust the gun up and forward again. Jameson fired a second time. The effect was the same. Davis flinched, let the gun sag, stepped to his right, and raised it again. Jameson fired another round, again with the same results. As Davis lifted the gun, Jameson discharged his fourth round. This time, Davis collapsed. He crumpled down onto one of the bench seats, coming to rest on his right side He lay still for a moment, then raised his head and once more pointed the gun at Jameson. Jameson squeezed the trigger, discharging the magnum for the fifth and final time. Davis slumped back down onto the seat, and then rolled off onto the floor, face down. He lay there motionless for several moments, long enough for Jameson to be reasonably sure that he was no longer a threat. Everyone else was off the bus and Jameson was growing weaker. His hands were shaking too badly to reload from his regulation loop carriers, but he kept two speedloaders in his squad car (department regulations forbade officers from carrying speedloaders on their belts). He also needed to call for help, and his department did not equip its officers with portable radios. He decided to return to his squad car. Gingerly, he backed off the bus, staggered slowly to his car, and opened the driver’s door. He reached inside and removed a speedloader from over the sun visor. As quickly as he could, he popped open the cylinder, dumped it contents onto the ground, and inserted the fresh ammo. Only then did Jameson pick up his microphone and, in a surprisingly calm voice, call for help. With help now on the way, Jameson set himself to the exhausting task of waiting. Davis had appeared incapacitated -- perhaps even dead -- when Jameson left him, but there was no way to be sure. He had shown frightening resiliency to Jameson’s gunfire earlier, and he might still be alive. If so, he could pose a serious threat to others, but Jameson didn't have the strength to go after him again, nor did he think it would be tactically sound to do so. Wisely, he chose to take cover behind his open car door and cover the bus exits instead. The next few minutes seemed to drag on endlessly, as he grew weaker by the moment. He looked down and saw drops of blood collecting on the cold pavement under his feet. The upper left leg, crotch and seat of his uniform trousers were drenched in blood as blood trickled down his left leg. The blood loss worried him, but he refused to dwell on his injuries. He turned his attention back to the bus. The first assist officers to arrive were Troopers Ed Rush and Bill Atkins. Both were surprised by Jameson’s condition. His calm, measured radio broadcast had implied that his wound was a relatively minor one, but he didn’t look good. His blood-soaked trousers, trembling limbs, and ashen face and hands told them that shock and severe bleeding were taking their toll. They tried to convince him to move to a safer location and let them take over, but he refused to move until there was more help on the scene. Moments later, assist units from the city and county began arriving on the scene. Now confident that Davis was no longer a threat and realizing that he was too badly injured to help, Jameson relinquished his position and moved to the rear of his squad car. Once there, he held firm in his refusal to sit down and rest, fearing that he would die if he allowed himself to relax. Also concerned that he might succumb to shock if he gave in to a growing desire to check his injuries, he fought off the urge and made up his mind to let that wait until he got to the hospital. He would later learn that Davis’ bullet had entered his lower left groin, clipping his left testicle as it entered. After punching its way into his lower abdominal cavity, it had deflected off his left pelvic bone and exited his left buttock. Meanwhile, Rush and Atkins, assisted by several other officers, entered the bus in search of Davis. They found him, dead and lying face down in the center aisle. Even after being hit by Jameson's fifth bullet, he had managed to crawl several feet from the spot where he had fallen. The pistol was still within inches of Davis' right hand, a spent cartridge stuck in its ejection port. It was later determined that the pistol had been so close to Davis' body when it discharged that its slide had struck him in the back as it moved rearward. This had prevented it from fully ejecting its spent case, thereby causing the jam. Although Jameson had been unaware of the malfunction, Davis had to have known that the weapon would not fire. It is unclear, however, whether he knew it was jammed or made any effort to clear it. He may have simply continued to pull the trigger in a blind effort to get the gun to fire again. In any event, the malfunction didn’t deter him from continuing the attack. All five of Jameson’s shots had hit Davis. One bullet had struck him in the lower-left abdomen and exited his left buttocks, and another had hit him in the upper left chest, skimmed the outer surface of one rib, and exited without penetrating the chest cavity. Two other rounds had struck just below and left of center mass. One of these had passed through his liver, pancreas, and aorta before imbedding itself in his spine, and the other had ripped through his left arm, and then entered his chest, where it had penetrated his liver and heart. The last bullet had blasted through his right hand, and then traveled down his right forearm before exiting at the elbow. The toxicology report disclosed high levels of marijuana and cocaine in Davis’ system. Subsequent investigation revealed that Davis was wanted locally on a burglary charge, and out-of-state on a parole violation. The car he was driving had been stolen in an armed robbery ten days earlier, a robbery in which the victim had been severely beaten by an armed suspect meeting Davis’ description. Burglary tools, a ski mask, and several items of stolen jewelry and silverware were found in the car. Trooper Jameson recovered from his wound, and returned to full duty ten weeks later. Two years after the shooting he left the department to join a federal law enforcement agency, where he is still employed. QUESTIONS:
The incident recounted here is true, but the names of persons and places were changed to ensure the privacy of those personally involved. Likewise, in order to preserve confidentiality and clarity, some facts may have been altered slightly, but the essential elements of the story remain unchanged. Brian McKenna recently retired after 30 years with the Hazelwood (MO) Police Department, where he was assigned to the patrol division as a shift supervisor (lieutenant), and also served as an inservice trainer and lead firearms instructor. He is a certified police instructor and holds a Master’s Degree in human resource development. Brian authors Street Survival Magazine’s “Officer Down” column, a regular feature that analyzes officer involved shootings for key learning points. He also teaches officer safety courses and consults for Winning Edge Training. This article was derived from an article that originally appeared in “Officer Down.” Email Brian at BrianMcKenna@ileeta.org,.
LEETA
Use of Force Journal How Many Reps Was That Again? I was watching a gun training DVD last week and the featured, world famous instructor issued the statement, "It takes 3,000 to 5,000 repetitions to burn a movement into your body's muscle memory." There were those magic numbers again, I thought. "3,000 to 5,000." Again and again. It has become muscle memory chakra just to regurgitate those very stats. I've heard those numbers repeated hundreds of times. In the week before, I read these words of Officer Tom Crydell (I've changed the name) writing in a tactical journal, "Excellence then is not an act, but a habit. It has been said that it requires 3,000 to 5,000 repetitions to develop "muscle memory" or a subconscious response to an external stimuli. While we know that our brain is the only part of our body that has the ability to retain memory, the consistent application and practice of these active listening skills allows us the ability to incorporate them into our daily communication patterns and ensure that they are available to us during critical hostage negotiation processes." In this example, Tom has extrapolated these numbers to audible listening skills. He suggests we practice... listening... 5,000 times? To what exactly? How exactly? Then we hear the numbers again from hundreds of martial arts instructors, I fear they have heard police quote the stats and they think that we are some reliable source. But the numbers also transcend law enforcement, military and martial fields into sports. A famous golf instructor said, "It has also been determined that it takes between 3,000 and 5,000 repetitions of a movement pattern to learn an exercise." A baseball training academy said, "Hitting instructors have noted that it takes between 3,000 and 5,000 repetitions to ingrain the muscle memory needed to hit a baseball." I have even read about a horse jockey school applying these mysterious numbers to training horses! I await news from the flea circus! These are some common examples of how the "3,000 to 5,000 reps" concept has permeated and fermented into the professional training psyche. Sounds like a lot of reps, even for horses and fleas. But it can get worse; one of my student's physical trainers told him it took 8,000 repetitions to adequately learn a new physical move. Now we are up to 8,000! I know not this mysterious trainer or from where this new number originates, just that he is out...working and proselytizing. For a common citizen, this seems like an unimportant statistic except for sports coaches to ponder, but to a professional trainer of police, soldiers, and security specialists the idea of implementing 3,000 or more repetitions is overwhelming given the budgetary constraints on training time and money. Expectations are lowered. Courses are dumbed down to ape man level, all under the crushing idea that a single physical tactic will take 3,000 to - now even 8,000 - repetitions to become effective. Quote these figures to many training administrators and some will throw their hands up in anguish, toss in the towel and surrender to the inept stupidity of man. The curse of the layman. "Layman" means a person who is a nonexpert in a given field of knowledge. While one might be the king of the rifle range, a trophy winning pistol shooter, or might be able explain the chemical mixture of pepper spray in a rainstorm, or win a UFC fight, most of us are laymen in the related fields of psychology, physiology and motor skill learning. As you can see from these oft given examples, the 3,000 to 5,000 stats follow the opening layman remarks, "everyone knows that...," or "it has been said," or "It has been determined." All warning flag statements to me. Well, I had to ask myself, "Where do these magic numbers actually come from?" Ever the skeptic of dogma, I took a deeper look. I learned that while many laymen hear these numbers regurgitated, few if any know the true story and facts behind them, and guess what? When you do discover the truth, almost every layman is wrong. The root study, the industry standard research that experts refer to comes from a 1941 book called Motor Learning by Doctors Richard Schmidt with Craig A. Wrisberg, followed by Schmidt's consistently updated book editions called Performance and Motor Control And Learning with Dr. Timothy D. Lee, along with a rotating collection of new research studies. I urge everyone in the training industry to read these books. The good doctors have many medical and psychological eggs to fry in these volumes as they cover lab tests, sports, injury recovery, performance enhancement and challenges involving the handicapped. They are often used as college textbooks. In Motor Learning, Dr. Schmidt states with a flurry of charts and studies that it requires approximately 300 - 500 repetitions to develop a new motor pattern. Conversely, once bad or inadequate habits are already in place, he states it takes about 3,000-5,000 repetitions to erase and correct a bad motor pattern. Lay readers and regurgitators please take note, 300 to 500 repetitions. Not thousands, but hundreds. For some reason, many trainers and writers have latched on to a reverse misunderstanding of this study. Approximately. About. Most. Three words always gingerly placed in and around all statistical studies. Next comes my anecdotal approximate/ about/most position based my own personal teaching experience. I shall start with the aforementioned, warning-flag phrase, "everyone knows" but I do strongly believe that "everyone really does know" that people come in all shapes and sizes, strengths and skills. In the last two decades I have taught hand, stick, knife and gun tactics to thousands of people worldwide. As I look over a crowd of practitioners in seminars now, I am well aware that each student will have a different learning repetition ratio. One might really "get" something with only 75 reps, another person may take 6,000. Another, even 10,000. Thus, these statistical means and averages are created inside a broad continuum. I myself, with black belts in several martial arts, have noted that I can obtain a healthy, working knowledge on a new takedown or movement within about 150 exercises. But, start me on ice skating and it will take decades. No matter how much time it requires to first burn a pattern into one’s muscle memory, all skills are perishable and need to be exercised with some frequency that is, once again, different for each person. Generalized means studies for the masses may be established as general guidelines for such refreshment. Remember, the "Masters" – be they in golf, cooking, baseball, piano, or karate – practice forever. The Masters lose count and just practice for practice’s sake. That's why they are Masters. Do I believe wholeheartedly in these Schmidt numbers? No. I think they are high for both new and corrective training. But, such individuality aside, we have learned here that some respected experts report 300 to 500 repetitions are needed to learn something new, not 3,000 to 5,000. I remain fascinated that no one questioned these low or high numbers and I remain fascinated that so many people picked the wrong end of this study to quote and re-quote! Look at the pessimistic results of their error. Yes, you can train new people, or people new to a certain movement, with a mere ten percent of time and effort than the previously abused lay figures suggest. Ten Percent! Trainers! Start your engines! You may now pick up the towels you've previously tossed in abject surrender! W. Hock Hochheim is a military, police and martial arts vet, who teaches hand, stick, knife and gun seminars in nine allied countries around the world. He can be reached at hockhochheim@ileeta.org and www.HocksCQC.com.
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