Don't be first, don't be last, never volunteer ...

That was the first advice given me when I joined the Army in 1968. Turned out to be pretty astute.

Years later, in the early 1980's, I worked in radio in historic Richmond VA, and lived in a subdivision called Salem Woods, about two miles from a point on the James River that was a throttle position for the Union Navy when they attempted to take Richmond in 1862.  I'd occasionally take the kids up the hill to Drewery's Bluff to see the old battlements and look down at the river where so much American history took place.  Pretty cool.

A few years after I'd converted WRNL to a country station, our clout in the country music community was huge.  Ratings were great and our air personalities were in demand as event MC's everywhere. One of them was a battle of the bands competition that was being held in 1984 at the site of the Petersburg Crater Battle.  I drew the short straw on this one and would up "volunteering" to be one of their judges.

Nice little bandshell, good seating sloping up the hill.  It was a nice place to hear music, actually. The PA was professionally provided.  Eight, maybe ten bands from the area played, decent bar-band music, a half-dozen of us judges listened and scored them and, of course, as the "radio guy" I got to announce the winner.  I don't remember what the prize was, but we awarded it and then the judges headed off to our cars, in a secured area behind the stage where we had been given parking.

That's when the guy with the gun showed up.

Well, crap.  His buddies, in whichever band had competed, had not only not won but he was drunk.  And he had a gun and he was pretty unhappy.  That, he figured, would change our minds.

As I remember, it was a little gun, likely a .25 or a .32, but any bullet at supersonic speed can do some major damage if it hits the right spot.  He stood in front of us, waving his pistol to and fro and we stood there trying to figure out how the hell we could get out of this deal.

I talked my son Jason out of the hostages and he ran up to find a cop.  Several of the County's finest showed up in literally seconds and defused the situation.  As I remember, the cops didn't hurt the gunman too badly. Back then they only had wooden nightsticks. I'm pretty sure the most descriptive phrase would be that "they beat the snot out of him."

And that's why I don't volunteer for nothing, no more.