A bullet casing flies through the air as Kris Paronto takes target pracitce at Bluffs Shooters in western Nebraska.
As I traveled through the back roads of Scotts Bluff County and into the southern edge of Sioux County, I looked all around me. A red-tailed hawk sat on the wooden cross beam of a telephone line watching me as I approached. It kept a keen eye on my car until I stopped. Before I had a chance to take my camera out of its bag, the bird flew away. Knowing I didn’t have the zoom lens to track it and take its picture, I sat for a few moments watching it sail into the distance.
I continued my journey a little farther north to the Bluffs Shooters range for an active shooter training course I had been assigned to cover day one of a two-day event. As I pulled in just after 9 a.m., two men greeted me and told me I could park my car anywhere. They were happy someone from the media had come out to see what they were doing. I was less than ecstatic to be there.
It was my turn to work on a Saturday and I had wished I was in the office catching up on the seven stories I needed to write, or anything else, rather than driving out to the middle of nowhere to cover a story I cared little about.
As I got out of my car and looked around, I thought, “Yep, it would be easy to hide a body out here in Sioux County.” It’s a joke many people have made. The county is still largely untouched, with lush, green rolling hills and buttes that dot the horizon. Any drive in Sioux County will greet the visitor with cattle, breathtaking landscape, hawks, eagles, owls, and other things that fly to and fro in the near-constant breezes of western Nebraska.
I hovered in the back of a large building where nearly two dozen participants had gathered for the training. I quickly did the math about how much each person paid and thought, “Holy Shit. Half my yearly paycheck in one weekend,” for the presenters. When you are paid so little, things become “holy shit” moments of “that’s my phone bill” and “that’s my weekly grocery bill.”
I didn’t want to be here. I don’t have a desire to shoot guns. I don’t have a desire to own a gun. I do understand why so many ranchers and farmers would need a weapon in the sparsely populated, but gorgeous Panhandle of Nebraska. However, this was my assignment, so I was going to do what I always do – write the best damned story I could on the subject.
Brent Anderson explains the maning behind the name and symbols of Ko Heichi Bushidokan Martial Arts to Kris Paronto.
Brent Anderson was there. I have interviewed him many times for the newspaper either for Cirrus House where he is executive director or for his Ko Heichi Bushidokan Martial Arts studio. I saw him from a distance and, as soon as he saw me, he came over and gave me a hearty handshake. It was the first of many proper handshakes that day. We talked about the event and how it came to be. Mostly though, I tried to not be the center of attention. I was there to report the day’s events, not become the subject of it.
Kris Paronto and his Battleine Tactical team arrived a few minutes later. Like me, that had gotten lost on their way out to the range. Admittedly, I only knew it was him because of the way other people acted. Kris came to Gering in July 2016 to speak. The Gering Civic Center was sold out for that event. He was there to speak about his book, his life, and his time in Benghazi. I didn’t attend that event. By the time Kris came to town, I was sick of hearing about Benghazi.
The U.S. fucked up in Benghazi, as it so often does when it puts its nose where it doesn’t belong. A plan is made and executed, but the followup is done by “winging it.” The Obama administration refused to admit it right away. By the time they did, it was too late. I guess their moms never taught them it’s always best to tell the truth. You may still get into trouble, but far less trouble than when caught lying. I probably wouldn’t have lost respect for the administration if they had been honest.
Kris Paronto signs a copy of his book at Bluffs Shooters in western Nebraska.
I haven’t read Kris’s book. So, as I drove north on Highway 71 on a cool Saturday morning, I thought, “Why the hell do I have to do this story?”
Yet, here I was, and people were pleased to see me. They talked with me, wanted to find out a bit more about me. I took a few pictures of Kris signing books and chatting with those who were participating in the course. I didn’t plan on using most of them because people standing next to each other holding signs, checks, etc., are boring pictures for the newspaper. I snapped a few shots of Brent with the idea I would give them to him. He presented Kris with a t-shirt of his Ko Heichi Budokan Martial Arts studio.
Once the course got underway, I knew this was not going to be like the other training courses I’ve read about where you shoot up things and feel superior to everything else. Kris told the participants that while the day was educational, he wanted them to have fun, too. Then came five hours of classroom instruction and education. This was not a weekend where you would come out feeling like Rambo. This was serious.
As the clock neared 1:30 p.m., I leaned over to Koline Woodward, who organized the event, I asked her if it would be possible to go outside and take photographs of Kris shooting at the range. I needed a picture that was better than two dudes standing next to each other holding a book. I had to be back at the paper at 2 p.m., so I could file my story, which I had written on the fly during the classroom instruction. I wanted to have time to proofread it as well as get a photograph cropped and ready for the copy desk. Saturdays are a skeleton crew at the Star-Herald. There is you and one person on the copy desk. That’s only two people to catch a mistake you made and you are one of those two.
I walked out to the range and stood back a respectful distance. Kris acknowledged my presence and waved at me. When he was finished, he walked over to a table that had a box full of bullets. As he filled his clip with shiny gold bullets, we began talking. At first, it was all professional. A few minutes later, most apprehension on both sides slipped away.
Kris and I chatted about how much he liked it out here. He lives in Omaha now, but enjoys coming out to the western end of the state. Pretty much everyone out here has welcomed him. We wandered around for a few minutes, looking for ear protection so I could take a picture of him shooting. We made jokes about the perfect picture and how I would love to do it, but that it would be unsafe and unwise.
“For that, you really would need ear protection,” he said. “But it would be a hell of a picture.”
After obtaining a set of safety ear muffs, we walked back to the range, discussing other things, mostly off the record. I explained where I wanted to stand and Kris explained the possibility of a shell hitting me. It would hurt like hell if I got hit, but wouldn’t kill me. I thought to myself, “For a great picture, I’ll take a little burn.”
Kris Paronto works on fundamental skills during target practive at Bluffs Shooters in western Nebraska.
Kris practiced his stance and all the other steps of the fundamentals of marksmanship — stance, grip, sight alignment, sight picture, breathing, trigger control and follow through. I had just sat through the presentation, and examples, so I recognized what Kris was doing automatically.
As the shots from his gun rang out, I had to make an instant decision – do I keep taking pictures or adjust the ear muffs on my left ear. In milliseconds, I decided my hearing was worth the shot. Kris knelt down to take a few shots at another angle. As I got down with him, I quickly adjusted the safety ear muffs and kept hitting the shutter.
After he was finished, we walked back to the table so he could reload his clip and continued conversing. We spoke about the media, big and small, the 2016 election, some of the politicians he’s met, and Benghazi, albeit briefly. The more I listened to him speak, the more I realized we had several things in common. I agreed with some things, disagreed with others, and wanted to say, “Oh hell no” on a few others.
But I was talking to Kris in an official capacity and I’m not going to be a jerk and argue, especially when we’re talking off the record. I’d like to share some of that conversation, but I respect “off the record.” Our conversation didn’t go too deep about Benghazi because Kris had already started to say something and then suddenly stopped. “I should stop talking now because I am still talking the media.”
I haven’t seen interviews with Kris on any media outlet. I prefer to read my news from several sources than listen to talking heads. However, I got the sense from things said and unsaid, from body language, Kris may not have been treated appropriately by the media. I can’t say. I haven’t actually seen any of his interviews, but I do know what it’s like to be misquoted and accused of things you didn’t say.
I wished I had been citizen Irene and not reporter Irene at that moment so I could learn more. But I understand his position and I would do the same if I were him.
Books Kris Paronto will soon sign.
We stood by my car and chatted some more. I wished I could tell people what we discussed. I wished I didn’t have a deadline, so I could continue talking to Kris and see more of the training. I wished I didn’t hit overtime at 3 p.m. I wanted to learn more.
I got in my car and watched the class, finally outside, practicing hand-to-hand grappling. I remembered Dave Benton said earlier in the day that the majority of fights end up on the ground and as hand-to-hand encounters. The class was still not shooting any weapons. This was, indeed, a serious training.
As I looked at my watch as I shifted into second gear, it read 2:20 p.m. I would walk back into the Star-Herald about 2:50 p.m. There was not enough time to do a proper proofread. I noticed one spelling mistake the next morning. I’ll kick myself for a few months for that (sorry, Brent). But I wouldn’t trade those minutes with Kris. You see, he and I probably will never see eye-to-eye on everything, but we can have a conversation. Our differences didn’t matter. Learning did.
I thanked Kris for his time and apologized that I couldn’t stay longer. He understood deadlines and thanked me for coming out. I reached my hand out to shake his hand. He started to return the favor and said, “Oh forget that handshake bullshit, give me hug.”
And so I did.
I’m probably never going to shoot a gun again in my life. But Kris got me to do what I like to do best – think and challenge my opinions. We talked about things that we agreed and disagreed on and parted ways without hating each other. That was worth the trip to the middle of nowhere, Nebraska to talk to a guy who had been in Benghazi and lived to tell his story.