Raphael has ever been a sucker for fine pussy, and as he gets older, nearing sixty, that fine pussy is multiplying, because his eyesight is failing, and those lovelies are getting younger...

Raphael had just sworn off of women a few months ago. Then, two weeks back, he starts speaking to me about this fine young mixed race Latina-ChiNegroi baby doll who asked him to come see her at the bar where she works in Western Baltimore County, out in Owings Mills, a supposedly civilized setting...

Despite his pledge to the he-man woman-haters club and our vow to set an example for the young knuckleheads under our care, when the vertical eye winked and those designer claws beckoned, he walked wide-eyed into the den of the tigress...

Raphael was a lightweight kick-boxer in another century. Now he's a dude looking at knee-replacement surgery who neglected to bring his knife and finds himself in bar packed with about 50 black men, ranging from age 30-50, which puts him on the old side. From his years working barroom doors he noticed this was a problem spot by the posture of the bouncer out front, but was not impressed with the job the bouncer did on keeping an eye on the hot barmaid, which is the main asset when you are drawing clientele that grew up dreaming about the being the brother on the Hennessey billboard with a fine Asian chick on one arm and a light-skinned mulattress on the other arm.

Raphael is the guy pictured on the cover of the book in this link:

The lady had saved a seat for him at the bar opposite her register. [I later explained to him that she was seducing him to provide auxiliary security.]

As he takes his first free drink a muscular 30-year-old black man steps behind the bar, steps up to her and begins screaming at her and threatening to hurt her for watering his drinks, which obviously was untrue as evidenced by his extreme inebriation.

Raphael looks around the bar and just sees the black dudes watching, none of them willing to step up and defend the girl they all want to take home, sure evidence that he is in the suburbs with "Oreo-niggas" as my friend Calvin Wiley would have called them, black dudes with the coward heart of a white man. If this had happened at the mixed-race sports bar I frequent there would have been a contest between the black guys at the back of the bar and the white guys at the front of the bar to see who got their hands on the loudmouth first. But, this is the suburbs, and only one set of gonads showed up.

Raphael leaned over the bar, and used the same loud voice he uses to yell instructions to fighters in a crowded arena, and roared, "Hey!!"

This caused everyone in the bar to become silent and turn and look at him, and for the bitch-boy to begin measuring his youth and size against the older man. Twenty years ago, Raphael would have [and did] ended up in jail after doing some ridiculous martial arts overkill on this guy in front of his friends. But, decades wiser, he smiled, raised his finger, pointed it down at the man delicately, and looked to the front door where the huge bouncer had been greeting a friend, and whispered, "Security."

The bitch boy was soon in the gargantuan grasp of the bouncer, who was also a cop and held the punk until an on-duty officer got there to cuff him and charge him with assault, and Raphael savored the victory of age and wisdom over anger and youth. The young lady kept buying his drinks and he was gentleman enough not to discuss the rest of the evening.

This is an excellent example of the effective use of volume in limiting violence. After the first shout, action or contrastingly level words, as required by the situation, will be more effective that maintaining the loud tone. You have now drawn attention to yourself and should be keyed up for action and aware of threats and options. Continued yelling will tend to be counterproductive.