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The MAC-10 at Work and Play: The Gory Demise of Barry Seal by Will Dabbs

No, this is not some Uber-cool 1980s-era Miami Vice drug lord. It is a middle-aged gun writer with diagnosable maturity issues.

Back in the 1980’s, the Military Armament Corporation M-10 submachine gun was, well, the MAC-Daddy. The accursed machinegun ban detonated in 1986, and machinegun prices skyrocketed from there. Right after the law changed, you could land a MAC-10 for about $600. That would be about $1,700 in today’s money. A converted full-auto HK94 went for a bit north of a grand. A vintage German MG-42 was roughly twice that. My, haven’t times changed?

The MAC-series submachine guns have always been the gateway drug for this quirky little full-auto hobby. That wasn’t because the MAC was tactically awesome. It wasn’t. That was because the MAC was available.

Military Armament Corporation and subsequently RPB Industries after MAC’s demise offered an entire family of handy little inexpensive pressed steel guns in three different calibers.

Developed by Gordon Ingram in 1964, what we call the MAC-10 was actually the M-10 in the Military Armament Corporation catalog. The term MAC-10 never was used by the original company. We gun nerds dreamt that up afterward.

The Designer of the M-10

Gordon Ingram was a WW2 veteran who came back from the war intending to design guns. His first Ingram Model 6 looked a bit like a Thompson in dim light but was built around a drawn tubular steel receiver. It also included a nifty two-stage fire selector built into the trigger akin to that of the Steyr AUG assault rifle. A partial pull produced semi-auto fire. All the way back was rock and roll.

This is the Ingram Model 6. It was offered with either a vertical or horizontal foregrip.

Alas, the world after WW2 was already awash in cheap pistol-caliber SMGs. As a result, there wasn’t a terribly vibrant market for the Model 6. The gun died a natural death after a brief three-year production run. Police Ordnance Co produced between 15,000 and 20,000 copies from 1949 to 1952. A few went to the Cubans and the Peruvians, but most were sold to American prisons and Law Enforcement agencies. Though ultimately unsuccessful, the Model 6 laid a proper foundation for greater things to come.

Ingram designed his M-10 in 1964. The gun did not go into production until 1970 and then for only three years. The weapon was designed from the outset to be cheap and easy to produce. The original sale price was $120. That’s about $880 today.

A Coveted Military Deal

Gordon Ingram and his business partners at MAC desperately wanted to sell Uncle Sam a zillion of the little MAC SMGs to replace the geriatric 1911A1 pistols in military service. Thank the Lord they failed in that regard. I cannot imagine the carnage that might ensue should you unleash a hundred Army privates on the range with such stubby little full auto mischief machines.

M-10 And Its Problematic Small Size

And therein lies the problem. The M-10 was indeed very small—not too much bigger than a 1911A1 pistol. However, it was quite heavy. At 6.26 pounds empty, the M-10 weighed about what an M-16A1 rifle did. While the compact size made the little gun easily portable, the short bolt travel resulted in an astronomical rate of fire.

The full-sized 9mm version ran at 1,200 rpm on full auto. The .45ACP gun used the same frame with a different upper and magwell and cycled at around 1,000 rpm. The further miniaturized .380ACP M-11 was introduced in 1972 and spewed bullets at 1,600 rpm.

As a result of this accelerated rate of fire, the thrill passes fairly quickly when running an unmodified MAC for the first time. There are lots of aftermarket kits that slow down the rate of fire and make the MAC-series guns more practical for defense and competition. However, Gordon Ingram’s compact little sub-gun is indeed a proper bullet hose.

The M-10 submachine gun was designed from the outset to be used with a sound suppressor.

The Classic MAC-10

The MAC-10 is still the classic starter sub-gun because it is plentiful and, very relatively, cheap. An original transferable MAC-10 that cost $120 in 1972 will set you back twelve grand or so today. That’s just nuts.

Ingram didn’t design his M-10 as a general-purpose infantry weapon. The M-10, particularly with a suppressor installed, was designed to be concealable yet still put out a huge volume of fire at near-contact ranges. In short, the M-10 was really an assassin’s tool. Now hold that thought…

The Target

I recently caught the Tom Cruise movie American Made. In addition to being a fine actor, Cruise also throws his heart and soul into his film projects. He flies his own planes, rides his own parachutes, and does his own stunts. That guy is the hardest-working man in Hollywood. He also chooses some great scripts.

If you like guns and you haven’t seen Edge of Tomorrow and Oblivion you have not yet lived. Those were both truly superb sci-fi action movies. American Made is a highly stylized tale originally inspired by the life story of renegade pilot Barry Seal. Though the movie narrative took some wild liberties, the real story was nonetheless quite compelling.

The movie took some poetic license with Seal’s story, but reality was still plenty incredible.

In the movie, Seal had one loyal hot wife and three kids. In real life, he had three sequential wives and half a dozen children. The movie had Seal working directly for the CIA.

One source I found stated that the only credible connection Seal had to a US government alphabet agency was the DEA. Others said he was a paid CIA operative from the outset. However, my source was the Internet, so take everything with a grain of salt. Regardless, he did some pretty outlandish stuff.

Details

Alder Berriman Seal was born on 16 July 1939 and was a gifted natural aviator. His dad was a Klansman who sold candy for a living. Seal started flying as a teenager and earned his private pilot’s rating at age 17. Seal was rumored to have met Lee Harvey Oswald while in pilot training.

Seal enlisted in the Louisiana National Guard in 1962 and supposedly passed Special Forces selection though the details are murky. Seal’s wife Deborah later claimed that he flew the actual JFK shooter(s) out of Dallas on the day of the assassination. Keep in mind, however, that this is still the Internet.

Some Internet sources claimed Seal got his start flying helicopters in Vietnam, but I couldn’t independently verify that.

In 1964 Seal began flying for Trans World Airlines, eventually becoming TWA’s youngest 707 command pilot. In the summer of 1972, he took medical leave from TWA to smuggle more than a thousand pounds of C-4 plastic explosives, 7,000 feet of primer cord, and 2,600 electric blasting caps aboard a DC-4 destined for anti-Castro Cubans in Mexico.

The authorities intercepted the plane in Shreveport and arrested Seal along with his accomplices. He was later cleared as the result of prosecutorial misconduct. However, this sordid debacle did cost him his job with TWA.

But It Doesn’t Stop There

Here’s where things get way weird. According to his ex-wife, Seal began running drugs in 1975. He flew private aircraft loaded with dope up from Colombia to the United States during the golden years of drug smuggling. As was depicted in the movie, he typically flew in low underneath radar coverage and then kicked the drugs out over rural Louisiana swamps to be picked up by accomplices on the ground who then drove the stuff to Miami. One of Seal’s employees drowned retrieving coke from the bayous.

Along the way, Seal was arrested and spent nine months in a Central American prison, finally being released without charge. While there, however, he made some powerful friends who eventually introduced him to Jorge Ocha and Pablo Escobar. Barry Seal subsequently became one of the primary pilots for the Medellin drug cartel. In so doing he also became fabulously rich. He told friends he once made $1.5 million on a single flight. His final net worth was somewhere between $50 million and $1 billion. That kind of cash will invariably change a man.

Accusations and Allegations

There were subsequent allegations that Seal worked for the US government running arms to the Nicaraguan Contras out of his personal airfield in Mena, Arkansas. Instead of coming back with an empty plane, Seal usually just packed his machine full of drugs and doubled his money for the trip. However, as was depicted in the movie, he did eventually help the DEA gather photographic evidence of the Medellin kingpins’ involvement in drug smuggling.

Barry Seal got pictures of Pablo Escobar loading drugs onto his airplane. That double-cross is what ultimately killed him.

By 1985, Seal had been found guilty of two drug-related felonies in the US. The judge took his work for the government into account and sentenced him to six months of supervised probation at a Salvation Army halfway house in Baton Rouge. However, by now he had crossed Pablo Escobar, arguably the most ruthless drug lord in the history of the business.

Shot By a MAC-10

On 19 February 1986, Seal pulled his late model Cadillac up to the Baton Rouge Salvation Army hostel to start his obligatory evening shift. A witness said two men approached his car and that Seal apparently knew what was coming. The doomed pilot leaned his head forward against the steering wheel as the primary shooter produced a full auto .45ACP MAC-10 with a sound suppressor.

Gun magazines, movies, and men’s fiction of the era tended to portray the MAC-10 as the tool of choice for mercenaries and international assassins.

Limited Options

Back then there were three ways for a criminal to get a full auto MAC-10. One was to buy it from a Class 3 firearms dealer, pay the transfer tax, and endure the background check and waiting period. I doubt any self-respecting bad guy ever did that.

The second was to build your own from a parts kit. These kits were cheap and ubiquitous back then. However, to pull that off you had to be pretty handy with tools. There was quite a lot of bending and welding required.

The semiauto open bolt M-10 is on the left alongside the selective fire version. The peg protruding to the right engages the disconnector to create semiautomatic fire. The BATF reclassified these guns as machine guns because all it took to convert the weapon to full auto was to remove that peg.

Lastly, you could snip the disconnector peg off of a semiauto open-bolt RPB M-10. These host guns were made from surplus MAC parts after the original Military Armament Corporation went out of business. RPB Industries subsequently sold them for a brief period as legal semiautomatic pistols.

The resulting modified gun was full auto-only, but you could legitimately convert the weapon in 30 seconds with a pair of bolt cutters or a Dremel tool. There were supposedly around 200 of these converted MACs seized by Law Enforcement in South Florida during the drug wars of the 1980s. Grandfathered open-bolt semiautomatic MACs are available today, but they cost a holy fortune.

Seal’s epitaph reads, “A rebel adventurer the likes of whom in previous days made America great.” Wow.

Close to the End

The hit man triggered two bursts from the MAC-10 through Seal’s car window, striking him six times in the head and neck. Barry Seal was dead by the time the ambulance arrived. Five Colombians were later arrested for the hit. Two were deported. The other three were tried, convicted, and sentenced to life without parole.

Barry Seal was a larger-than-life character.

Though the story touched on Oliver North, the CIA, the Iran-Contra affair, and half a dozen other popular conspiracies, little was ever proved. The three members of Seal’s hit team–Miguel Velez, Luis Quintero-Cruz, and Bernardo Vasquez–remain in prison to this day. Check out the movie American Made. You’ll thank me later.

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SUBGUNS FOR MULBERRIES by COMMANDER GILMORE

AN UNCONVENTIONAL SOLUTION

 

For years, English countryside farmer Arthur Vaughan fought a losing battle to protect his garden from swarms of hungry birds. He tried all the conventional techniques — scarecrows of all types, netting, mirrors, even plastic owls — with no success.

Finally, to his great joy and the chagrin of his bucolic Taunton neighbors, he found what works: machineguns, charging elephants and the screams of urban rioters.

Vaughan purchased a noise generator from a British electronics company, one which plays 25 different fowl-frightening sounds. Aside from warfare, looting and maddened pachyderms, he found songs by Bob “Bobcat” Geldorf and the sound of a cat being stomped quite effective.

“It does a marvelous job,” Vaughan said. “If you come and live in the country, you have to get used to the noise.”

His neighbors objected but preferred recordings of machinegun fire to the real thing.

Not My Job, Man

Clarence Notree never thought of himself as a hero In fact, the mild-mannered Chicago schoolteacher had never considered the possibility of facing gunfire on the job. But when a gunman burst into his elementary school gym and started spraying rounds, the 47-year-old thought only of his students, never of himself.

Pushing the children to safety, he stayed behind until all were accounted for, taking a bullet in the wrist for his heroism. Parents praised him. Tough cops were impressed with his cool selflessness under fire.

But when he applied for Worker’s Compensation benefits for his 20% disability, the Chicago Board of Education turned him down flat.

They said, I quote, “Saving children’s lives was not part of his job.”

Clarence appealed and won, but still, the CBE resisted. Finally, faced with overwhelming public disapproval of a position which intimated the teacher would have been more job-code conscious had he abandoned the kids and fled, they gave in and dropped their appeal of his $13,447 award.

Apparently, running away would have been more politically correct.

Battle Of (Dim) Wits

Bemused Tucson cops made arrests in a dueling case, and the biggest mystery was why there were live suspects to arrest.

Arizonans Tristan Rossum and Jonathan Brown, Jr., decided to settle a personal dispute by facing off at 10 paces and shooting it out. Both armed with 12-gauge shotguns, they must have set a new world non-record after firing three to seven rounds at each other. Neither was so much as scratched. Rossum and Brown were charged with assault with a deadly weapon.

“We don’t have a felony stupid rule yet,” observed Detective Warren Hock.

Real Men Don’t Use Guns

There’s a guy worth watching in Dnepropetrovsk, Ukraine. We don’t know if he’s got a criminal bent or he’s just a tough-as-nails law-abiding citizen, but if he asks for your wallet, hand it over.

Mr. Toughguy was walking in a local park when he was attacked by a large German shepherd who had broken away from his master. The 37-year-old unidentified man grabbed the dog and bit it to death in front of his owner and a horrified crowd.

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All About Guns Cops You have to be kidding, right!?!

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All About Guns Cops HUH! Interesting stuff

The Gun Show I Didn’t Recognize A Boomer Gets an Education By Brent Wheat

Gun culture isn’t necessarily what we think it is. Brent Wheat got an unexpected education
at a recent gun show. Photo illustration via Google Gemini

I’ve been going to gun shows for a long, long time. I’ve bought guns there, sold guns, worked, written and generally spent enough time wandering their aisles. I know the territory. I knew the sights and sounds, the merchandise and the characters.

I have talked to the guy with the old Winchester for sale, the collector looking for a particular Colt and the bargain hunter who wanted to dicker over two dollars. I’m not exactly a tourist.

This weekend, however, I felt like I journeyed someplace I’d never been. The building, tables and guns were familiar, but the people, the language and the overall vibe felt totally foreign. I had the odd sensation of visiting the place I grew up and finding they’d bulldozed it flat to build an amusement park.

At the show there were a surprising number of young people attending, and after a few hours, I began to realize it wasn’t simply a newer generation of the gun culture I knew. I was looking at a completely different universe.

Sadly, because I wasn’t selling anything of interest to this crowd, I had plenty of time to observe. True fact: my total gross sales on Sunday amounted to $33. You can understand why I spent a lot of time watching and listening.

The first thing that caught my attention was the hardware. There were AR-15 pistols everywhere, including some so short that calling them firearms seemed almost laughable. Most were dressed up in ways I considered unusual (for me, anyway): bright red muzzle devices, gaudy buffer tubes and gold or other flashy Cerakote finishes and accessories chosen as much for appearance as function.

GLOCKs were everywhere, too, stuck down the front of low-slung pants or sometimes carried under shoulders on elastic cord. Nearly all of them sported long stick magazines, and I soon learned white 33-round magazines have become something of a major status symbol.

None of this is particularly difficult to understand from a purely commercial standpoint. If somebody wants a red muzzle device or a GLOCK drum magazine and is willing to pay for it, there’s a market. In fact, the guy across from me was selling extended magazines faster than he could operate his cash register.

Hardware Just the Beginning

For most of my life, firearms have generally been an extension of an existing interest or identity. A hunter buys a shotgun because he hunts, the collector buys an old Colt because he’s fascinated by Colts and the competitive shooter buys equipment because he wants to shoot faster.

However, what I saw was something different — the gun was more of a symbol of the identity, a significant artifact, rather than a means to an end.

Granted, there was a fair amount of what I can only describe as posing. Some of the young guys were clearly trying very hard to look hard, adopting street language and mannerisms that seemed slightly disconnected from the suburban environment from which they appeared to have emerged.

We overheard a couple of conversations that were so obviously performative we had to laugh. There is something almost endearing about a kid trying desperately to convince the world that he’s a dangerous hard-bangin’ street tough when his private speech and mannerisms suggest he is addicted to Starbucks caramel mocha latte with extra sprinkles.

But even this illustrated something important: the guns weren’t simply being purchased as a vehicle to accomplish something. They were part of building a certain persona almost every young person desperately wants to advertise to the world.

Some of it was harmless. Unfortunately, I’d wager some of it wasn’t.

Cop Talk

This is where I have to acknowledge my own bias. I was a police officer for 30 years, and cops develop a pretty strong radar for people who are up to no good. It isn’t magic, and I’ll wholly, completely admit it isn’t infallible. It’s a collection of observations: clothing, speech, body language, associations, how someone handles a firearm, how they react to other people and what they say when they don’t realize anyone is listening.

Any one of those things by itself usually means nothing. But, put enough of them together, and it usually means quite a bit.

I saw people with possible gang affiliation and young men handling guns with very little apparent familiarity or discipline but much overt bravado. I overheard countless conversations — using language I couldn’t even begin to print on this website — that didn’t sound anything like the traditional gun-show crowd discussing hunting or the relative merits of a 1911 versus a 2011.

And I wasn’t the only person noticing. My booth partner quickly observed it, too, as did several other vendors. Granted, nobody was standing around making grand declarations about criminals taking over the show. The comments were quieter — the kind of knowing observations and glances exchanged between people who were seeing the same thing but didn’t need to explain it to one another.

I don’t know what crimes any of these people may or may not have committed. I don’t know what they intended to do with the guns they bought and carried. I won’t turn a haircut, a bandana or a manner of speaking into evidence of criminal activity.

But I also refuse to pretend that 30 years of law enforcement street experience suddenly became worthless because I can’t put a name and case number to something I saw for two minutes.

I witnessed some people who looked like they were playing a part, some who appeared to be perfectly legitimate young gun owners and some whose combination of behavior, conversation, appearance and equipment gave me a very strong feeling that their reasons for acquiring firearms weren’t particularly wholesome.

I trust that assessment, though you should never confuse it with proof. Having said all that, I came away from the gun show with a generally bad feeling.

Trouble Brewing?

One of the more memorable moments involved a boy who appeared to be about 12 or 13 years old. He picked out a 33-round GLOCK magazine and his mother (who seemed much more concerned about her phone conversation than Junior’s intended purchase) paid for it. There was nothing furtive about it, and nobody seemed particularly concerned. To them, this was apparently a normal Saturday activity.

I’ve been around guns long enough that a kid being interested in firearms doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, it usually inspires me a bit. I was interested in guns as a youngster, and most people reading this were, too. But I found myself wondering what this particular kid believed the magazine represented and why Mom showed zero interest.

Maybe this kid was a graduate of a 4-H shooting class or hunter education and was simply fascinated by extended magazines for the pistol he could someday legally own. But based on my observations, I don’t believe this was the case.

What disturbed me most were the two people with brass catchers attached to their “pistols.” Now, a brass catcher isn’t inherently suspicious. Competitive shooters and reloaders use them; heck, I’ve got one around here someplace. Anyone who has spent an afternoon crawling around a range looking for spent cases understands the appeal.

However, context matters.

These men weren’t competitive shooters, as far as I could tell, and they weren’t standing around discussing reloading or buying powder. They were part of a group of questionable-looking young men who had already caught my attention for all the wrong reasons.

Maybe there was an innocent explanation, and I hope there was. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t wonder whether those pistols were intended for some future unsavory purpose.

Maybe they didn’t want to leave evidence behind after a crime or maybe they simply wanted to be like their video heroes; I have no idea. Either way, it was disheartening.

Hard Questions

Unfortunately, I can’t magically divide these people neatly into responsible gun owners and potential problems. There is no algorithm to tell us which ones will become the next generation of hunters, competitors, collectors and responsible gun owners, and which ones will become the people the rest of us have to answer for.

But there’s another question at work: If firearms are increasingly becoming identity markers rather than tools — objects that tell the world something about who you are — what happens to the culture that traditionally gave those tools their meaning?

For most of us who grew up around guns, the firearm was the beginning of the conversation. What came next was the important part: hunting, competition, collecting, training, craftsmanship or simply the pleasure of shooting. The gun was a tool that connected us to something else.

What happens when the gun itself becomes a prop?

What I do know is this: this weekend represents how a number of younger people view firearms, whether traditional gun people like it or not. They view firearms primarily as props, status symbols, emblems and even tools of intimidation. Whether they intend to commit crimes or simply want to look the part, the effect is the same: it throws gun ownership in a negative light.

I’ve never seen a gun-owning group quite like this.

Ignoring or overlooking it won’t make it disappear, and pretending it isn’t part of gun culture doesn’t make it any less real.

I don’t particularly like it. I don’t endorse a lot of what I saw, and some of it genuinely concerns and angers me. I’m not going to profess otherwise just to make this piece more politically palatable. But if the firearms industry and shooting community want to understand this generation, we’d better start paying attention, even to the parts we want to ignore or pretend don’t exist.

The uncomfortable truth is that gun culture doesn’t belong exclusively to the people who built the version I grew up in. If people use firearms to construct identity, project status or signal affiliation, that’s part of the culture too, whether we approve of it or not.

And before anyone (inevitably) accuses me of being an old guy complaining about young people, let me acknowledge every generation has its own version of such things. Young men have always used clothes, cars, music and other objects to announce who they think they are. What’s different here is the object and its potential for destruction.

I walked into the gun show thinking I generally understood the gun world. I walked out realizing I only understood my corner of it and for that weekend, I was clearly a stranger in a strange land.

But, then again, maybe I wasn’t visiting a strange land at all — maybe I was getting a glimpse of the future, at least one possible future.

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.357 Appendectomy And Other 10 Ring Tales By Commander Gilmore

Ann Barry’s nightmare came true, but unlike most folks, she was prepared. The 60-year-old Bowling Green, Ky., teacher, aware of increasing numbers of attacks on elderly people living alone, bought a stout .357 Magnum revolver, took firearms training courses and got a concealed weapon permit. Then she carefully planned her responses to a variety of situations.

When she heard someone kick in the door to her garage, then break down the door into the house with an axe, she called the police, grabbed her roscoe, and took an ambush position in the darkened doorway leading to her bedroom.

When the figure of a man with a pistol in his hand crept down her hallway and paused to look into an empty bedroom, Ann lit him up with a single hollowpoint to the midsection.

“Hey! Whoa! Okay!” the dude shouted while scrambling backward, but “okay” apparently didn’t mean “I surrender,” since he popped five poorly-directed shots her way as he retreated.

Ann just figured he was heading in the direction she wanted him to, so she held her position and waited for the police. Responding coppers found 28-year-old James Sugart moaning for help in a field across from Barry’s house, clutching a stomach wound.

Let’s hope this guy’s prison jacket reads “Lost gunfight with a 60-year-old history teacher.” That ought to earn him lots of points among his fellow cons.

Stick Shafted

Acura Integras are nice cars, but they’re also prime carjacking targets in Southern California. If you’re going to get one, an unnamed 25-year-old in La Palma would advise you to stay away from the automatic transmission — get a carjacker-proof stick shift.

The victim figured the suspects followed her home from a video store, but she really didn’t notice them until they pulled into her driveway behind her, bailed out of their own car, stuck a gun in her face and suggested she get out.

Thankful she wasn’t hurt, she watched as the two teenage carjackers leaped in her ’96 Acura, started it up — and couldn’t move it.

She got the impression that neither of ’em knew how to operate a manual transmission. After several fruitless minutes of starting it up and then killing the engine, the Dastardly Duo slunk back into their own car and faded into the night. They didn’t even say goodbye.

Biathlon Boogie

The coaches of both the Russian and Belorussian national biathlon teams were sharing a ride home from the world championships in Slovakia last February when four Ivans in a beat-up sedan ran them off the road, brandished a couple of little pistols and demanded cash.

Even if they knew what a biathlon is — skiing and shooting — they didn’t know the fully-armed members of both teams were travelling in a bus behind their coaches.

The suspects barely completed their “Give us your dough, tovarich” speeches when said bus slewed to a halt and numerous superbly conditioned world-class marksmen bailed out, hastily loading their rifles and taking positions.

At this point, maybe, just maybe, they considered their opposition only had .22 rifles. Then, for a fraction of a second, maybe, just maybe, they pondered on the fact that these shooters could put a half-dozen rounds through the eye socket of their choice in Olympic-record time.

At any rate, not too many fractions of that same second elapsed before the would-be highwaymen fled for their lives.

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All About Guns California Cops

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Breaking: US Navy Sailor Wrongfully Convicted Pardoned By President Trump!