I always thought an arsenal was specfically intended to supply a combat operation. So if you have many weapons of the same type and supplies for them, you may be planning to outfit a team for coordinated offensive activity.
No , orginally it was a desingated holding place for weapons. Normally to be disbursed to the citizen soldier in time of war. Both Garrison and Front line troops will draw their weapons from Quarter masters stores , or the appropriate term now a days.
Today , its just a media buzz word to describe a cache of weapons , which it was , to generate negative feedback for firearms.
Declan
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- I have noticed that (anywhere, not just NY area) usually when the news shows police pictures of a “siezed arsenal of weapons”, there’s usually at least one BB gun on the table, as well as at least one small-caliber revolver from the 1910’s-1930’s that is so rusted out that it would be hazardous to actually fire.
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But it’s a “gun”, and they’re showing it, because they siezed it.
- I have noticed that (anywhere, not just NY area) usually when the news shows police pictures of a “siezed arsenal of weapons”, there’s usually at least one BB gun on the table, as well as at least one small-caliber revolver from the 1910’s-1930’s that is so rusted out that it would be hazardous to actually fire.
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- But what do you expect? According to NY police, any fire at a Dunkin Donuts is a 4-alarm fire. <;)
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I have a, um, friend who has about 12,000 rounds of .308 in his basement. The crates stack about 6 feet tall.
So could someone enlighten me here… is it illegal for him to have this ammo? Are there “anti-arsenal” laws on the books? Is it a state, local, or federal issue?
Considering that many (most?) people don’t have any guns or ammunition in their homes, and that this was a private individual ON STATEN ISLAND, I would call 13 guns an arsenal.
Think of how quick 13 people could have gone in to the house, prepared the guns, walked out into the street, and gone off in all directions shooting people in the streets. That, to me, says aresenal.
Likely not in this case, but sometimes people buy lots of the same weapon as an investment. During the pre-1994 panic, I know several people who bought multiples of the same firearms, for the purpsoe of re-selling later on when they got scarce. Some of them made 100% or more profits too. I knew one person who bought 4 AKS’s for $500 each, and sold 3 of them for a total of nearly $4000 the next year.
Here’s a follow up from todays N.Y. Daily News.
This guy was obsessed with 9/11, and with Nazis. He had a bunker built in his basement, which contained the ‘arsenal’, homemade bombs and canned meat.He delighted in lynching life size dolls of Bin Ladin and Saddam from his front porch. He would tell his neighbors not to worry because ‘this block is safe’. The walls of the bunker were adorned with extremist propaganda and photos of Hitler and swastikas.He had security cameras all around and inside of his house.
NYPD apparently have had him under surveillance for some time. They staged a car crash in front of his house to draw him out…which was successfull…and he was arrested without incident.
Just another neighborhood nut.
Can this thread get some jokes of higher caliber?
I own about eight guns. My dad has, at last count, 17.
I have a buddy that owns over 250, nearly all military pieces.
None of us are a threat to anybody, compared to Lee Harvey Oswald. He owned two.
My “arsenal” (around here we refer to our stash of weapons as a “battery”) consists of four weapons, one of which is not considered a firearm by federal law (it’s a replica of a black-powder Colt 1860 Army revolver with the “creeping rammer” – very beautiful, even if it is “imitation”). I used to go shooting, and will again, some day. I’m sure that if I lived in NYC, DC, or some other megalopolis, my “arsenal” would be considered dangerous by its mere existence.
Here in the wilds of NM (only partly kidding – you have to go almost all the way to the city limits to see wild animals if you don’t count your neighbors) my “arsenal” is considered somewhat quaint in its sparseness. Of course, every autumn, at least one of the local car dealerships offers a free shotgun with every truck purchase.
We Americans might all have the same citizenship, but we definitely live in very different worlds, each and every one of us. 
–SSgtBaloo
Quote ltfire
Here?s a follow up from todays N.Y. Daily News.
This guy was obsessed with 9/11, and with Nazis. He had a bunker built in his basement, which contained the ?arsenal?, homemade bombs and canned meat.
Have you ever read the ATF’s FFL requirements?
I’m beginning to wonder what the cops were watching him for??
This from the N.Y. Post. (I’m weighing in here with the three big papers in N.Y.C…They have a tendency to tell the story different…so, for what it’s worth…
Passersby and residents had filed complaints that they were being targeted with a red laser light…and THAT my friends, will get you shot by the NYPD.
Yikes, I’ll be sure to remember not to point my laser level at people if I’m ever in NYC.
An arsenal. Throughout the years I’ve had different ideas on just what constitutes an arsenal. When I was young, inexperienced, afraid and reactive I felt that two guns was an arsenal (and one gun was just one gun short of an arsenal!).
Jim came into our relationship with two guns. One was a small 38 special and the other was a big NATO-type rifle. He referred to the rifle as an M-14, but later I learned it was an M-1-A Springfield.
He had been in the Army and had fought in a war. I was a student at the time, pre-law, very “liberal” and scared shitless of guns. Funny, looking back, I called myself ‘liberal’ but I was actually very oppressive. I had a hard time with him having guns. Didn’t want them in the apartment, didn’t want them loaded, didn’t want to be around them. I spouted the best stuff I was learning in school: “The police are here to protect us, we don’t need guns,” “We won’t get invaded, so you don’t need military-type arms,” “There’s no reason for a law-abiding citizen to have a gun.” “Guns are only for killing, we don’t need them.” He just smiled, assured me he’d be ultra careful and was patient with me.
Over time we got more serious, and my worst fears were not realized. No accidents, no crime, no trouble from his guns. I grudgingly tolerated them. Then one night I found out why, and if it wasn’t for him and his damn guns, I wouldn’t be writing this now.
There had been some murders in the area of the state near the campus. Brutal things. All women, raped and cut up. On campus we were wary, but it didn’t look like the murderer was targeting students, so we were still pretty comfortable. Then one morning, about 3am, I heard him stir, then get up. He looked out the window carefully and I started to ask him if everything was OK. He shushed me, and something in his tone shut me up. He stood there for a bit, then came back to bed. I was a little worried about him, he had done this before, but I was tired and went right back to sleep.
Suddenly I was awakened by a thud. I figured the cat had knocked something down in the living room again, cause she came running in the room. Jim flew out of bed and was on his feet; he hardly made a sound. I was about to tell him to come back to bed, that it was only the cat, but he waved a hand at me in a gesture I just knew meant, “Quiet!” and took two steps to the safe he had gotten for the gun, the 38. It was one of those easy-access safes and the gun came out quickly. I was getting pissed! He was being paranoid and was endangering me! I half sat up. I was about to yell at him to ‘put that thing away or…’ when the bedroom door swung open.
It was surreal, like it was in a movie. Silently, a tall, but overweight man dressed in dark clothes and a ski mask walked into my bedroom. He saw I was awake, and smiled, pursed his lips and whispered, “Shhhhh. I won’t hurt you if you stay quiet.” He raised his right hand up and behind him and I could see the shape of a big machete by the light that filtered in from outside. I froze in fear but I didn’t feel frozen, I felt like warm pudding. My stomach seemed to drop out of me and I felt like I was going to pee my bed.
Jim was behind him, to one side, still near the safe. I expected him to shoot, to see a flash and a roar of an explosion, but it didn’t happen. I wished he would shoot! I couldn’t talk or move, I was so scared. Then I heard a very distinctive sound, a sound I’d heard on TV a million times but never heard in real life, till then. I recognized it instantly. ‘click-cl-click’ The sound of the hammer of a revolver being pulled back.
Now it was the intruder’s time to freeze. He stopped short and his head twitched back in the direction of the sound. I thought time had stopped, everything seemed to be going so slowly. A part of me wanted to yell, “shoot, shoot!” but I still could do nothing, I couldn‘t talk or move. The intruder started slowly turning around in the direction of the sound, machete being cocked higher and further back and Jim said, “Freeze, or you’re dead.” I believed him. The intruder believed him, and chose life.
Then time went from slow to a weird state where everything seemed to happen so fast I could hardly keep up. Jim was standing there with two hands on that gun, which had initially seemed so big to me, but now seemed impossibly tiny. A tiny little snub-nose 38. It wasn’t even bigger than the two hands holding it, surely not big enough to protect us. He told the guy to drop the machete. I guess a gun looks bigger when it’s pointing at you, cause I heard the machete hit the floor with a clang.
He told me to pick up the machete then, but I didn’t know what, or how; I hesitated, so he came over and gently kicked it under the bed. The cat didn’t like that and ran into the closet.
He made the guy get down on the floor and asked me to get something to tie him up. I couldn’t think of a thing at the time and I said so, so he just asked me to call the police. I grabbed the phone and dialed 911. I could do that at least. I was put on hold.
Lots of the rest of the night fades together. The police eventually came and took the intruder away and chided Jim for having guns in on-campus housing. With a knowing smile he promised to get them off-campus ASAP, and they left. I went to bed with Jim and cried my eyes out. He just held me.
There was more about this incident, but it’s not really important to this story. We had to go down the next day, ID him, etc. Like I said, it was all a blur.
My attitude changed. A gun in the right hands had saved my life. Jim acquainted me with guns, taught me how to be safe, taught me how to shoot. Later he taught me how to use a gun for self-protection, how to be accurate, how to stop a crime without firing a shot. I developed confidence. I overcame fear.
We moved off-campus. The intruder never made it to trial. An accident while in custody, they told us. I was secretly glad. I wanted to kill him for what he did to those other women, for what he was going to do to me. It’s a hard thing to explain and even harder to understand.
The arsenal of two guns grew. Every once in a while he’d come home with another gun. I was kind of numb to it at this point. He talked about being ready in case the country got invaded. I thought it was silly, but never questioned him; he was right before.
He brought home (now it was our home) some guns he’d had stored before he had met me. A few more pistols, an old short double barreled shotgun. He’d come home with used guns he’d find somewhere and have a logical reason for each acquisition. “The US military uses these bullets, so if we get invaded we can always get ammo….” “We need a larger caliber pistol in case we….” “These are going to be outlawed soon, so we gotta get it now….”
We ended up with an arsenal. We had about eight each of long guns and of pistols. Each with a logical reason for having it.
It was an arsenal, and he had a logical reason for each one, and I agreed with him. I learned to shoot each and every one, and became proficient, but not a sharpshooter. Some of them I didn’t like, they were just too ‘explosive.’ But I learned.
It was one of those things that didn’t last. No blame, no fault, it was just time to go. He took all the guns with him. I was moving into D.C. to pursue my career and the anti-gun laws were draconian. He said I could take whatever I liked, but it was too much of a hassle for me. I don’t own any guns now. It’s been awhile.
I’m also lucky. I don’t have to stay in fragile on-campus housing any more. I make enough money to ensure that I know who comes to my door, and they can’t break in. I can get to my car from my home without going outside. I don’t go out alone after dark. My parking at the firm is secure, as is my access. Otherwise, I’d need a gun.
Would I have an arsenal? Let’s see:
He was right. We got invaded. 9-11 has a new meaning to me now. Before it meant being put on hold, now it means we should have be able to have guns, all of us, men and women, to protect our country against foreign invasion. If we never have to use them, so much the better, no harm done. We need to be able to protect ourselves against personal invasion, too; I owe my life to a man who believed this, him and the puny gun he had.
If, no, WHEN I move out of D.C., to a place where guns are permitted for citizens, I’m going to have an arsenal. I’m going to have a small, medium caliber pistol for home protection. Two shotguns, one short, one long. A big rifle, as big as I can handle, to fight off invasion if it happens. Another of a different but common caliber. A large capacity nine millimeter, like most cops carry. A big-caliber pistol for ‘just in case,’ and a small pistol I can carry in my purse or pocket. And I’m going to move to a state where I can get a permit to carry it concealed. And I’m going to buy a few gun safes. One to store long guns I don’t need to get to quickly, one for most of my pistols, and one easy-access for my snub-nose 38, so I can grab it quickly if I need it.
And I will have done my work in D.C. to ensure that Americans across the country can do the same thing. And if they change the laws, I’ll change my address, and take my arsenal with me.
Oh yeah, forgot about the ammo.
I learned that if you needed more than a box (50) for each caliber you might as well kiss it bye-bye anyway…
Maybe the ammo stockpile is more of a defining agent?
Welcome to the Board, Filli. That’s a harrowing tale.
Thanks, Ringo, you should have been there… 
So, still no consensus on what constitutes an arsenal? Been thinking about it from a legal point of view, and I lean toward defining it in today’s climate more by intended use than numbers of weapons or bullets. An arsenal has the purpose of stockpiling weapons for offensive or defensive uses in a situation where the use of arms has become necessary.
The National Guard has an arsenal. Military services have arsenals. The local terrorists have arsenals. John Smith, who hunts, collects guns, engages in target practice and keeps weapons for defense of home, self and family, and who owns 1,372 guns, many of them of the same type and caliber, does not have an arsenal. can we agree?
I thought it was how often you could squeeze the trigger.