Who is Darren Bayne?
aka the 'Professor of Protection'

Darren Bayne photograph

I’m Darren Bayne, your curator of protection ideas to keep you and your family safe at home, at work, at school, and at play.

My mission is simple: to provide you with the tools and resources you need to ensure your safety and that of your loved ones.

My core philosophy is:  DO NOT BE AFRAID

Most of my writing is to my email list through ‘Darren’s Nuggets of Protection’. It’s where I share daily tips and tricks to stay safe and protect your stuff.

You can sign up to my email list here and you’ll even get a nice gift–a PDF called “Protect Your Castle: 7 Fast (and almost Free) Tips to Deter Any Burglar” that helps you safeguard your home.

What you see here is the outgrowth of hours of conversations with friends (and strangers) about common-sense steps I take to keep my family protected.

Turns out my ideas aren’t as common knowledge as I thought they were. You might read some emails where you think “I know that”. But other emails may have you scratching your head and saying “I haven’t thought of that before”.

Either way, implementing the strategies I give you will make you feel confident you are doing everything you can to stay safe.

Because your safety is what I’m here for.

Three absolutely random things about me are:

    • I had to go to North Carolina to find an Ohio girl to marry this Alabama boy.
    • My first “real” job was doing odd jobs for a crop-duster. My love of flying began on a grass strip at the Headland Municipal Airport.
    • I have an irrational loathing for the color orange.


My [anti] Villain Origin Story

December 1992.

Standing on a level plain at the top of a hill in a graveyard. An open six-foot-deep hole at the ‘Gardens of Memory’ lies ready to receive a casket with the remains of my grandfather.

It was cold. And windy.

We buried Buford Ethridge’s 84-year-old body that day. But he was really gone 18 months before.

On a July afternoon in 1991, HeDaddy (my name for my grandfather) sat in his 2-bedroom, 1-bathroom ramshackle house watching TV. The house had air conditioning in just his bedroom. And he only ran it at night.

The front and back doors were open for what little cross-breeze you could find on a sweltering southeast Alabama day. Screen doors kept out the gnats and mosquitos.

A young man–early 20’s–comes to HeDaddy’s door, knocks, and asks for water. HeDaddy doesn’t know him, but he goes to the kitchen to get a glass, some ice, and water from the faucet.

He goes back to the front door and unhooks the security latch to hand the ice water to the guy.

The guy takes the glass with one hand and yanks open the screen door with the other. He hits my grandfather in the face with the glass, knocking HeDaddy down.

The miscreant towers over HeDaddy and demands money. $83 was all HeDaddy had in his wallet.

The punk grabs the money and leaves.

HeDaddy didn’t even get off the floor until the paramedics arrived. He crawled over to the phone beside his chair to call the police.

HeDaddy never spent another night in that house. The house he’d raised a family in for more than 40 years. All because of one thug who wanted something that didn’t belong to him.

From the hospital, HeDaddy went to a nursing home. His body functioned for a while but his mind had lost hope.

He was a shell of himself.

He was too ashamed of what happened to see any of his grandkids. So I really lost him that summer.

It just took another year and a half for his body to comply.

Now this where you’d expect me to tell how fantastic a person my grandfather was. How he lit up a room when he walked in. Or was the benevolent guy quietly helping everyone he touched.

But I’d be lying.

HeDaddy was flawed.

But he was my granddad. My blood.

And even with all his faults, he didn’t deserve the beating he got.

So there I stood at the gravesite. Wearing my nicest suit and a khaki-colored trench coat to battle the wind.

And I thought of the injustice.

Of a senior citizen preyed upon by a heartless scoundrel.

Of the feeling of hopelessness when the one place you should feel safe–your home–is violated.

Of what I could do to protect myself and others I love from the same fate.

I was only 21 when we buried HeDaddy. It was a defining moment in my life.

The Turning Point

Now this where some people would say they changed their career plans.

They’d become a cop to catch criminals.

Or get a law degree to become a prosecuting attorney to put bad guys behind bars.

Or if my name was Bruce Wayne (instead of Darren Bayne), I’d become a ruthless vigilante who used my athletic ability, my keen intellect, and massive wealth to fight crime while wearing a bat suit. (Side note: I only have one of those three things…and I ain’t rich)

No. I didn’t do any of those things. But something did happen inside.

It flipped a switch in how I approached life. And living.

I didn’t turn paranoid…but it made me think about keeping away from worst-case scenarios in all facets of my life.

It did NOT turn me bitter…I just invested time in thinking through possibilities both good and bad. Then I hope for the good to happen, but always, always, ALWAYS planned for the bad.

You might think that’s a sad way to live. But it’s really freeing.

It lets me enjoy the ups in life because I’ve already minimized the downs.

And so I’m offering you the wisdom I’ve learned without going through the hurt I got in getting it.

Because I’m a big believer in what my mentor, Andy Andrews, says:

“Experience is not the best teacher. OTHER PEOPLE’S EXPERIENCES are the best teacher”.

Everything you hear from me is from a heart of protection…of safety…of security.

I want the best life has to offer you.