My grandfather was born
in Southern California in 1872 at the height of what could be called the Wild
West. As it was depicted in the movies,
that was a very violent time with people shooting guns everywhere. My grandfather poo-pooed that notion. He was a fruit farmer in the San Fernando
Valley, and took his produce by wagon over Sepulveda Pass, as it was known
then, to the Farmer’s Market, and then back that night. He was married, and my mother was the second
of his five children. Eventually he sold
his orchards and went into business. I
was never exactly sure what business, but I think it had something to do with
buying and selling real estate. From
that profit he bought a cattle ranch across the road from where I now live.
He was a rather autocratic
man, but he loved children. I was raised
with stories about him. We heard about
the time he had made some deal, had a pocket full of cash and was on his way to
the bank. A man came up to him, said he
had a gun, and he wanted all of my grandfather’s money. Grandpa just stood there, then finally said,
in a very low and gruff voice, “If you think you are big enough to crawl up
here and take, go ahead.” Needless to
say, the flummoxed would-be robber just turned around and walked away.
When we cousins would
come up to the ranch in the summers to stay with him and my grandmother, he let
us know that there were certain rules that he expected us to follow. He patiently told us what they were, and they
were pretty simple. We were not allowed
to leave the barnyard area; if we took a pony out to ride and it got to lunch
time, we were to take the saddle off of the pony, brush it down, let it drink
its fill of water, put it in the barn with a bundle of hay before we even
thought about coming in for our own lunch.
One cousin didn’t do that – once.
We were to be polite to the workmen who lived there, and when our
grandparents told us to do something unexpected, we were expected to do it
immediately.
If we obeyed the rules
and proved we were responsible children, he would take us down a long hall,
take out his key, and unlock the gun safe.
And then, holy of holies, we were allowed to touch one. Not take it out and shoot it, but just touch
it. Although with a little practice I
could now probably outshoot most people, I still have that sense of awe-filled
responsibility, even when I target practice with my pellet rifle. We live in a pretty remote area inundated
with wild life. Almost all of it is no
problem, other than gophers in the garden, which our cat, Big Mo, generally
takes care of. But occasionally coyotes,
or worse, mountain lions come very close to our house. Our dogs are smart and hide when a lion comes
around, but the lions aren’t smart enough to keep quiet. Just shooting into the hillside near them
generally chases them away. Usually when
we go even further back into the mountains we generally carry a gun just to
make sure we have some protection from predators, be they rattle snakes or
lions.
Those in Congress who are
from rural areas need to understand that the traditions such as the above are
not the traditions that city people have grown up with. For those inclined to violence, there is no
respect for the weapon, itself, and the tragedy it may bring; only for the fear
it may generate for the one carrying it.
And of course, with the NRA getting involved and muddying the water
deliberately for the weapons manufacturers in order to keep their sales up,
things get really complicated.
For those of us in the
country who need our weapons as tools, we must understand that no one is trying
to take away our guns. But we do need to
insure that weapons that are designed for only one purpose, and that is the
killing of as many people as possible in the shortest space of time, have no
place in the hands of the general public.
In my opinion the eventual gun safety law ought to be as simple as
possible. My suggested language is: “Any firearm that shoots more than 6 bullets
in 3 seconds, or any weapon that can be modified to shoot more than 6 bullets
in 3 seconds, is illegal, and cannot be sold to the general public. If sold, or purchased, the maximum penalty
possible shall be applied.” The law can
then define what the maximum penalty shall be.
Of course the NRA will
denigrate anyone who calls a weapon by the wrong name, indicating that since he
or she doesn’t know the name of a weapon, then the person has no right to be in
the discussion. To that I say,
hogwash. One doesn’t need to know the
name of a firearm, be it Bushmaster, AK 47, Ouzi, or whatever, to know that it
kills human beings, and that is its intent.
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