Gunning It, Part II

   So there I was standing at the gun counter and being calmly presented the various scenarios as to why I should perhaps consider purchasing a gun (as you perhaps read in the last post, I was there primarily to sell my deceased father's 1898 Springfield rifle and his Star .22 pistol).   My two dogs had been shot and the intruder was now climbing the stairs, or my car was being forced off of the road on a lonely stretch in the desert, or three tough-looking dudes were approaching me as I loaded Christmas gifts into the boot of my car.  All valid scenarios...and then there was this extended opening from Evan Osnos, a staff writer at The New Yorker: Bars in the Old City neighborhood of Philadelphia let out at 2 A.M.  On the morning of January 17, 2010, two groups emerged, looking for taxis.  At the corner of Market and Third Street, they started yelling at each other.  On one side was Edward DiDonato, who had recently begun work at an insurance company, having graduated from Villanova University, where he was a captain of the lacrosse team.  On the other was Gerald Ung, a third-year law student at Temple, who wrote poetry in his spare time and had worked as a technology consultant for Freddie Mac.  Both men had grown up in prosperous suburbs: DiDonato in Blue Bell, Pennsylvania, outside Philadelphia; Ung in Reston, Virginia, near Washington, D.C...Everyone had been drinking, and neither side could subsequently remember how the disagreement started; one of DiDonato’s friends may have kicked in the direction of one of Ung’s friends, and Ung may have mocked someone’s hair.  “To this day, I have no idea why this happened,” Joy Keh, a photographer who was one of Ung’s friends at the scene, said later...The argument moved down the block, and one of DiDonato’s friends, a bartender named Thomas V. Kelly IV, lunged at the other group.  He was pushed away before he could throw a punch.  He rushed at the group again; this time, Ung pulled from his pocket a .380-calibre semiautomatic pistol, the Kel-Tec P-3AT.  Only five inches long and weighing barely half a pound, it was a “carry gun,” a small, lethal pistol designed for “concealed carry,” the growing practice of toting a hidden gun in daily life.  Two decades ago, leaving the house with a concealed weapon was strictly controlled or illegal in twenty-two states, and fewer than five million Americans had a permit to do so.  Since then, it has become legal in every state, and the number of concealed-carry permit holders has climbed to an estimated 12.8 million...Ung had obtained a concealed-carry license because he was afraid of street crime.  He bought a classic .45-calibre pistol but later switched to the Kel-Tec, which was easier to carry; for a year and a half, he stowed one of the pistols in his pocket or in his backpack.  He had never fired it.  Now, on the sidewalk, he held the Kel-Tec with outstretched arms.  A pedestrian heard him yell, “You’d better not piss me off!”  Ung maintains that he said, “Back the fuck up.”  DiDonato thought the pistol looked too small to be real; he guessed that it was a BB gun.  He spread his arms, stepped forward, and said, “Who are you going to shoot, man?”  Ung pulled the trigger.  Afterward, he couldn’t recall how many times—he said it felt like a movie, and he was “seeing sparks and hearing pops.”...Ung hit DiDonato six times: in the liver, the lung, the shoulder, the hand, the intestine, and the spine.  When DiDonato collapsed, Ung called 911 and said that he had shot a man.  On the call, he was recorded pleading, “Why did you make me do it?”  DiDonato, in a weak voice, can be heard saying, “Please don’t let me die.”  When police arrived, Ung’s first words were “I have a permit.”  Put yourself in his place (the shooter); how would you have reacted?  Would your reaction have been different if you had or didn't have a gun?  

   Entering the inner sanctum of the sporting goods store which was appraising my dad's gun was similar to a feeling of entering the "high stakes" part of a casino; I felt out of place looking at the collection of antique and collector guns all carefully lighted and displayed behind locked waist-to-ceiling glass cabinets.  It was as if this was some sort of museum, and there stood the curator.  He was a veteran, smile-less yet ready to tell you his background if you asked...gun collector, decorated marksman for most of his life, owner of several hundred historical rifles (and four gun safes to hold them), trained as a detail weapon inspector, proud of his several visits to high schools to display and explain the history of rifles via his collection.  He held up the appraisal for my dad's guns...$140 for the pistol and $125 for the rifle.  What??  Weren't new guns 3 times the price, and weren't these glistening with polished wood stocks and well, antiques?  To my eyes, you just didn't see those features anymore (but what did I know, being new to the field).  Doesn't matter, he calmly told me.  The pistol had two cracks in the plastic handle, the rifle had been redone, the barrel shortened, the military mark rubbed off, the finish removed, the leather strap that came with it was torn and basically worthless, the cushioned pad was rock hard and would need to be replaced, the stock was cracked and pitted.  I stepped outside with my friend and he agreed with the appraisal; he himself had missed all of those flaws and felt that the price offered was a fair price.  We went back in.  How could you tell that the barrel had been altered, I asked the almost-stoic appraiser.  Would you like to see the Springfield rifle and how it actually looked back then, he asked, then led me to one of the glass cabinets and removed one of the original models; side by side it was easy to see the difference, the polished leather strap (still as tough as a belt), the longer barrel (by nearly 5 inches), the embossed military stamp.  But why would my dad alter it, I asked (not really knowing if it was my dad that had done so), and if not, why would he even purchase such a rifle?  And that opened him up.  "These rifles were used in the Spanish-American war, and after the war there were thousands for sale; you could buy one of these for $10 or $15.  Had your dad's rifle been in new condition, it would have been worth somewhere between $700 and $1000."  Then he began talking of his own history, of how he came to be so interested in guns, then a marksman, then competitions, then inspecting guns for details.  I was beginning to like the guy, no nonsense and genuinely interesting.  He could have talked about virtually any gun and give you as many details as you could stand...and make it sound fascinating.

    There is a book by author Mark Greenfield (I'll Never Be French) about his buying a home in Brittany and his observation of the differences in cultures: In the U.S., where I'm relatively successful and know how to get what I want, I'm often angry and frustrated -- especially by long lines, traffic, and automated telephone-answering systems.  But in France, where I'm helpless and child-like dependent on others, an anathema to any adult U.S. male, I'm grateful.  I'd never say it aloud (for fear of losing it) or tell anyone ('d be embarressed), but my days in Brittany are days of grace.  And that was me, now also child-like dependent at the gun counter but learning a lot about a subject I would have never approached, that of owning a gun.  

   In a recent TED Talk, social psychologist Jonathan Haidt talks about the divide in our country and among people: ...it's very hard to just decide to overcome your deepest prejudices.  And there's research showing that political prejudices are deeper and stronger than race prejudices in the country now.  So I think you have to make an effort -- that's the main thing...if you want to escape from this, read Buddha, read Jesus, read Marcus Aurelius.  They have all kinds of great advice for how to drop the fear, reframe things, stop seeing other people as your enemy...I think you have to make an effort -- that's the main thing.  Make an effort to actually meet somebody.  Everybody has a cousin, a brother-in-law, somebody who's on the other side.  So, after this election -- wait a week or two, because it's probably going to feel awful for one of you -- but wait a couple weeks, and then reach out and say you want to talk...if you start by acknowledging, if you start by saying, "You know, we don't agree on a lot, but one thing I really respect about you, Uncle Bob," or "... about you conservatives, is ... "  And you can find something.  If you start with some appreciation, it's like magic.

   And there I was, holding a revolver in one hand and listening to the calm yet scary scenarios of threats to my safety, all while acknowledging that 90 people a day are killed by guns in the U.S. (6 of that number are children either killed or wounded, the majority from accidentally firing their parent's unsecured gun) and that gun manufacturers are making a real "killing," as sales continue to climb (320 million guns in the U.S. and rising).  But I was also crossing a divide of sorts, for the people I was talking to weren't my "enemies" or "bad" people.  They were people I would shake hands with and wave to as I left, and thank for the brief but fascinating education.  They simply loved what they believed in and were as patient explaining that to me as if they were talking to a child.  Now, would I decide to actually buy and own a gun and place it in my home or car?  No, at least not at this point.  I haven't fired many guns (a few shots with my dad), I don't know the laws of having or using a gun, I am still not comfortable with guns, and I still don't "love" guns.  But as with the election, I was open to listening to and understanding the "other" side and despite the best efforts of the media, discovering that there was no other side.  My neighbors aren't like me and hold different and strong beliefs, but we have had a great time together for over 20 years.  One can take any field, from music to painting and from religion to politics...even guns.  There's exists what many would want you to believe a "them" and an "us," a "right" and a "wrong," a "conservative" and a "liberal."  But as my friend said (describing himself as a  cafeteria Catholic), we can all look at each issue and each belief and each value from several angles; we can gaze and examine and make decisions that may be right or wrong to others, but will be right for us.  But at least we will  have seen the choices and had a chance to step out of our comfort zone.  And perhaps --just as when we discover a new flavor of a dish we've never tried-- we may expand our views and our willingness to be open...and in doing so, we may just find that there is no divide at all.