Two years ago I started this writing project: One Hundred Days... to make comments on life and on clouds. The previous 'chapters' turn on days after the funeral of a very nice woman who was generous and kind. Grace Base. Today, I decided to make use of this forum to report on my adventure on a Sisyphusian Task. It may be even bigger than Sisyphus and his rock.
I declared on Face Book that it is my intention to do something about the proliferation of bullets that are the instruments of death when loaded into guns.
The big Hoo Haw is about guns.. I think anyone who wants a gun should own one. I also think that the "Barney Fife" approach to gun use is the proper approach. Anyone who owns a gun may have one bullet (the Minute Men had muskets, the weapons of choice in the American Revolution and could only load and fire one shot at a time, thus the Second Amentment!). The bullet may be carried in a pocket with a flap and a button or snap.
As facetious as this remark may be, it might become be a rule, which, if followed, could save lives.
Today I enlisted City officials here in Glendale, California to support me in an idea that I hope will catch on. I shall buy a box of bullets and arrange to meet with the Chief of Police here to turn the bullets over to him and ask him to destroy them. It's a drop in the ocean, of course, but it is a beginning that has significant history of folks marching for a cause or sitting down to make a point. All I want is for you, my reader, to do the same thing and encourage two friends to do the same thing where ever they may live. I'd like comments here to share what happens when you give this a try.
Here's my experience for today, Friday, October 2, 1915:
I went to a Gun Store. You wait at the door and when you hear a click, you are admitted. A huge guy with a beard like Popeye's nemesis, Bluto, was behind the counter. He looked down at me.
I'd like a box of 9mm, please.
Full metal jacket?
The least expensive.
He turned and picked up a small box of 9mm shells. I'm not sure how many were in the box.
Twenty, he said.
Twenty dollars?
Twenty.
I paid twenty dollars in cash and he pushed the box of 9mm shells toward me.
I'd like a receipt.
Without a word, he did something on a computer behind the counter and waited by a printer. He returned with the receipt and pushed it toward me.
I'd like you to sign it, please.
He pointed to the name of the store on the receipt.
This is the receipt, he said.
I know, but I'd like you to sign it. You are the guy who sold me the bullets.
This guy was huge and intimidating. Probably, a pussycat at home, but well over six feet tall with a black T shirt and a big, big black, black beard! I felt intimidated!
He repeated that the receipt had the name of the store on it and I asked again if he would please sign it.
I'll have to ask my boss.
He went into a door where I could see bullet proof vests and other military looking items off the main room of the store.
He returned with a man half his size. He was about five feet tall.
The man asked me for my name and address and driver's license.
No, I said, I just want you to sign this receipt and give me the bullets.
He refused to sign the receipt unless I provided my information. One minute before I'd given the clerk twenty dollars in cash and he had pushed the bullets and the receipt at me. It was only AFTER I asked for verification of the sale that the owner insisted that I provide my information to take possession the ammunition and the signed receipt. Had I not asked for a signature, I'd have been out the door with the box of bullets and the receipt, of course, unsigned.
I pointed this out to the small man. He said he wasn't going to argue about this. I said I didn't intend to argue.
Give me my twenty dollars back, please.
The small man took a twenty from the till and handed it to me.
We were done. I turned to leave the store, but the door wouldn't open!! I felt like George W. Bush in China trying to exit the stage in that famous video. After a couple of tries, the door released and I left the store, heart pounding. I took a moment to make notes. It was my first lesson.
It seemed to me that I could have bought as many boxes of bullets as I wanted to buy at twenty bucks each (They sell for $16.50 at the LA Gun Club) with no questions asked until "I" asked for a signature.
When legislation is passed that makes the buyer of ammunition identify him/herself and when the casings are marked to identify batches of bullets to trace them back to the point of sale, a small dent will be made in the ability for us to kill one another.
Bailing out the ocean with a teaspoon may be a Fool's Errand, but when I do find a store that will sell me a box of bullets (I'll see if another store is so casual about a sale) and I get the local police to publicly destroy them, that's one teaspoon with a zillion to go.. but.. it's a start.
Please consider buying bullets to have them destroyed.
Later, the story of the boy on the beach with the starfish.
Friday October 2, 1915 11:45PM PDT
Michael Sheehan
