Vic Socotra

15 February 2011

Hypocrites, Monarchists, Ruffians and Seditionists

The Gun Show Loophole, Part Two

Editor’s Note: (There are big doings happening at The Daily Socotra. The company has been purchased by a shadowy group of international financiers, who in exchange for some minor alterations in editorial policy, i.e., the promise to stop calling those greedy and unprincipled bastards at Goldman Sachs bad names, have provided lavish funds to update the Socotra House website, and offer all sorts of cool interactive features. Stand by for exciting Socotra developments sponsored by Goldman Sachs, a wise, benevolent, and civic-minded investment bank.)

I don’t normally start the day with the English-language version of the Fars News Agency out of Tehran, since the slant in the New York Times is normally enough for me. These are interesting times, though, and the portents are coming thick and fast.

There were demonstrations in Bahrain, home of the US Navy’s FIFTH Fleet, where an overwhelmingly Shia majority population is ruled by a Sunni Emir and his extended family. There is always tension there, has been for years, but the successful ouster of Hosni Mubarak has emboldened the people. Two have died by gunshot, so far, and even the police were sickened by the amount of teargas in the air.

Ditto in Tehran, though no deaths have been reported that I have heard. Fars reported that an “unspecified number” of demonstrators had been arrested. The voice of the Iranian Islamic Republic called the participants “hypocrites, monarchists, ruffians and seditionists” and ridiculed them for daring to shout slogan that had everything to do with Iran and not about Egypt, the nominal reason for the protests.

Things would certainly be different in the US, where the population is armed to the teeth, and continuing to purchase weapons and ammunition willy-nilly.

That is why my son and I were headed out to the Gun Show for a second day, and why I had a flurry of correspondence with associates about the whole bizarre phenomenon of gun shows and the determination of part of America- a big part- to “cling to their weapons.”

That is what the President said, when he was still Candidate Obama, and it is a sentiment echoed by several of my pals. One of the more articulate was my West Coast Attorney who is going to handle the liable suit by those great folks at Goldman Sachs.

He called me up to ask for the hefty retainer, and commented on the pornographic aspect of the gun fetish. He named a big number that made me swallow hard, and then said: “You know darn well that most murders/homicides occur at home when there is a handgun available.”

I noted that most accidents occur within 25 miles of the home, too, because that is where we live.

My attorney harrumphed and went on to say that “my family has lived fine in the Arizona desert with rattlesnakes, coral snakes, pumas, javalinas, grey fox, three species of deer, itinerant drug dealers looking for their drops, wandering Mexican illegal immigrants for almost fifty years without firearms of any kind.”

“I agreed,” I said, a little defensively. “I never had a weapon that did not have a trigger lock on it, or live ammo in the house for that matter while the kids were little. I do think that guns are OK out in the country where there are two and four legged critters.”

“And there are some with no legs at all,” he responded indignantly. “When necessary, I kill rattlesnakes with stones or long handled shovels. Guns are not necessary. Gun ownership is part of the whacko NRA-American vision of the world.”

He had a point, I acknowledged, and thanked him for his efforts on behalf of the company, and requested any updates on court filings against me before I hung up. Like I say, there is a certain fetishistic aspect to all this, even if the Second Amendment was intended, I think, to provide a mechanism for the public to defend itself against the Crown, or whoever the Supreme Leader might be at the moment.

My son and I had walked into the Dulles Expo Center just minutes after ten o’clock, when the thousand vendors opened for business. The crowd was already thick, and you would have been interested in the people who were skipping church to be there.

The types ranged from suburban couples out for some quality time, little kids in tow, bikers, country hippies, plumbers, old timers, gang bangers (or wannabees), Asians who might be running liquor stores or the mom-and-pop convenience stores, crisp military buzz-cuts, pony tales and law-enforcement types who radiated the aura of The Man. In short, like WalMart or half of America.

We dodged people to find Trader Jerry’s Island of Guns, and were directed to the cashier’s position to produce my son’s military orders, which is the only required documentation to go along with his DoD ID to purchase a hand-gun.

I had decided that the time was right to buy a small-caliber pistol for plinking down at the farm. The big-bore ammunition is expensive, and target practice is just as much fun with ammo that costs less than $5 a box for fifty rounds as the louder rounds that run $25 for a box of twenty.

(Sig-Sauer Mosquito. Photo Sig Arms.)

I picked out a Sig-Sauer Mosquito, the pocket plinker that comes in .22 Long Rifle. That ammo is cheap, relatively, and is supposed to be the hottest pistol offering from SIG in a while. It features a polymer frame and is 90% the size of the SP 2022 my son was interested in. Besides, according to Tony, the Mosquito is "the ideal choice for hours of shooting fun."

I picked one out and filled out the application with my personal information, produced two forms of identification with address, one with photo, and handed it over to Mike. The background check always takes forever, and since we had to come back anyway, I left it with them overnight.

From what I heard, the staff had been working until ten the night before trying to clear the number of applications. My son started filling his out, and I wandered over to the cash register to see if mine had been approved.

Bill, a husky man with a black Jerry’s polo shirt looked through the racks stacked with guns and paperwork. My gun was not there, and he glanced through a stack of papers not associated with weapons.

He glanced up, and pulled my drivers license out from under a paperclip and handed it over. “Sorry, you have been flagged for “research,”" he said with a shrug.

“Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?” I asked incredulously. “What does that mean?”

“Normally, it means a hit came up on the Interstate Identification Index that the FBI maintains. It usually means you have charges pending against you, or you are a fugitive or have a restraining order against you or are crazy. Something. Sorry.”

“That is absurd,” I said. “I have had a security clearance for more than thirty years and I was a Federal Officer for more than a quarter century.”

“Sorry, Bud. I don’t make the rules.” He pulled a business card from a stack by the cash register. He wrote some numbers on the back with ballpoint pen. “Here is what you can do, though. Call this number and reference this case file. Maybe the State Patrol in Richmond can sort it out for you.”

“Crap,” I said. “But thanks.”

I was bummed. All these guns, and not one I could buy. Except for the ones that walked around with their owners, private citizens, who were not holders of Federal Firearms Licenses. Under the law, registered firearms dealers must comply with rigid submission guidelines, no exceptions.

I could always purchase a gun from one of my fellow civilians, but the Gun Show Loophole is that private citizens are permitted to wander around with guns and signs on poles sticking out of the barrels with what they are and what the owner wants for them.

(A sandwich sign worn by a vendor at a gun show advertises an array of firearms for sale. Photo: Garen J. Wintemute, MD, MPH)

The reality of the law is that citizens may sell guns to one another if they are NOT Federally licensed firearms dealers. They can do it anywhere. They just happen to be doing it at a gun show.

The way things stood, the only alternative to a long chat with the State Police was to hunt down one of the private vendors.

I don’t think the Loophole dealers take Visa, or that even they have what I want. So I sighed, and started to punch the number for Richmond into my phone…

“So what are you going to jail for, Dad?” asked my son.

“Don’t be a smartass,” I said. “I may be a hypocrite, Monarchist, ruffian or seditionist, but none of those are against the law. At least not yet. Not here, anyway.”