The Art of Conservatism
What if….???
Bryce had been planning this day for
quite a while, and as he went through the plan in his mind, he had to
admit that it was pretty good. This was going to be the day when, at
last, his name would be indelibly stamped into world history. At 1 PM
the political science class sub-group to which he’d been assigned
would be meeting in Social Hall, up in Room 307. There would be about
20 students, give or take a couple, in attendance. Professor Borden,
that old biddy who actually taught the main class, was to be the
discussion leader in his group as well this day. She had hand-picked
which students were going to be in which group, and she chosen for
this group the class’ ‘cream of the crop’. Prof Borden was an
older woman. Late-50’s, early -60’s, maybe---a real biddy, as
Bryce had summed her up. She was a tough taskmaster, piling on the
homework on her students as if hers was the only class they were
taking. But she was also, as it turned out, a true believer in the
American system as the Founding Fathers had designed it. It was
something which Bryce despised, as he did with much of America and
what he considered to be cultural degradation.
Bryce had been
studying the philosophy and the methods of some of the world’s
revolutionary folks, the history of America’s meddling in the
affairs of the middle east, and the inferiority of the
Judeo-Christian ethic. For all he saw, he could only describe it all
as corruption. And, while Prof Borden had shown made no verbal
reference her religious preferences, she did sport a cross on a
necklace she wore every day, as did many of the girls and a few of
the guys in his class. He hated it all. So, in his mind, what he was
planning for today was entirely justified, and something, or rather
some people, would have to pay with their lives-----starting with
this class.
He had with him
what he thought it would take to fill lot of them with his leaden
death. His Glock pistol was in a shoulder holster inside his jacket.
In his backpack was an assault weapon, an Uzi, and enough ammunition
to feed both his weapons, and his desire of their purpose. No, very
few, if any, would get out of this afternoon’s seminar, or for that
matter, out of Social Hall, alive. In a few hours, the world-wide
news Greek Chorus would be trumpeting his name and his feats of
mayhem, proclaiming, almost proudly, about how he, Bryce, had set the
record for the number of students killed in a school massacre, be it
high school or college. His anticipation was almost palpable. For
once, he had a smile on his face.
He made sure that
he was one of the first to arrive in the classroom, so that he could
pick his spot near the door; he wished no escape. The door was solid,
without a window. No one on the outside would be able to see what was
happening inside. Only the sound of what was going on inside could be
witnessed, and no one could do anything about it; he would see to it
that the door was locked while he turned the room into a killing
floor. And, he knew that there’d be no opposition. Hell, guns were
not allowed on campus. Indeed, the campus police force was unarmed,
by order of the administration, following a resolution which had been
passed by the Student Body Senate nearly two years ago.
Beautiful---that meant that there would be no meaningful opposition
to his plan. The sheep would be ripe for the slaughter. Bryce smile
again. Yes, he knew that he had the plan all figured out, and it was
fool-proof.
The rest of the
class filed into the room across the next few minutes. Among the last
was Professor Borden, her hair up in a bun, looking severe as she
always did, never mind how fashionably she was dressed. The class
came to order and the discussion began. The seating arrangement was
in a double semi-circle, one inside the other. Bryce was seated
closest to the door, in the outer circle. Professor Borden began the
discussion, but Bryce was not really aware of what either she or the
rest of the group was saying. He was totally absorbed in the moment,
in the moment when he would strike. At one point he noticed
that a couple of the other men in the group were occasionally
glancing at him, but he barely noticed. All he wanted was the moment
at which….
He heard his name.
Professor Borden was calling on him to join the discussion. In a
second, he realized that, in calling upon him, she had, without
knowing it, decided on the timing of that moment—it would be now.
He rose and, in the
same motion, put his hand in his jacket, pulling his Glock out, and
said, “This is my answer!” For a split moment, there was within
the group a collective realization of unbelief in what was
happening---but, only for a moment in one of them. One of the members
of the class, a male student who looked for all the world like a
senior, was sitting to Bryce’s left, just at the periphery of
Bryce’s vision. He had been one of the two group members who had,
just moments before, traded glances with him. Within one second after
Bryce had reached into his jacket, the young man had reach into his,
and as Bryce’s weapon was came into full view, the second gun was
already out of its owner’s jacket and pointed straight at Bryce.
“Drop your gun----NOW!!” he yelled.
That brought the
class out of its first shock, and into its second. Another student
yelled, “Down, now!” That was all they needed. As one
person, all the students except the two with the weapons were on the
floor. At the same time, Bryce whirled around to point his gun at the
student challenging him. He was within a half second of squeezing the
trigger to take the other student out, when the student beat him to
it. The crack of the other student’s glock was simultaneous with
Bryce falling to the floor, a gaping head wound causing almost
instantaneous death.
After a moment to
take it all in, one of the group pulled his phone from his shirt
pocket and called Campus Police. In mere moments the Police arrived,
followed closely by a number of ambulances, of which only one was
needed. Social Hall was cleared except for the students in that third
floor classroom. They spent the next hour or so giving their
statements to the police. Every single one of them credited the
student who had carried his concealed weapon with him into class, as
having saved their lives. The student showed his ID, his FOIA card
and his CCW permit to police. They seriously considered filing
charges against him and taking him to lockup, but after hearing the
testimony of the members of the class, and especially of Professor
Borden, and after examining the contents of Bryce’s back pack, they
released him on his own recognizance, warning him not to leave the
area until the State’s Attorney had reviewed the case. With all his
credentials in order, the fellow’s weapon was not even taken.
The little college
was closed for the rest of the day. It re-opened the next day. The
student who had risked a great deal to bring his concealed weapon to
class--he later said, he’d brought it with him simply to make a
point, even if only to himself---well, after an incredible amount of
urging by the other members of class, the rest of the college
community began to understand that they had a hero on their hands,
albeit a reluctant one.
One would like to
think that this sort of scenario could happen here in Americae, were
the need to arise again. But, if you guessed that this story was
fictitious, you are right—for now. Not that the scene I described
hasn’t happened before now---just not enough times to even begin to
put it into the American psyche. But, I truly believe, as do so many
of you, that:
An armed society is a civil
society, and ultimately a more free society;
It is better to have one terrorist
terminated at the outset, than to have 20 innocent people die for
his (or her) sins. And:
If guns are outlawed, not only
will only outlaws have guns, but the rest of us will be, in effect,
at the mercy of those who have no mercy. Whether those would be
terrorists, or a a despotic, statist regime in power over We The
People, it makes no difference.
And, please remember: an armed
criminal has no mercy. If you ever encounter one, and you are not
prepared because your government won’t let you be prepared, then
the government has designated you as both that monster’s victim
and prey.
At some point the
majority of We The People are going to have to decide what we need
more, the right to life, liberty and property, free of those who want
to take any of it away, or government-mandated security. It is our
job as voters to change the political class to reflect that. That
would mean a revolution via the ballot box. We have to, because we
are now faced with the ultimate choice: Common sense, or slavery.
For the Art of
Conservatism, I’m Art Reis.
