Is the man
without a gun
the same man?
I think when all the factors are considered, and I mean
all
the factors, Sen. Michael J. Damiani's insistence on continuing to pack heat at the State House will not seem the raving lunacy it at first appears to be.
In all the predictable hysteria over banning guns in the State House -- the gunslinger posturing of National Rifle Association supporters and the tree-hugging whine of the gun controllers -- one crucial factor is often overlooked:
Some people are simply incomplete without the reassuring weight of killer iron on hip or ankle, in an armpit or at the small of the back. They are off balance.
Take away their guns and you run the risk of sending them into an emotional tilt -- much like someone suddenly jumping off one end of a see-saw and sending the other end crashing to the ground.
There is a very good chance that Senator Damiani, a retired East Providence police officer, would simply not be the same person without his .45-caliber SIG automatic pistol strapped to his side. He would not feel complete. He would feel naked, exposed, inadequate. He would not be the man his constituents elected to represent their interests.
"Hey, d'ja hear Mike isn't carrying anymore?"
"Well, he can kiss my vote good-bye."
If you have ever seen a gun-dependent person -- seen him or her cleaning a gun or firing a gun or simply sitting back and looking at a gun with a dewy-eyed devotion called love -- you have some idea of the dangers in separating one from the other.
It's easy to say, "Check your guns at the door." It's not so easy to say, "Check a piece of your heart at the door."
There's a country song about it. There has to be.
So the debate at the State House has to include more than just the rage, the smoke, and the blood.
It has to include that special feeling that some people get when running a hand along cold, hard steel.
In his determination to take his gun along when doing the people's business, Senator Damiani has come up against a proposal from Governor Almond's administration that would require everyone but uniformed police officers to hand over his or her gun upon entering the State House. The guns would be kept in lockers until their owners leave the building.
The Almond proposal appears one of those sane, sensible ideas that restrict guns to those whose job includes carrying them.
The proposal cuts down on the possibility of freelance crime fighters' jumping in where they might only add to the problem.
But, again, it fails to recognize the thrill of anticipation, that full-body tingle that comes as finger curls close to trigger.
There is a bond between gun lover and gun, and if that bond is broken at the State House door, there is simply no telling where the heartbreak of a gunless senator might lead. Legislation could take a strange turn.
In stating his case to continue as a gun-toting senator, Damiani has said, "I'm not a danger; I'm an asset."
That would seem to indicate that the senator believes that if the Rhode Island State House came under attack, he would draw his gun and join the defense.
Of course, there is no way to know that. For while the feeling might be there, the passion might be there, performance under fire is never a sure thing.
Still, the senator's feelings for his gun have to be considered in this debate. For if the Almond gun ban is imposed, Damiani will still be in the Senate. But he might not be
all
there.
Bob Kerr can be reached by
e-mail at bkerr@projo.com
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