Second Term - A Novel of America in the Last Days (The End of America Series Book 1)

by John Price

  IV.

  The ATF Enforces the

  Lawrence McAlister

  Hate Speech

  and Hate Weapons

  Elimination Act

  FIFTY FOUR

  Elmhurst, IL, Philadelphia, PA & Des Moines, Iowa

  The Attorney General was ready. Once the call came from the Department of Justice staffer who had been stationed at the Supreme Court, tipping the AG to the Court’s expected Order upholding McAlister, the Department of Justice sprang into action. The government had learned decades before that the best way to insure taxpayer compliance with the April 15 tax return filing deadline was to file federal tax evasion charges against a few hapless miscreant taxpayers, and do it just days before the deadline. Wide media attention to the filing of the criminal charges guaranteed that tax return filing rates jumped.

  Likewise, the Administration had laid careful plans for charging several gun owners, in major media markets, who hadn’t yet complied with McAlister, now that the redemption deadline had expired. They knew that the mere act of showing how serious the government was, by the arrest and indictment of several gun owners, would bring in many thousands more guns, particularly now that the law had been affirmed on appeal by the Supreme Court. It was time for the ‘perp walk’, the televised and photographed hauling of criminal defendants, ‘perpetrators’ in police language, in handcuffs, into official-looking grey limestone buildings. Nothing, the AG knew, promotes compliance with the law like a good ‘perp walk’ viewed by Americans on their nightly televised newscasts.

  Perp Walk I

  Charles Robinson was a law abiding resident of Elmhurst, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago. He owned a small travel agency, which because of the growing use by travelers of the internet, was not doing all that well. On weekends, during hunting season, Charles Robinson liked to drive up to northwestern Illinois, to the Apple River Canyon area to Castle Rock to hunt northern bobwhite, which most people just called quail. His dad had taught Charles Robinson how to hunt, and he had passed on that training to his son, Charles, Jr., now in his mid-twenties. They enjoyed the time they could spend together hunting. When Charles Robinson first read the text of the McAlister Bill in the Chicago Tribune, he was surprised that firearms might be outlawed in America. But, as he read further, he saw that the Bill had an exemption in Section 5.1 for firearms to be used for hunting.

  At first, Charles Robinson concluded that he would just apply for the exemption for his firearms used for hunting, and that would be that. But, the more he read, he realized that he might not be granted an exemption hunting license because he usually didn’t hunt for purposes of acquiring food, and he wasn’t going to lie about it on his application. Then, he read that he could only use his firearms for hunting under the license if he was directly supervised by an ATF agent or by an agent from the Illinois Department of Natural Resources. What kind of hunting would that be? Baby-sat by a ‘gubmint’ employee, he thought, using his favorite expression for the government.

  Charles Robinson talked to his son about what they should do. They neither one wanted to give up their primary recreation, so they decided to apply for the exemption, eat some of what they caught and see how long the government really wanted to accompany hunters out into the field. They agreed that the gubmint boys would soon tire of traipsing through the woods with hunters, and just let them go hunt. The problem developed when they tried to apply for an exemption hunting license.

  Charles Robinson called his son, as it was nearing hunting season. They picked out a date a few days away on the calendar, so they could line up either an ATF agent or an Illinois game warden to accompany them hunting, under what they assumed would be a quickly issued hunting exemption license. As silly as they thought the whole process was, they were law abiding citizens, so they decided to comply with the McAlister Act, as best they understood it.

  The cordial young lady at the ATF Field District office asked the Robinsons to fill out a six page ATF form. The form included several questions about the applicant, and also required details of the firearms that would be used by the applicant, under ATF supervision. The applicant had to supply the manufacturer of the firearm; the date manufactured; any known serial numbers; the price paid; from whom the firearm was purchased; the current location of the firearm; location at said address; nature of storage facility; locked or not locked; accessibility to others; any other known prior owners; address; telephone numbers; future intentions of the applicant regarding the sale of the firearm; and the intentions of the applicant regarding redemption of the firearm to the ATF under the McAlister Act. Charles Robinson read over the form, then he re-read it. None of this was mentioned in the McAlister Act, so why was the government asking so many questions, he wondered, his anger beginning to rise up within him. He asked his son, who was with him in case he needed to sign anything, to read over the form. They both agreed that it was more than intrusive, but what could they do? They loved to hunt, and this form was their ticket to hunting. Or at least, that’s what they thought.

  After nearly an hour, which included calls out to gather requested information, the Robinsons had completed their respective forms. They asked the young lady to speak to an agent so they could confirm a time to go hunting. She asked them to have a seat while she buzzed an agent to come out and talk to them. Forty minutes later, ATF agent Falendar found the time to meet with the agency’s latest applicants for exemption hunting licenses.

  “Name’s Falendar. Agent here in Chicago Field District office. What can I do for you? Busy days here, what with the new law, and all.”

  “Thanks, Agent Falendar for talking with us. Real simple. We filled out your forms, though I think the ATF asked us for a lot of unneeded information on our firearms. We want to schedule a time, sometime in the next two or three weekends to go hunting….with an ATF agent….like it says in the McAlister Act.”

  Agent Falendar didn’t exactly laugh, it was more like a short nasal snort. “Nuhuh….Do what? To schedule….go hunting?.....Umh, let me ‘splain how this all works. Cause….you both seem like good law abidin’ folks. We got here in the Field District Office a limited number of agents. We’ve all got important things that have to be done, a lot more now with McAlister, what with trackin’ down law breakers. We got zero….that’s zero….time to tramp around with hunters, holding their hands so they can own guns, and not turn them in like everybody else. So, sirs, what we’ve been told to do by our HQ in DC is we take your names and put you on a waitin’ list. We will call you when an agent has a free Saturday and wants to spend it with hunters, instead of with his family. Not saying, you understand, that it won’t never happen, just that it may be a while before it does happen. Any questions?”

  “Yes, Agent Falendar, how long it will be before we can hunt – that is, with an ATF agent?”

  “Like I said, you seem like nice folks. I’d give it a couple, maybe three years, something like that….maybe not that soon. That’s not for publication, you understand. I’m just levelin’ with you here, OK?”

  “Wow….Really?....Well, thanks for being honest….I guess….so….should….we just contact the Illinois Department of Natural Resources down in Springfield?”

  “You can do whatever you want….but, you’ll just be wastin’ your time. They’ll give you the same response. Their guys are real busy, too, just like we are.”

  Charles Robinson, Jr. didn’t have his father’s ability to stay calm when he was tempted to be angry. His father through the years had tried to teach his son how to control himself when he wanted to lash out. He saw out of the corner of his eye that his dad, though normally calm and collected, was not calm, nor was he collected. His face reddened. He clinched his fingers around the ATF forms which they had labored to complete. His son, sensing that his dad was about to do or say something he would later regret, reached over and grabbed his arm, saying “Dad, it’s ok, if they don’t want us to hunt anymore, we’ll turn in our guns and take up something else, like bowling, or fishing, or
….”.

  “Chuck….we….are….not….giving….up….our…hunting….NOT….Gonna….Happen…. I don’t give a rip about this crazy new law. They can’t stop us from what God has given us to enjoy. Agent Fal….whatever your name is…”

  “Now, Dad, we can…”

  Charles Robinson, Sr. was not about to be hushed. He had fought in Vietnam for his country to stay free. He didn’t feel today that his efforts had worked, as he saw his freedoms eroded, taken by his own government.

  “As I was about to say….Mister Agent. You can take this hunting exemption form….and….file it….where….the sun….or the moon….will never shine! Got it? If my son and I want to hunt, we’ll hunt. Get used to it.”

  Robinson crumpled the pages of the ATF forms and tossed them at Agent Falendar, hitting him on the forehead. The Robinsons stalked out. Agent Falendar made careful notes of the encounter. The notes became the basis for a rush report to ATF Counsel, who then converted the details into a formal charge by the Department of Justice. The Agent swore in an affidavit that he had been assaulted by disgruntled license applicant Charles Robinson, Sr.

  The Robinsons, father and son, were arrested by the FBI three weeks later. They were perp walked, handcuffed and heads down, into the Everett McKinley Dirksen Federal Court House in Chicago, with full media coverage. When they were arrested, the warrant allowed FBI agents to search their homes, where they discovered and seized several firearms, mostly hunting rifles and shotguns, owned and possessed by the Robinsons in what was charged was a direct violation of the McAlister Act. They had no hunting exemption licenses. The Robinsons were charged with illegal possession of hate weapons in violation of the recently passed law, as well as assault on a federal official.

  Perp Walk II

  Not many years ago, if one wanted to share one’s written thoughts with the world, letters to the editor were the major venue. Most editors limited how many letters they would publish from a single writer, which crimped the style of those who had a lot to say. Things have changed. Bloggers today, particularly skilled bloggers who have something to say, can attract more readers than newspaper columnists, and frequently do. James Elizas Brown was the pen name of one of those bloggers who attracted a following of readers, primarily because his readers loved to read his rips on the liberal left and his frequent attacks on firearm opponents. The writer who adopted and used Brown’s pen name was in his real life Peter Samuel, a captain in a metropolitan fire department in Pennsylvania. Depending on the day and the heat generated by a scorching hot blog, Brown may have readers numbering in the hundreds of thousands.

  One of Brown’s/Samuel’s columns printed early during the debate on the McAlister Bill started out with these memorable words:

  WHO DO THESE PINKO/NAZIS THINK THEY ARE?

  I know that Communism is, well, supposedly, dead. Tell that to the Chinese who are still in jail for their beliefs, or because of their religion. Tell that to the Cubans. But, whether you call it Communism, or Socialism or National Socialism (a/k/a Nazism/Fascism), what it all boils down to is this, these political ideologies all took away their citizens’guns.

  NOW, IN THE GOOD OLD USA, THEY WANT OUR GUNS!

  I’m announcing that they can’t have them!

  This sicko pale excuse for a law, the McAlister Act, deserves a quick death. Put a stake in its heart. Bury it under ten feet of concrete. Never let it rise again. Confinement in federal prison for owning what has been legal in this country for over 300 years? Even the Brits, when they owned us, allowed us simple folks out in the Colonies to own guns, don’t ‘ya know. Now this liberal, lefto, pinko, yes, Nazi, Administration wants to ban the right to own firearms. I say that we ban this President from coming in to any State where more than 10% of the population own guns!

  Might not be safe for him, don’t ‘ya know!

  Needless to say, James Elizas Brown, widely followed by his readers across the country, was not very popular with the White House, which asked the FBI to locate the man behind the pen name. Brown’s/Samuel’s suggestion that the President not visit certain states because he wouldn’t be safe from gun violence earned him a referral by the Secret Service to the Department of Justice. The fact that he had several guns stashed under the back floor board of his well-used Jeep Wagoneer, which the arresting agents quickly located, added to his value as a target defendant.

  When Brown/Samuel was perp walked, his hands cuffed behind his back, into the James A. Byrne Federal Courthouse in Philadelphia, the alerted media dutifully recorded the event. Ironically, Brown’s/Samuel’s public humiliation was near the Liberty Bell Center, also on Market Street. His website was shut down the same day, on petition by the DOJ which alleged that the website was in violation of the Patriot Act. He was also charged with negative attacks on a public official under the McAlister Act. The DOJ Deputy in charge of responding to media inquiries said that Brown’s/Samuel’s case may not come to trial for some time, due to “national security concerns.”

  Perp Walk III

  Dan Mitchell sold guns for a living. He sold more guns than any other gun dealer in the Midwest. His was a familiar face to television viewers, as he would appear on screen, standing in front of hundreds of guns for sale in his gun store in Iowa. His sandy hair and wide smile were his trademarks, along with his famous television ads. Each ad always ended with Dan looking into the camera and saying, “I don’t care about making a profit, folks….I just live…. to sell guns”.

  During the national debate over the McAlister Bill, and before Congress made the Bill into a law, Dan Mitchell was a significant public participant in what the Des Moines Register called ‘the Iowa Gun Fight’. The newspaper didn’t much like Mitchell, and would frequently parody his ads by calling them ‘Dan’s Hate Weapon Promos’. The problem for the newspaper was that Dan Mitchell became the major spokesperson in the State against the McAlister Bill, so the paper was forced to quote his colorful attacks, though it would have rather have just ignored him completely.

  Possibly Dan’s most memorable statement opposing the anti-gun Bill was when he called for armed resistance by Iowans should the McAlister Bill become law. He told a gun owners rally in Council Bluffs, “Mark my words. If the Congress passes this wicked Bill, we will see even more blood run in the streets of the cities of Iowa. No way Iowans will allow the President to take away our guns, no possible way. We will shoot anyone who tries to do it. Mark my words. And this is not about my ability to sell guns, ‘cause you all know I don’t care about making a profit, folks, I just live to sell guns.”

  ATF agents later denied rumors that a blown up picture of Dan Mitchell was taped to the wall of the ATF offices in the Field Division office in Kansas City, which had jurisdiction over Iowa. They also denied that someone had written across Mitchell’s face – PUBLIC ENEMY #1. Whether true or not, once the U.S. Supreme Court affirmed McAlister as the law of the land, agents lost no time in obtaining a search warrant for Mitchell’s home and rural farm buildings. Dan Mitchell had earlier locked the doors of his mega gun store the day after the President signed the McAlister Act in the Rose Garden. He did so surrounded by guns rights advocates carrying protest signs, and well covered by regional media. He cursed the President and the Congress for the new Law, and for its forcing him to close the business he had lived to enjoy for over thirty years. Dan told the media that, “I don’t have to keep selling guns, folks. I’ll survive just fine, but what won’t survive is the freedom to own a gun. That freedom died in the Rose Garden, killed dead by this idiot President and idiot Congress of ours.”

  Mitchell’s incendiary words on the evening news were watched carefully at the Kansas City ATF office. An internal memo was sent to the Des Moines Field Office advising the office to obtain a search warrant to attempt to locate any illegal firearms in the possession of Dan Mitchell. The memo, it was said, had been taped to the picture of Mitchell that was officially not taped to the wall of ATF offices.

  The Des Moines Field Office lost no time, o
nce the Supreme Court upheld McAlister, in asking the presiding District Court Judge to issue a sealed search warrant. Sealed, because they did not want to alert Mitchell before they showed up to search his house and out buildings. But, it wasn’t as if Dan Mitchell didn’t expect them. He knew he had made himself a giant target. He even had a local t-shirt shop make him a shirt with concentric red rings on the back. He liked wearing it when he went into town to have coffee at Nellie’s Pastry Shop and Deli. He’d tell anyone who asked, “Since I know they’re coming for me, I don’t want them to miss and just maim me, I want to help them get a good clean shot.” No one, of course, planned to shoot Dan Mitchell, that was bit of exaggeration on his part, but he was after all, a consummate show man. He was correct, though, that he was a target. He had made himself one by his own words. He had to be brought down….and shut up.

  When Dan saw where the fight over gun rights was headed, he gave serious thought to leaving the country. In his research he learned that there were still several nations that allowed private gun ownership. His final first choice was New Zealand, where over 200,000 gun owners own over a million guns, which are licensed, but not registered. Gun shops in New Zealand are legal, a fact which appealed to Dan’s desire to stay in business. But, Dan frittered and fretted, and couldn’t bring himself to pack up and move, somewhat like the Jewish families in Europe seeing the danger from Hitler’s Brown Shirts coming, but failing to escape while they still could. He later wondered how he could have been so stupid, but by then it was too late.