Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival

by Joe Nobody

  United States Senate Press Room #3 - August 4, 2015

  The senator’s news conference started right on schedule with an eclectic assortment of attendees representing every publication from The Houston Chronicle to The Associated Press. Bose began with a prepared statement that conveyed the proper mix of outrage, remorse, and professionalism. He began by discussing the composition of America and how its greatness was directly related to the immigrating masses from the four corners of the globe. At first, everyone listening thought, “Great speech, he is going to tell everyone not to take out their frustrations on the Hispanic people for the sins of one man,” but then his tone and pace changed. He started quoting historical references to non-military invasions of various empires throughout history. He gradually worked in rule of law, and then dropped his bombshell 30-second news byte:

  “The Department of Labor indicates that 24 million Americans are out of work. The Department of Homeland Security estimates that there are 24 million illegal aliens in the United States. Does everyone think these numbers are just a coincidence? We have always said we can’t possibly round up 24 million illegal aliens and deport them. Well, I think we can. I’m going to introduce a bill this afternoon into the Senate that will authorize Immigration Control and Enforcement to hire an additional 2 million agents. This will employ our people and provide a kick-start to the economy. Furthermore, the bill will temporarily grant ICE special powers of enforcement, search, seizure, and arrest. This legislation will also create a special court system to process the deportation of every single illegal in the United States of America. Finally, funding will be available in the form of a cash reward for information leading to the deportation of any illegal. I will be happy to take questions now.”

  The group of reporters erupted, and cameras flashed all over the room. The senator nodded at the first reporter:

  “Sir, isn’t what you are suggesting a breach of civil rights?”

  “What I’m suggesting is more like limited martial law. Now, I understand that this is something which has never been proposed before. But ladies and gentlemen, these are unusual times, and we have to take a new course of action to meet these new challenges. Please consider that we currently have millions of Americans who are out of work. Our government is broke, and our cities barely provide basic services. We simply can’t continue to do this anymore! Our citizenry is weary of supporting illegals. We have to ask ourselves . . . Could the incident in Houston have been avoided if we had addressed this problem before it spiraled out of control? Think about it. Would the hospital still be open if its bottom line had not been completely corroded by the excessive burden of free medical care? Would we have thousands of Houstonians dead or dying? We can structure this bill such that the rights of every single American citizen are protected under our Constitution. Those who are here illegally deserve no protection under that document.”

  “Senator, what you are suggesting could expose immigrants who are here legally to tremendous discrimination and hardship. What do you say to them?”

  “My bill will protect American citizens and those who are here lawfully. Those who are not should leave today because we are going to find you, and when we do, we will deport you. In addition, I have a message to those considering entering the country illegally – don’t. If we have to put an armed man every 10 feet along the border, we will. The border will be closed, ladies and gentlemen, and those that should not be here will be removed.”

  The questions and answers went on for another 15 minutes. When he was finished, the senator went back to his office and began directing staff to write the new bill. He could not remember a time when his phones rang so much. He instructed the switchboard to take messages. He wanted all of his people focused on the language of his landmark legislation.

  Cable news channels brought in their best analysts and talking heads to cover the senator’s announcement. At first, the consensus was that he had crossed the line and his political career was over. Within a couple of hours, however, the story started to change.

  Both the House and Senate were overwhelmed with a 70% positive reaction to the senator’s announcement. The volume of telephone and email traffic regarding the interview was unprecedented. The website for The Department of Homeland Security crashed due to excessive traffic from those trying to apply for the new jobs. Many people simply offered to volunteer.

  The powerful people in Washington are connected by the world’s most advanced intelligence network, and it doesn’t belong to the CIA or the NSA. Social media, internet, text, email, and cell phones all became hyperactive as information was instantly shared throughout the city. Press offices, think tanks, lobbyists, and elected government officials all received constant updates. It didn’t take long before everyone knew Senator Bose had connected with the American people on a level not seen since 9/11.

  The only people who were unhappy about the entire concept were the Hispanic political organizations and the Mexican government. Of course, the ACLU and other liberal organizations immediately protested the senator’s anticipated bill. The phones of the Hispanic groups were hot with activity trying to call in favors, making threats and organizing protests.

  North Houston Suburbs - August 3, 2015

  Bishop had been sitting up in bed watching the senator’s news conference. Not good, he thought.

  After watching the commentary, he decided that Terri was just going to have to trade him in for a new model because he could not stay in bed one minute longer.

  He got up and found that the more he moved around, the better he actually felt. He showered, dressed, and brushed his teeth. He had just polished off his third peanut butter and pickle sandwich when he realized he needed something to occupy his mind.

  Initially, he tried to work out, but the pain in his ribs made him rethink that idea. Bishop headed to the garage and his beloved workbench. When Terri and he had been looking for their first home, there were just a few criteria that were really important to Bishop. The first was that he wanted a house that afforded a little privacy – something very difficult to accomplish on their limited budget. The second and most important feature was having a good area for a workshop.

  When Bishop returned from the Army, he had decided to take his limited savings and relocate to Houston. After all, his degree had been chosen specifically for a career in the oil industry, and Houston seemed a logical choice to find a job. He quickly found that every person on earth with any sort of engineering degree was in Houston with the same idea. As one headhunter put it, “Every waiter and burger flipper in Houston is a petroleum engineer.”

  After a few months of searching, Bishop was still unemployed and running out of money. He had been going to the Veterans Administration and using their job placement service when he noticed a small note on the bulletin board:

  HELP WANTED – Public rifle range has an opening for a safety/range officer. Must have firearms experience and be able to work weekends. Military training/experience a plus.

  Bishop took the note down and called the number before reaching the parking lot.

  Northside Gun and Range was not far from his apartment. He was connected with the owner, Richard, who asked if he could stop by that afternoon. Bishop had a job.

  The pay was only a few bucks above minimum wage, but Bishop needed to work and did his absolute best. It wasn’t long before Richard came out to the range and asked Bishop if he could come inside and work the gun store as his regular man had called in sick. Bishop really impressed the customers with his knowledge of firearms. When he got his next paycheck, he noticed it was higher than normal. When he mentioned the error, his boss said, “You sold three guns last week. That’s your commission.”

  Eventually Bishop approached Richard and asked if he had a minute. “Sure, what’s on your mind?”

  “You know the economy keeps getting worse and the range business has slowed down. Why don’t we take a few of the shooting lanes and make a pistol training area out of them? We can g
ive private lessons as well as provide Concealed Handgun License classes if we get a certified instructor.”

  It wasn’t long before Bishop was on his way to firearms school in Dallas, learning to become a state certified handgun instructor. The new offering by Northside brought in customers. Not only did the range do well, but sales in the gun store increased, too. Richard paid Bishop a share of the profits.

  Bishop was working on the range when a number of serious-looking gentlemen showed up to shoot their pistols. Bishop had never seen weapons like theirs and struck up a conversation. It turned out that they were competition shooters and were in town for a match. He heard them call their pistols “speed guns” and decided to watch the matches the next day.

  He drove to a competing range where the matches were being held and was surprised when he had trouble finding a parking spot. He watched several different types of competitions and wanted very badly to join in. This is so cool, he thought.

  He went to work the next day and told Richard about his experience, emphasizing how busy the competing range was. Richard was a big fan of NASCAR and decided that Northside needed its own competitor so the shop could plaster their man with advertising as if he were a racecar. He purchased Bishop a very expensive “speed gun” and told him to “get real good” with it.

  Bishop had always been a good shot as his father taught him the basics early on. As he got older, he could finish his chores on the ranch before it got too hot. Without much else to do, he spent countless afternoons exploring the washes and canyons on the property with his rifle. When school was in, he didn’t have as many chores, so the late afternoons were spent stalking anything that moved in the west Texas mountains.

  Bishop was bored to death at the range and did not often get a chance to sell rifles, so he put all of his energies into practicing with the pistol. He had been hard at it when Richard said, “We have to do something different. You are using up all my profits in ammunition. I want to do this, but we need to figure something out.”

  “How about reloading?”

  So Bishop learned how to reload ammunition and found that it not only saved money, it was therapeutic as well.

  With his sore ribs and troubled state of mind, Bishop went to his garage and began reloading a batch of rifle rounds. He was so involved in his task he didn’t hear Terri come home. When she realized he wasn’t in bed, she knew exactly where he was. Terri never understood how someone as smart as Bishop could spend hours pulling a handle on a machine, doing the same thing over and over again. She started to open the garage door and paused when she heard him whistling. She stopped and listened to him for a bit and decided to leave him alone. Oh well, she thought, if it makes him happy.

  Bishop finished reloading and was hurting a bit more than what he would ever admit. He still couldn’t bring himself to go back to the bedroom, so he planted himself on the couch and started watching a documentary on the First Gulf War. Terri fixed a nice meal and brought it into the TV room on a tray. As Bishop reached for the food, Terri snatched the remote control and playfully teased, “You fall for that every time.”

  “Damn,” was all he could think to say.

  Terri was hooked on a show called Celebrity Dance Hall. The show featured a myriad of celebrities partnering with professional dancers in a contest. Bishop didn’t like the program and would have normally occupied himself elsewhere while Terri watched. He considered the bedroom, but decided watching the show while eating was the lesser of two evils.

  As the first team finished their routine, Bishop could not help himself and heckled the contestants. A little later, he made additional condescending remarks while finishing his meal.

  Terri gave him an aggravated look and said, “Bishop, just be quiet. I don’t sit and make fun of your baseball players constantly grabbing their crotches and spitting all over the court, so either leave or hush up.”

  He managed to keep quiet for the next few segments, but additional criticisms soon followed before he caught himself and looked over to see Terri staring at him harshly.

  Bishop decided if he were ever going to sleep again with both eyes closed he had better shut-up. It took all of the discipline he could muster, but he managed to make it through the rest of the program without additional comment. He even recovered a bit when he made Terri a bowl of microwave popcorn. When the winners were announced, Bishop didn’t say a word. He watched Terri out of the corner of his eye, and when she wasn’t looking, snatched at the TV remote. He was too slow. He then decided to try another approach, and using the tone of “a man and his castle,” told her, “My turn to pick a program.” This was a tactical error on his part as her response was a barrage of high velocity couch cushions. He retreated quickly to the bedroom to lick his wounds and regroup, smiling all the way.

  He decided to clean one of his rifles until he was sleepy and went to pick one out. As he was looking through the gun safe, he saw the original “speed gun” Richard had purchased for him years ago and bad memories came flooding back.

  Bishop entered his first match three months after he and Richard had hatched their plan. It was a local affair, and only about 40 shooters signed up. He entered three different competitions that all involved running through a “course” and shooting at several targets.

  He finished in the top ten in all three events, and managed a close third in one. He later joked with Richard that the giant “Northside Gun and Range” patch on the back of his shirt had caused him discomfort and impacted his times.

  The following week was the best ever for Northside, and Richard put Bishop full time on training. He purchased competition guns for rifle and shotgun based events, commonly called 3-gun matches.

  For the next 10 months, life had been grand. Bishop worked hard and spent countless hours on refining his technique and scores. He won his first local event a month later and placed in the top 50 in his first national event. Richard paid for him to go to Fort Benning for the nationals, where he placed in the top 20 in two different competitions.

  Business at Northside continued to grow every month.

  Bishop landed after flying home from a national event in Phoenix where he had won for the first time. He hadn’t called Richard because he wanted to surprise him with the big trophy, but as he arrived, he noticed several police cars in the lot. He parked quickly and ran toward the main building, only to have his way blocked by a big cop.

  “Sorry buddy, you can’t go in there - Crime scene.”

  “Officer, I work here. What is going on?”

  “You work here? Hold on.”

  The officer stuck his head inside the door and yelled at someone to come out. A man in a suit appeared and introduced himself as Lt. Davis, HPD Homicide.

  Bishop really didn’t remember much after that except that Richard was dead. He had been killed during an attempted robbery.

  The police never did make any arrests in the case, and the entire matter made Bishop’s blood boil to this day. Richard’s son took over Northside and sold the business within two months of his father’s death. The new owners had no interest in competition shooting and judged Bishop to be an unnecessary expense.

  He was back to looking for a job when Spider called and asked him to come to Iraq.

  Cleveland, Ohio - August 4, 2015

  An Unwelcome Gift

  On the morning after Senator Bose’s press conference, the police headquarters in Cleveland, Ohio was presented with a group of 21 Hispanic men. They were herded up the station’s front steps by men with rifles who claimed their prisoners were illegals. The riflemen were unemployed union construction workers who took a school bus to a building site in Westlake, forcing the drywall crew onto the bus at gunpoint. The Cleveland police arrested the union men for kidnapping and let the Hispanics go. It wasn’t long before a large crowd gathered in Public Square.

  The crowd formed when the families of the arrested union members tried to bail them out. The police station overflowed, and tensions began to rise. The
families of the union men were forced to wait outside for hours before they could get their loved ones out of the jail. Someone made a sign, and a local news crew showed up in case the situation escalated. The presence of the news crew naturally drew rubberneckers, increasing the size of the crowd even more. A local conservative radio talk show host got word of the gathering and fanned the flames with live updates of the situation, peppered with inflammatory rhetoric. Within hours, unions sent unemployed workers, complete with bullhorns and more signs. The composition of the onlookers was unusual in that the crowd contained both union members and hard line conservatives – groups who were normally at odds. Both sides were outraged that American citizens were arrested on serious charges while the “illegals” had been let go.

  By rush hour, the crowd had overflowed Public Square and filled Euclid Avenue past the theater district to the south and down the hill on Superior Avenue to the north. It merged with the regular crowd flocking to the Warehouse District where dozens of restaurants, bars and clubs were located. By six o’clock, thousands more angry commuters were stranded on roads made impassable by the angry mob. They had few options but to join in. Alcohol from the district, combined with exasperated people, caused tensions to rise even higher.

  An impatient driver was managing a path through the crowd when he finally cursed at the wrong group of men. His car was turned on its side and caught fire. The people in the area were already compressed tightly against each other, and the burning car caused a surge in the masses. A large window of a department store gave way as dozens of people were pressed into it. The frame could not handle the pressure and collapsed inward. Someone reached through the empty window frame, grabbed an Apple computer and ran. Bedlam broke out.

  Burning cars was kind of a tradition in Cleveland. After the assignation of Dr. Martin Luther King, roving mobs torched dozens of vehicles, incinerating entire city blocks and shutting down parts of the city for days. In a desperate attempt to regain control of the area, the National Guard had had to be called in to keep order. For more than a week, Cleveland’s citizens were confined to their homes under a mandatory curfew. Like the rest of the world, they watched in horror at the almost non-stop broadcast of the burning of their beloved town. But while others could just flip the channel and forget about the devastation brewing outside, for the residents of Cleveland it was not so easy. The unmistakable odor of ash permeated their homes. Children who ventured to peek thru the window blinds could see burning vehicles in the street, just yards from their own lawns. In the minds of many citizens, the legacy image of that incident was of torched cars.