The Clock Part 4: Pen vs. Sword
Photo by David Peterson from Pexels
Never bring a knife to a gun fight.
In case you missed it, read Part 1 and Part 2, and Part 3 here.
The state was still fresh off the Colebrook incident in 1997. A mass shooting started at a supermarket, continued at a local newspaper, and ended at the New Hampshire/Canada border in a shootout with the state and border police. The gunman killed four people. A fifth officer got shot, but the bullet hit his badge and saved his life.
Chief Clark was a seasoned officer, who previously worked as an EMT, and trained officers in special tactics and crisis intervention. Moving into a liberal arts university system, sans guns, was an interesting transition; to say the least.
Chief Clark invited me into his office. He wearily examined my curly afro, costume jewelry, wide bell-bottoms, and keychain that hung from a purple carabiner on my belt loop.
“Your reputation precedes you,” he said.
“Big fan?” I smirked.
“I’ve read your stuff, Gates,” he said in a monotone voice.
“I’ll remember that.”
He rolled his eyes as I opened my notebook.
“Listen, Gates, I’m not going to tell you what to write—”
“Good, cause I’m not gonna be told,” I cut him off.
Chief Clark spared with the politically correct student senate and took hard-ball questions from the liberal-leaning news team.
Not entirely sure he was prepared to speak with a writer without a filter. While I had no power over the vote itself, I was certainly in a position to make his life more difficult.
Like police to citizens, it was the same for campus authority to students—it’s all about the relationship.
Campus police held a town hall meeting to debate the issue. The debate was an opportunity to listen to the community's concerns. However, the event was poorly advertised.
Only 30 students showed. In no way did I feel it was a lack of engagement, but a lack of awareness, to control the narrative; a serious misstep by the campus police.
Hell, I worked for the newspaper, was in the middle of developing a response piece on the subject, in direct communication with ALL the major heads, and even I did NOT know!
If it weren’t for DJ, I would have missed the meeting. The lack of community dialogue was a poor move when claiming to build trust. A crucial detail I was all too keen to point out.
Photo by Thomas Griggs on Unsplash
For a minuscule moment, I felt like I had the upper hand. A few other questions were directed to the town police chief.
Chief Clark dialed the number on his office line and passed me the receiver. The conversation with the town police chief took one minute.
I was about to hang up when Chief Clark zeroed-in, on my keychain. He reached over and unclipped the carabiner right off my belt loop!
Uuuuuh…
My keys were now in his hands, but more specifically, my KNIFE. I completely spaced and forgot to take my pocket knife off the keychain before the interview.
That’s right. I brought a knife to a gunfight.
New Hampshire is an outdoorsy state. There are countless uses for a pocket knife. Camping. Hiking. Fishing. Hunting. First Aid.
Carrying a pocket knife in New Hampshire is as common as carrying a gun in Texas. It’s almost weird if you don’t. Owning a knife was legal. But I was unaware of the legality of the knife TYPE.
Sidebar!
The summer before, I worked for a knife company. My office ran a sales contest for the highest quota, which I won. The prize? A serrated-edge pocket knife.
On another note, I am a BIG fan of Quentin Tarantino. LOVE Pulp Fiction. Spoiler alert!
Towards the end of the movie, Samuel L Jackson held a gun to Tim Roth, after Roth stole his wallet and stuffed it inside a trash bag. Jackson asks for his wallet back.
“Which one is it?” Roth asks.
“It’s the one that says, “Bad Mother Fucker.”
Roth pulls out the wallet that says that.
Hence the inspiration to engrave my knife with my nickname, Big Bad Beth.
Photo by Artem Labunsky on Unsplash
Chief Clark examined the engraving and smirked before he slid the blade out. When he snapped the blade in place, his eyes WIDENED. He transformed into a stone-faced regulator as he dragged the jagged edge across his thumb.
Uh-oh.
Chief Clark eyeballed the hell outta me while I “continued my conversation.” I had absolutely NO IDEA what to say and stalled to brainstorm. My heart pounded as time quickly ran out.
When a call on a cell phone ends, the operating software hangs up the phone. When a call on a landline ends, it is a little more invasive because the receiver has to be manually placed back on the hook. Failure to do so results in a gnarly Velociraptor dinosaur sound heard for miles.
“EH-EH-EH-EH-EH,” the landline went off.
Busted!
“Yeah, this all very helpful information. Thank you,” I said as I hung up the receiver.
Chief Clark deadpanned me.
“He hung up,” I confirmed. “So, this was great. I’m all set. Thank you SOOOOO much for your time…SIR!”
“Do you know what serrated edges are used for?”
“Cutting…stuff,” I tried.
“Like what, Gates?”
“Um…cheese. To cut…the cheese…”
“It’s for cutting flesh,” he stated for the record.
Photo by David Peterson from Pexels
It felt like a Mexican standoff. He had the “sword”, but I had the pen. I wanted my knife back and he wanted a fair shake. Confiscation or no, I felt strong about freedom of speech. My voice was far more valuable so, I drew a line.
“The column is mine, Chief. I’m gonna write it my way.”
Truly mightier indeed. He folded my knife and set my keys down on the desk.
He nodded, “get outta here, Gates.”
As it turned out, a serrated-edge pocket knife was LEGAL in the State of New Hampshire. Information that would have been useful to me BEFORE the meeting. Ah well, Live Free or Die, as the state motto says.
After much consideration of both sides of the gun debate, I landed in the middle.
As a hippie and idealist at heart, I did not want guns on campus any more than the next tree-hugger. At the same time, though not intended for self-defense, I was a knife owner. Similar to guns, knives are considered arms, protected under the Second Amendment. Though a knife and a gun are substantially different, the ownership felt pertinent.
I focused on my experience at the town hall meeting. Supported both sides and highlighted the pro and anti-arguments, including questions for voters to consider.
I did my best to inspire others to think for themselves. For an opinionated writer commenting on a divided issue, that felt like the rebel thing to do.
The campus police lost the vote in 2000 but won the following year after the attacks on September 11, 2001.
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