Seventh Enemy Page 3

  Around me, the men in the audience, SAFE members all, resumed their talking and chuckling, paying no further attention to the professor up front. I guessed that they’d heard him before. They weren’t there to become informed anyway. They were there simply—to be there.

  The amplification system in that room was as primitive as the acoustics, and the noise continued as the law professor began to speak, so I only caught snatches of the beginning of his statement.

  “…well-regulated Militia… security… shall not be infringed… intended as an individual, not collective, right… Significant that it comes second only to free speech… Militia historically means the citizens at large, not the organized armed force of the state… Federalist 29… Hamilton refers to the militia as a check against the potential despotism of a standing army, which the Founding Fathers feared, with good reason… in Federalist 46 Hamilton emphasized the ‘advantage of being armed’… a ‘barrier against the enterprises of despotic ambition.’”

  As he spoke, his voice became clearer and more confident, and as it did, he seemed to win the attention of those seated in the audience. The noise subsided enough for me to hear the testimony more clearly.

  Professor Clements cited several Supreme Court decisions which, he argued, tended to be misinterpreted by those who promoted gun control.

  From my seat I could observe the six committee members up front. One of them was fiddling with his wristwatch. Another seemed to be studying some papers on the table in front of him. The two female senators, seated side by side, were whispering to each other. The other two members were staring blankly at the professor.

  He concluded by quoting the familiar aphorism of John Philpot Curran: “The condition upon which God hath given liberty to man is eternal vigilance; which condition if he break, servitude is at once the consequence of his crime and the punishment of his guilt.” The professor looked up at the committee. “I urge you to reject this bill. It contradicts the spirit of liberty and both the intent and the words of the Constitution. Thank you for hearing me today.

  After a pause, a few of the men in the audience clapped. The scattered applause died quickly.

  The chairman of the committee said, “Any questions for Professor Clements?”

  None of the committee members had any questions.

  “Well, thank you, then, sir.” said the chairman. “Please leave us a copy of your statement.” He waited while the professor stood up, handed him the papers from which he had been reading, and left the room. Then the chairman said, “Our next witness is Walter Kinnick.”

  As Wally moved to the witness chair, somebody from the back of the room shouted. “You tell ’em, Walt.” Several people applauded.

  Wally removed a sheet of yellow paper from his jacket pocket and unfolded it onto the table in front of him. He looked up at the committee. The chairman smiled at him and nodded, and I saw Wally return the nod. The room grew quiet. Wally cleared his throat into the microphone. Then he began to read.

  “My name is Walter Kinnick,” he said slowly in that familiar television voice. “I grew up in Massachusetts. Although my primary residence is now in Minnesota, I also own a place in the western part of the Commonwealth. It’s a retreat, and I come here frequently to hunt and fish. I have been a hunter all my life, and I own several guns. I’m the host of a weekly television program that promotes hunting, fishing, camping, conservation, and outdoor recreation in general. I speak today strictly as a Massachusetts property owner and taxpayer, a private citizen, a concerned citizen.”

  Wally paused to glance up at the six senators. They wore the same blank expressions they’d showed during the previous testimony. Boredom. They already knew what he was going to say. The public hearing was pro forma, something that the law required but which they didn’t expect to inform them.

  “I have studied this proposed legislation, S-162,” Wally continued. “I have studied it from the standpoint of a sportsman, a gun owner, one who enjoys recreation with firearms. I have looked for its flaws.” He hesitated, cleared his throat, again peered at the committee people. He waited until each of them was looking at him. Then he said, “I find no flaw in this legislation. I think it’s time that responsible gun owners acknowledged the right of the state to regulate and limit the distribution of certain weapons whose only purpose is to abet the commission of crimes and kill other people. This is good legislation. It’s clear, specific, limited. I’m for it. I urge you to pass it. Thank you.”

  The room was dead silent for a moment. Then a murmur arose from the audience. I looked around at the rows of men who had come to show their numbers. They were whispering among themselves, frowning, shaking their heads. I could read their lips. What did he say? Did I hear that right? Was that Kinnick?

  The chairman cocked his head and stared at Wally for a moment, his eyebrows arched in an expression of surprise. “Well,” he said. “Thank you, Mr. Kinnick.” Then he glanced at the five other committee members and said. “Any questions for Mr. Kinnick?”

  One of the women said, “Ah, Mr. Kinnick, you mean you’re in favor of this bill, then, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You think assault weapons should be regulated?”

  “I think they could be regulated in the manner set down in this legislation without violating any basic rights. Yes.”

  “Do you belong to the NRA, sir?”

  “I speak as a private citizen,” said Wally, sidestepping the question.

  “Do you own an assault weapon?” she persisted.

  “If I did, and if this bill were passed, I would obey the law,” said Wally. avoiding that one. too.

  “Your testimony comes as a surprise, Mr. Kinnick.” she said. “Are there many gun owners who feel the way you do?”

  “I have no idea, Senator,” said Wally.

  She smiled, then shrugged. “No more questions,” she said to the chairman.

  “Anybody else?” he said.

  When none of the other senators ventured a question, the chairman said, “Mr. Kinnick, we thank you for your testimony. You’re excused. Please leave a written copy of your statement with me for the record.”

  5

  I STOOD UP, INTENDING to follow Wally out of the hearing room. But a crowd blocked my way as many members of the audience rose from their seats and headed toward the door. Anger and confusion registered on their faces and in their voices, and they humped and pushed against each other, jamming the narrow aisle. So I settled back into my seat to wait for them to pass.

  Above the angry undercurrent came the amplified voice of the chairman calling the next witness. I didn’t catch his name or see where he came from, but a moment later a small, bespectacled man in a brown suit took the seat where a few minutes earlier Wally Kinnick had been sitting.

  The man chose to wait for the noise in the room to subside before he began speaking. It took several minutes, because the people in the audience weren’t paying any attention to him. He sat there patiently, waiting them out, while the committee chairman banged his gavel.

  Finally the witness cleared his throat and said, “My name is Wilson Bailey and I live in Harlow, which is a small town west of Worcester that you may not have heard of. I teach chemistry in the regional high school there. I’m no expert on guns or law enforcement or anything, so I want to thank the chairman for the opportunity to tell you my story here today. I hope it will help you decide to vote in favor of this bill.”

  As he spoke, I leaned forward to see Wilson Bailey more clearly. He had no written statement or notes in front of him. He gazed from one committee member to the other as he talked. His voice was soft and confident. If he had memorized his speech, he had done it well. He made it appear that he was speaking directly from his heart.

  “Two years ago last April,” Bailey continued, “my wife and daughter were checking out books at the Harlow Public Library. It was a Wednesday, a rainy spring afternoon just after school had let out for the day. My wife was thirty-four years
old. We had learned only a week earlier that she was pregnant with our second child. Her name was Loretta, and we had been married for nine years. She taught Sunday school. Elaine, my little girl, was seven. A first-grader. She loved to read and draw pictures of rainbows and trees that looked like lollipops and people with big smiles on their faces. She was planning to try out for Little League when she was old enough. She had a pet hamster named Bobo. She was afraid of frogs. We were planning to go to Disney World in June, right after school got out. We already had our airplane tickets.”

  Bailey paused and cleared his throat into the microphone. The sound of it echoed in the room. Many of the SAFE members from the audience had left after Wally’s testimony. Those who remained were silent, listening.

  “I learned afterward that the librarian who was at the desk that day had, a week earlier, gone to court for a restraining order on her husband. He beat her and she was afraid of him. Just at the time when my little Elaine was checking out her books at the desk, the librarian’s husband appeared. He was, apparently, very drunk and very angry. He had in his hand an Avtomat Kalashnikov semiautomatic rifle. An AK-47. He held it at his hip and began shooting, I don’t know what the magazine of an AK-47 holds. But he emptied it in the library. He killed his wife and he killed Elaine and he killed Loretta and he killed our unborn child, and then he went outside and climbed into his pickup truck and drove down to the river and killed himself.”

  Bailey stopped, met the eyes of each of the subcommittee members in turn, “Senators,” he said, “I suppose that man might have murdered his wife with a knife or a clothesline or a conventional firearm. Perhaps no legislation could have prevented that. But this man owned an AK-47. He kept it behind the seat in his truck. It was available to him any time he wanted to use it. As a result Loretta Bailey, aged thirty-four, and Elaine Bailey, aged seven, and her unborn sibling are senselessly dead, and my life is worse than death. It shouldn’t have happened. I don’t want to hear that it’s the price we must pay for liberty. Nobody construes the Constitution to permit such things. I know the Second Amendment For Ever people and the NRA would have you believe that. But they are wrong. I know their votes and their-money have defeated legislation such as this one in the past. That’s why Loretta and Elaine died. Senators, please. The job of the government is to protect its citizens. To ensure domestic tranquility. And don’t pretend that the certainty of severe punishment would have deterred this man from bringing his AK-47 into that library. It’s very clear that if he did not have that weapon handy in his truck at the time when he got drunk and his fury at his wife took control of him, Loretta and Elaine Bailey and another Bailey child would be alive today. This legislation you are considering could save the life of a pregnant woman or an innocent child who only wants to check a Curious George story out of the library. If it saves one life, it’s good legislation. I urge you—I beseech you—to support it.”

  Wilson Bailey slumped back in his chair. The room was silent. Even the SAFE members in the audience were obviously moved by the man’s story. For a long moment, nobody spoke. Then the chairman cleared his throat and said, “Uh, thank you, sir, for your testimony.” He glanced at the other committee members. “Any questions?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “Well, if you have a copy of your statement, Mr. Bailey, please leave it with me.”

  “I have no statement. Mr. Chairman,” he said. “It’s my story, and I don’t need to write it down. But with your permission, I’d like to leave a photograph of Loretta and Elaine Bailey with you.”

  Bailey stood up, handed a photograph to the chairman, and left through the door that Wally had taken. I edged out into the aisle and followed behind him.

  The corridor outside the hearing room was a chaos of shouting voices, elbowing bodies, and flashing cameras. It took me a moment to realize that Wally stood at the center of it. I wedged my way among the bodies until I was close to him. He was speaking with several reporters.

  “…not a constitutional lawyer,” he was saying. “I don’t pretend to know what the Founding Fathers had in mind.”

  “But aren’t you afraid,” said a female reporter, “that by disagreeing with the NRA you will alienate your allies?”

  “I’m afraid of plenty of things, miss,” said Wally. “But that’s not one of them. The NRA holds the Second Amendment sacred. I guess right now I’d just refer you to the amendment that comes right before it, which is also a pretty good one. I have an opinion, and I staled it and thank God we live in a country where a man can do that.”

  “The Second Amendment For Ever organization invited you here, is that correct?” asked a different reporter.

  “SAFE arranged for me to testify, yes.”

  “Did they know what you were going to say?”

  “I say what I believe. Nobody tells me what to say.”

  “But did they understand that you would testify in favor of this bill?”

  Wally smiled at the reporter. “Don’t be silly,” he said.

  Another reporter wedged forward. “Mr. Kinnick, are you concerned that your television show will lose its supporters because of your testimony today?”

  Wally shrugged. “No. I don’t worry about things like that.”

  “Do you intend to campaign for gun-control legislation?”

  “I testified today in favor of this one particular bill. If I learn of other pieces of legislation that I have an opinion about, and if I am given the opportunity to testify, I will. On gun control or any other issue. It’s what they call democracy.”

  Wally glanced in my direction. “Ah, Brady,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.” To the reporters he said, “That’s all, folks. I’ve got an appointment with my lawyer.

  The reporters all began to yell at once.

  “Wait.”

  “Mr. Kinnick, one more question,”

  “But, Walt, what about—”

  But Wally had shouldered his way past them. I caught up with him, and we moved quickly down the corridor and up the stairs. Several of the reporters were following behind us, shouting questions. Wally didn’t stop, and neither did I, until we reached the top of the steps outside the building.

  Down at the foot of the wide stairway, the animal people were still marching with their signs. Wally leaned back against a pillar and looked down at them. “Jesus,” he mumbled.

  Three or four reporters came puffing up to us. Wally straightened up and turned to face them. “Okay, you guys. Enough. Give me a break.”

  “Just one more—”

  “No more questions,” he said.

  The reporters backed off but remained there, as it they were waiting for something else to happen.

  I fished out a cigarette and lit it. “Quite a performance,” I said to Wally.

  “Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “It wasn’t any performance.”

  “You shocked the hell out of them.”

  “I guess I shocked the hell out of me, too.” He smiled wryly at me.

  “Those SAFE guys are kinda pissed.”

  Wally nodded. “Guess I don’t blame them. But if they think I was being frivolous, they’re dead wrong. It would’ve been a helluva lot easier to say what everybody expected me to say, believe me.” He shrugged. “I was awake most of the night, thinking about it. I came to Boston intending to speak against this bill. I still don’t like gun control. I’ve testified on the issue plenty of times. I’ve never supported any kind of gun control before. I believe that weapons are neutral, and you’ve got to deal with the people who misuse them. That’s the NRA line, the SAFE line, and in general I buy it. I just think that if we’re going to have any credibility in this climate of opinion today, we’ve got to show that we’re reasonable and thoughtful, that we’re willing to compromise a little. This bill won’t hurt anybody. Probably won’t help anybody, either. We can give on this one without really giving anything away. I figure just maybe I can crack the stereotype. You know, that gun owners and hunters are all sing
le-minded idiots, or reactionary fascists, or sadistic murderers, or even just irresponsible citizens. Give ’em something to think about. Can’t hurt.” He touched my shoulder and smiled. “Sorry. Guess this thing’s got me a little wound up.”

  I shrugged. “It was great theater.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be theater, Brady. I just keep struggling with the fact that I’ve gotta go on living with myself.”

  “I was proud of you.”

  “You ain’t got much company today.”

  “You ready to get going?” I said. He gazed down again at the animal demonstrators, who were still chanting, “Kinnick’s a killer.” He nodded. “In a minute. They sound like they’re running out of steam.”

  So we stood there. I smoked and Wally rested his back against the brick pillar, and the reporters eyed us, and the people in animal costumes marched and chanted at the foot of the stairway.

  I had just taken the last drag on my cigarette when Wilson Bailey emerged from the building. He blinked in the May sunshine. The reporters, who had missed his testimony in order to quiz Wally, ignored him. Bailey spotted Wally and came up to him. He held out his hand. “Mr. Kinnick,” he said. “I’m Wilson Bailey. I testified right after you.”

  Wally shook his hand, “Good to meet you,” he said without enthusiasm.

  A couple of reporters, I noticed, were edging closer. One of them snapped a photo of Walt and Bailey shaking hands.

  “We were on the same side,” said Bailey. “I liked what you said.”

  Wally shrugged. “Thanks.”

  Bailey’s head bobbed up and down with his enthusiasm. “Well, sir, it was great, and I thank you.” He turned to the reporters. “Did you folks hear my testimony?” he said to them.