Drizzt
April 15, 2003, 05:05 PM
Guelph Mercury (Ontario, Canada)
April 14, 2003 Monday Final Edition
SECTION: LOCAL NEWS; Pg. A2
LENGTH: 618 words
HEADLINE: For one brief moment, I was a gun lover
BYLINE: BILL PENNER
BODY:
I'm a liberal (small L variety), so it's always been understood that guns are bad. In the past I have written disparagingly of the United States' handgun culture. I support firearm legislation. I am opposed to war and armed conflict in general. I want the world to live in peace and harmony.
When I took my kids to the movies I would lecture them on how Hollywood shoot-em-ups were unrealistic, and probably scared them to death with descriptions of what gunshots really do to the human body.
I was certain about the moral superiority of my position. Just the other day, I did a mental 'tsk tsk' as I watched a gun enthusiast and his 12-year-old daughter discussing the benefits of different types of ammunition as they pored over a copy of Soldier of Fortune magazine.
And then I held a pair of guns in my hands. Boy, did it feel good.
They weren't real guns, of course. I'm in the theatre business, and we're all about illusion. The guns I was holding were non-lethal replicas, made to fire blanks. The theatre school where I work has a small arsenal of handguns, for which I am responsible, and it's a responsibility I take very seriously.
The guns are registered, and we have all the proper equipment, such as secure gun cabinets and trigger locks. We train the students in safe procedures for storage, loading the blanks, how to aim them so it looks real to the audience while not pointing them directly at another actor.
We use ear protection when we test fire the guns. We tell them all the stories about how performers have been injured and even killed by mishandling prop firearms. We take steps to ensure that no one other than actors who actually use the weapons on stage ever touch them, and if anyone is ever caught fooling around with them, they are severely disciplined.
But I was alone in the storage room, with no students to see what I was doing. I had two western-style revolvers, one in each hand, and it felt great.
It was undoubtedly due to my state of mind. Producing theatre requires periods of intense work, long hours, and frustration as you struggle to achieve an artistic vision with limited resources. I admit, I was tired. I was fed up. I was ready to settle some scores.
I tucked the pistols into my belt. I stuffed another snub-nosed revolver into my pocket. I slid a nasty-looking semiautomatic into my jeans at the small of my back. And I picked them off, one by one. The budget chief, who never gives me enough money. The colleague who doesn't pull his weight. The lazy student who doesn't live up to his potential. The designer who kept insisting on changes when we had run out of both time and money.
I was 10 years old again, with my cowboy boots, my gangster jacket, my undercover police badge. I was righting all the wrongs ever done to me, using a gun where reason, experience and intelligence had failed.
And it felt wonderful.
Thank God the door was locked. I was breaking every rule I had ever been taught, every rule that I religiously enforced with my students, every moral lesson I had ever tried to teach my own children.
My frustration spent, I carefully checked the trigger locks were secure, packed the guns away, closed the safe, and gave the handle a tug to ensure it was well and truly locked. After all, I couldn't allow any irresponsible people to have access to those weapons.
I stood for a moment at the locked door, my hand on the knob, and reminded myself of where I was and what my responsibilities were. Taking a deep breath, I walked back out into the real world, the world where I don't believe in guns and violence.
Bill Penner is a Guelph author and playwright. His column normally appears each Monday.
April 14, 2003 Monday Final Edition
SECTION: LOCAL NEWS; Pg. A2
LENGTH: 618 words
HEADLINE: For one brief moment, I was a gun lover
BYLINE: BILL PENNER
BODY:
I'm a liberal (small L variety), so it's always been understood that guns are bad. In the past I have written disparagingly of the United States' handgun culture. I support firearm legislation. I am opposed to war and armed conflict in general. I want the world to live in peace and harmony.
When I took my kids to the movies I would lecture them on how Hollywood shoot-em-ups were unrealistic, and probably scared them to death with descriptions of what gunshots really do to the human body.
I was certain about the moral superiority of my position. Just the other day, I did a mental 'tsk tsk' as I watched a gun enthusiast and his 12-year-old daughter discussing the benefits of different types of ammunition as they pored over a copy of Soldier of Fortune magazine.
And then I held a pair of guns in my hands. Boy, did it feel good.
They weren't real guns, of course. I'm in the theatre business, and we're all about illusion. The guns I was holding were non-lethal replicas, made to fire blanks. The theatre school where I work has a small arsenal of handguns, for which I am responsible, and it's a responsibility I take very seriously.
The guns are registered, and we have all the proper equipment, such as secure gun cabinets and trigger locks. We train the students in safe procedures for storage, loading the blanks, how to aim them so it looks real to the audience while not pointing them directly at another actor.
We use ear protection when we test fire the guns. We tell them all the stories about how performers have been injured and even killed by mishandling prop firearms. We take steps to ensure that no one other than actors who actually use the weapons on stage ever touch them, and if anyone is ever caught fooling around with them, they are severely disciplined.
But I was alone in the storage room, with no students to see what I was doing. I had two western-style revolvers, one in each hand, and it felt great.
It was undoubtedly due to my state of mind. Producing theatre requires periods of intense work, long hours, and frustration as you struggle to achieve an artistic vision with limited resources. I admit, I was tired. I was fed up. I was ready to settle some scores.
I tucked the pistols into my belt. I stuffed another snub-nosed revolver into my pocket. I slid a nasty-looking semiautomatic into my jeans at the small of my back. And I picked them off, one by one. The budget chief, who never gives me enough money. The colleague who doesn't pull his weight. The lazy student who doesn't live up to his potential. The designer who kept insisting on changes when we had run out of both time and money.
I was 10 years old again, with my cowboy boots, my gangster jacket, my undercover police badge. I was righting all the wrongs ever done to me, using a gun where reason, experience and intelligence had failed.
And it felt wonderful.
Thank God the door was locked. I was breaking every rule I had ever been taught, every rule that I religiously enforced with my students, every moral lesson I had ever tried to teach my own children.
My frustration spent, I carefully checked the trigger locks were secure, packed the guns away, closed the safe, and gave the handle a tug to ensure it was well and truly locked. After all, I couldn't allow any irresponsible people to have access to those weapons.
I stood for a moment at the locked door, my hand on the knob, and reminded myself of where I was and what my responsibilities were. Taking a deep breath, I walked back out into the real world, the world where I don't believe in guns and violence.
Bill Penner is a Guelph author and playwright. His column normally appears each Monday.