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By MIKE KESSLER
Published: June 12, 2005
This is how a stash of weapons came into my hands. A few years ago, my friend Elizabeth's brother died unexpectedly in Los Angeles. She and I were both living in L.A. at the time, and I wanted to help her cope. While going through her brother's belongings, we discovered, in an upper corner of his closet, a locked metal box. The key was nowhere to be found, but Elizabeth knew what the box held -- a small collection of handguns that her brother kept for protection.

Elizabeth's brother was gone now, and she wanted the handguns gone, too -- put out of commission. The collection wasn't her idea of a keepsake. I wasn't really interested in them, either. True, I'd been to the indoor shooting range over the years -- with my own brother and with friends -- and each time I enjoyed it. It made me shaky with excitement, and scared, like looking over the edge of a tall bridge. But this wasn't on my mind at the time. I promised Elizabeth that I'd get rid of them. ''It'll be easy,'' I said. ''The police love to get guns off the street.''

I went straight to the Hollywood branch of the L.A.P. D. Leaving the weapons in the trunk of my Volkswagen, I went in and explained the situation.

''We can't take the box if it's still locked,'' the officer in the lobby explained. ''Who knows what could be in it?''

''So you'll let me leave with a trunk full of guns that I'm not licensed to carry?'' I asked. She said yes, as long as the box was locked, and expressed little further interest.

My next stop was a locksmith's in Los Feliz. Straight-faced and silent, the man behind the counter pulled out a crowbar and pried the box open. There were five handguns: a Glock 9 millimeter, a Smith & Wesson revolver, a .38, a .25 and a very tiny pistol, the make and caliber of which I can't remember. The locksmith perked up at the sight of the peashooter. ''It's so cute,'' he said. I laughed, but the open box made me feel vulnerable. So I took the guns and paid a visit to my good friend Mike, who was once a hunting guide in Michigan and still has some old rifles. He asked if the handguns were loaded. ''I don't know,'' I said. The answer, I was shocked to find out, was yes. Mike gave me a quick lesson in bullet removal.

Since the L.A.P.D. hadn't been that helpful, I decided to drive to Glendale, which has its own police force. This time, I hauled the guns in a cardboard box. As I entered the police station, the cop there put a hand on his side arm and told me to drop the box. I did. After I explained my situation, he ran a background check on the firearms: clean. He checked my record: squeaky clean. Then he lightened up -- and tried to talk me into selling him the Glock and the Smith & Wesson, which he told me were worth a bundle.

''But they're not even registered in my name,'' I said, ''and the owner is dead.''

This was no problem, he assured me, because California gun laws were such that if my friend gave me his guns, registered in his name, before 1991 (wink wink), it would be perfectly legal for me to have them. And to sell them.

We exchanged cards, and I left with my cardboard box of handguns. A week or two later, he called to see if I had reconsidered his proposition. I told him no. And his eagerness to have the guns made me hesitant to simply turn them over. I wasn't sure what to do, so I stored the weapons in my garage.

After a while, I got to thinking about the thrill of firing a gun. Every time I'd been to a shooting range, I was fascinated by the power I wielded. I also thought about the protection a handgun would provide. Maybe I should just keep them, I thought, or at least the Glock. This is L.A., after all. But then I wondered, Could I actually kill someone? Maybe, but it would take a real movie-climax moment to finish off another human -- a decision with consequences that could haunt me forever. A lot of upstanding citizens -- including some of my loved ones -- are willing to face those consequences. I'm not, I decided.

But I couldn't have adopted the weapons in good faith, anyway. I'd made a promise to Elizabeth. So one slow spring day I went to the garage, took out the handguns -- and smashed them with a 15-pound ax. I shattered the butt of the .38. I disfigured the barrel of the .25. I chased the Glock and the Smith & Wesson around the garage as they bounced from each blow. My hands began to burn from the repeated swinging. My lower back ached. But I eventually rendered the guns useless.

I put the guns in an industrial-strength trash bag. But then I imagined some kids rummaging around a suburban landfill and finding them, which made me picture the violent opening scene of a made-for-TV movie. So I added garden dirt and poured in some old paint. Then I added more, and I shook the sack and rolled it around. I picked up the bag and threw it in the trash. Then I called Elizabeth and reported that the job was done.


Mike Kessler is the executive editor of Skiing magazine. He lives in Boulder, Colo.
 
...a suburban landfill... So I... poured in some old paint. Then I added more, and I shook the sack and rolled it around. I picked up the bag and threw it in the trash.
Someone should report him for dumping paint in a landfill. That has got to be illegal in Cali.
 
How does this type of ignorance get published? This is really embarassing to anyone who can read. Firstly improper disposal of a firearm and then talking about a police officer who wants to bend the rules. This is a shameful piece of writing, it is not journalism, and if it had to be written at all it should have been written in crayon.





people sometimes:banghead:
 
"Those guns could kill someone sooner or later."

Yeah, well some guns are just born mean - bad seeds, they are!
 
CoRoMo--good catch on the paint. I was going to comment on that.

Mike gave me a quick lesson in bullet removal.

So, there was an ND involved? :)
 
He's not comfortable with the idea. Those guns could kill someone sooner or later.

So could the used car he sold. How can you be comfortable with selling your car, what if the guy you sell it to drives recklessly and kills someone? How can you live with yourself?

Or how about the booze he served up at the last party he hosted, what if someone DUIs?

Heck, under his logic we should never let people out on parole. What if they break into someone's home and murder the mother and two kids and then burn the place down ... oh wait.
 
...good catch on the paint.

Yeah. An upstanding and compassionate member of society, this guy.:rolleyes:
He had the "care" for his fellow man to destroy perfectly usable defense weapons, but neglected to offer a single thought to what he might be putting back into the water table. Bravo.:rolleyes:
 
And so works the mind of the liberal. Neither logic nor reason shall interfere in their pursuit of that "warm and fuzzy" feeling they get from doing something utterly stupid, just because somehow it feels right. Then they brag about it.
 
Lets examine the facts. The story was written by a California liberal and printed by the NY times. What is suprising about this? Nice guns though too bad they're in a landfill. I'm suprised he didn't try recycling.
 
Maybe I'm just cranky, but...

While it's sad that he destroyed some perfectly good guns - and that he and his friend don't understand how an object they perceive to be evil might actually be just a neutral object, which someone else might put to good use - he did make a promise to his friend that he would destroy them, and he followed through on it (albeit belatedly). There's a lot to be said for that.

Let's say your brother just died and you came across a box of his old tools. You don't know how to use them, don't want them, and (for whatever reason) don't want anyone else to have them either. You ask your friend - a backyard mechanic - to destroy them. He says he will, and takes them away. How are you going to feel if, a few years down the road, you ask him, "hey, what did you do with those tools?" and he says, "Oh, I sold them to some guy I met, and kept the cash. Why?" I'd be livid if that happened, because the person has violated my trust by not following through on a promise.

Of course you're well within your rights to question a friend's bad decision. In fact, you'd be a bad friend if you didn't. But, once they decide, and you give your word to carry out their decision, you've put your integrity on the line. So, while we might find the author's actions completely without merit, at least he kept his word to his friend, who was grieving the loss of a close family member. To do otherwise would have been highly dishonorable. Preserving friendships is worth a lot more than the money you'd get from selling your friend's dead brother's guns to a cop who knows he's breaking the law.

Just my $0.02.
 
Hmm..
He's the editor of a ski magazine. I'll have to remember to chop up my skiis next time I want to get rid of them, someone could get hurt if they found them and used them.
 
So instead of legally selling them he writes an article on his law-breaking quest of destroying them (dumping paint, cop suggesting to break/bend laws) Too bad while he was swinging away with the ax one didn't bounce up and knock some sense into him.
 
Where are all the capitalists on this board, who should be coming around to loudly declaim that the manner in which one disposes of one's private property is no business of anyone's but one's own? What are you people- a bunch of SOCIALISTS?

So some yutz smashes a bunch of handguns. Big deal. I've seen plenty of people piss away hundreds of gallons of gasoline driving around Hummers, increasing air pollution and decreasing the fuel supply. And when I have the temerity to say something about it, I get shouted down with blather about 'consumer choice.'

Sheesh.
 
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