FROM THE EDITOR I don't remember too much about the Robert Altman film, Three Women," except that I really, really disliked it, and only went ot see it because my lifelong friend, Ruth, wanted to go. This was a long time ago, in my college days, and it may have been an attempt to impress impressional college guys with our taste in "art" films. The only other thing I remember is that, until she moved to Indiana, I could often force Ruth to do my bidding simply by whining that I had gone to see it with her. This column is about "Three Women," but I trust no one will be tempted to make it into a movie. I've been meaning to write these separate "vignettes" for a while, but other events intervened. (Also, I was casting about for a convention to stitch them together, and, luckily--thanks, Ruth!--remembered the movie of the same name.) * * * * * The first woman is a Roman Catholic nun who lives in New Jersey. my Aunt Eileen was visiting from the far, far reaches of mid-New York State, and asked me about chemical sprays. Now, if this were a movie, I would have picked such a device out of my purse and discussed its properties. In the movie, I might even have demonstrated how to hold it; why it's not a good idea to have your keys on it, even though a lot of the manufacturers provide a key ring; some of the various kins (stream, fog, spray), and the difference between pepper spray products and brand name items that don't contain pepper. Since this conversation was taking place in New Your State, However, you'll just have to imagine that that's what happened, because chemical sprays are illegal to possess here (but, due to some peculiarity of the law, not to buy or sell-just possess). Anyway, my aunt is my mother's older sister, and lives way out in the country with about five million dogs (Sebastian and Fletcher both counting twice), so I thought it was a little odd that she was interested in sprays all of a sudden, since they're not very effective on horse flies. As it turned out, however, her interest was prompted by a conversation she had had with her friend, who's a nun, who does a lot of traveling, by herself, in bad neighborhoods. We agreed that the Sister probably wasn't interested in a firearm, but I told my aunt I'd send her some books, and loaded her up with W&G issues, one of which contained Roger Lanny's article on Kubuton training. It's probably a sign of something--my advanced years, no doubt--but the notion of a nun seeking information on personal protection was startling to me. On reflection, I realized that it was prejudging on my part, and perhaps, prejudice. I went ot a high school, after all, that was run by and order of nuns who ever wore the traditional habit. That was because, when the order was founded in France, being a Catholic nun was a scary occupation, akin to signing up for a stint as a moving target, so they wore "street clothes" to disguise themselves. And, history, both ancient and modern, is replete with examples of the meek being preyed upon by the criminal. One of the most difficult things to do is to put yourself in the criminal's place--it's just not natural, because we don't think, or behave, that way. But, a criminal encountering a lone middle aged woman these days is unlikely to inquire into her vocation to determine whether or not she's a candidate for carjacking or other predatory crime. Criminals being what they are today, it's probably more likely that knowing a possible victim was a member of the clergy would make the a more inviting target. I sent my aunt a copy of Massad Ayoob's TRUTH ABOUT SELF-DEFENSE and Gila May-Hayes' EFFECTIVE DEFENSE. I included a not that both books contained a wealth of information on personal protection, regardless of whether a firearm was to be included in any such strategy. Several weeks later, I got a card in the mail addressed in an unfamiliar hand: "While my 30 children sleep on their mats during nap time, I'm reading a small paperback first--how to protect myself--wonderful. I'm not afraid, but I am concerned about being a woman alone, driving long stretches of lone highways...these books will help ease my mind and give me a practical advantage when caught off guard." * * * * * For the last ten years or so, I have entrusted the care of my hair to the same person. I started going to Diane when she worked at a shop a few blocks from where I lived. When she struck out on her own, opening a salon in the suburbs, I followed, feeling comfortable and secure under her hands. Her first solo location was over a restaurant--you entered through a door, and then up a flight of stairs to the end of the hallway. There were, I think, one or two offices there as well, but they were empty at night, although occasionally, if I had a Friday night appointment, some kind of suburban Baccanalia of pinocle went on next door. A tough of apprehension, perhaps, but never any serious doubt as to the safety of the place. As is the norm with hairdressers, we've talked of many things over the years--movies, politics, failing eyesight, men, family, Princess Di, O.J., my hair, her hair, football, hockey, the weather, etc. She asked me once, long ago, about firearms, and at the time, there wasn't a lot of literature out there directed to women; this was even pre-W&G. Again, out came Ayoob's Truth--still one of my favorite "get acquainted with reality" books. She returned it more or less without comment, several appointments later, and as is my custom, I didn't push the issue. For the past few years, Diane has been at another location, a stand-alone shop just off a busy suburban boulevard. She now employs half a dozen people, and the place has a fairly elaborate security system. I occasionally bring in issues of W&G, which I think Diane finds only slightly less disconcerting than people who bring in pictures of Heather Locklear as examples of how they'd like to look. Her husband and stepson are trapshooters, and we've discussed the sport, with my recommending she ty it, if only to say she has, but with the secret hope she'd like it. In the past year or so, she's asked specific questions about legislation like the Brady Bill, about subjects like Waco. Recently, we were discussing so-called "assault weapons," which I explained were pretty much like other guns, except maybe "scarier looking" to the uninformed. I could see I wasn't making much headway, so I reached down and pulled her professional hair dryer out of it's cubbyhole. "See this?" I said. "Suppose this were a rifle. I'd have to say it was an "assault weapon" because it's much more powerful than the one I have at home. Besides, all this chrome and black...mine's made out of harmless beige plastic. This," I intoned, trying to sound like a network anchor, "can blow dry a hundred heads in a day!" I got a smile, but a return question: Weren't "assault weapons" machine guns, and what was a machine gun, anyway? Still wielding the blow dryer, I flicked the switch on and off a few times. That's how the trigger on a firearm operates. On and off. One pull the trigger, one round." Turning the dryer on again, and leaving it on, I said, "And this is a machine gun. It keeps firing until you stop, or run out. Oh, and by the way, machine guns have been strictly regulated since 1934." Maybe it wasn't the perfect metaphor, but it was the one at hand. Once people know you're a gunowner, you'll get questions like this, too. and, circumstances (and your relationship with your questioner) might dictate a response like mine. It's seems unlikely to me that Diane will ever be much of a gun enthusiast, but the fact that the questions are asked, indicates a willingness to learn more about the subject than is readily available to her. * * * * * I never got the name of the las of these "Three Women." She is someone who approached me at the Second Amendment Foundation booth at the NRA Convention in May. She waited patiently (more patiently than I would have) while I hashed things out with a NEW YORK POST reporter. It was late in the afternoon, and I was looking forward to making my exit into Phoenix's dry heat in search of a pool, or a beer, or just about anything that was wet. Anyway, "Mrs. Smith" was a middle aged woman carrying alot of papers. She wanted to discuss guns and suicide. In the course of her conversation it became very clear that she was totally anti-gun. Whatever I said was countered with statistics on suicides, especially among the elderly and teenage boys. Her position appeared to be that the only way to prevent suicides was to totally eliminate access to firearms, all firearms. It did not matter that the NRA was the leader in gun safety education; that was all very well and good, but did not totally eliminate suicides, according to Mrs. Smith. "But that wouldn't eliminate all suicides, either," I said. "People will use other means, won't they?" "Not guns, though," she said. I don't think I've ever personally encountered someone who is totally admittedly anti-gun, ever when the elimination of guns wouldn't eliminate the problem at hand. I've heard all the professional anti-gun arguments, but they are usually couched in the "sporting use" language, which says something like, "We don't want all your guns, but..." I couldn't help but admire that Mrs. Smith had made th trip to an NRA show, paid admission, since I doubt she was a member, and took the floor in search of "discussion" on the subject, nor shake the feeling that she had very personal reasons for her attitudes. Unfortunately, given her attitude, which was at least more honestly expressed than most, it wasn't going to get either of us very far, as we devolved into a polite, "Is so," "Is not," tussle that ended only when the show closed. I left in search of refreshment, but feeling a little bit dejected, since I obviously hadn't had much of a dent in Mrs. Smith's argument. Still, I suppose it only works that way--that you change someone's mind completely--in the movies. Peggy Tartaro, Executive Editor