Nov/Dec. 98

Are Gunowners Ready to be History?
by Peggy Tartaro, Editor

From The Editor:

I spent a hunk of my summer vacation driving around the Berkshire foothills meeting signs that pointed to a "Shaker" Museum in upstate New York. My genial guide was somewhat directionally challenged and we were really looking for used bookstores, so we did not try to find the place. But I became somewhat disconcerted that every single road contained a sign for the place, but on none of these roads did we actually encounter its entrance or the museum itself, despite the fact that we did cover a lot of ground.

We did eventually stop at a different Shaker Museum, this one almost impossible not to stumble over, as it takes up quite a lot of ground in Pittsfield, MA. It boasts an impressive, three-floored round barn that is a masterpiece of well thought out "form and function." Many of the other legacies of the Shakers have enduring appeal—their carefully crafted furniture and furnishings and needlework set off rather anti-Shaker acquisitiveness in most who see them; their lemon pie is rich and simultaneously comforting and exotic.

Most of the folks wandering around the place, including myself and the character formerly known as "The Carole Lombard of the gun industry," had driven over to the museum. We then checked our makeup, got out of our gas-guzzling car, donned our designer sunglasses, hoisted our overstuffed "urban totes," fiddled with our cameras and proceeded to admire the heck out of the Shakers’ "simple way of life."

The Shaker movement was an offshoot of the better known and more enduring Quaker sect. Founded by Anne Lee, in the 18 th Century; the group practiced community living, devotion to God, and a return to a "simpler" way of living then being threatened by the industrial revolution and the rise of cities. The term "Shaker," was originally derisive, and derived from members’ ecstatic "shaking" when practicing devotions. This is by no means a comprehensive history of the Shakers, but should give you a bit of an idea about them.

The irony of the modern American attraction to things Shaker was not confined to Sherry and me—there was a certain sheepishness in evidence as visitors resorted to their plastic cards to purchase mementos of their visit. Nor is the more poignant longing for the "simpler things," something that should be ridiculed. Even as we search the Internet for websites devoted to "simple abundance" (jotting the address in our daily planner), or read another article in a magazine about paring down everything from our waists to our lifestyles, we recognize that the quest is not entirely frivolous. Nor is it entirely the product of some mad marketeer’s attempt to get us to buy the Shaker Onion Flower Cutter (and bonus free Luddite handloom).

Perhaps you know the rest of the story of the Shakers, and why you find museums devoted to them, and websites, and people dressed up as them, but why you no longer find Shakers themselves. If not, here it is: they also sort of invented the concept of "built-in obsolesce," by making a tenet of their faith the celibacy of all its members.

I point this out not to make a smarmy joke about the part-time residents of the nation’s capitol, or the decline of civilization as we know it, or religion, or anything else, except that it seems to me, especially in the last few years, gunowners have been guilty of following rather too closely the Shaker model.

We’re great when we get together. We accomplish seemingly impossible things. We participate in the continuous invention of government. We enjoy things our parents and grandparents would have. We have a sense of place, and, yes, unfashionable as it sometimes is, even purpose. We do a whole lot of shaking ourselves sometimes.

But, it also seems to me, we’ve spend much too much past time, and an alarming amount of our present time, cutting ourselves off from others, with the same expectation as the Shakers—that somehow, without so much as an invitation, others will want to join us. That others will want more than an occasional outing with us, or a taste of the pie. Unlike the movie, "if you build it," they won’t necessarily come. Especially if you put a fence around "it" and qualify entry.

Before it’s too late, and gunowners go the way of the Shakers, do a little soul searching and see if you wouldn’t, had you been one of the original Shakers, re-thought things a bit.

Here’s the way it works: culture spreads just like Vinca minor. Plant it, tend it, and then every once in a while, dig up a hunk and plant it somewhere else. Take a friend to a lovely holiday lunch and then, instead of dipping into the Wassail bowl, talk yourself silly inventing Cowboy Action aliases (but be careful, a lot of the good ones are taken already). Give someone your favorite mystery and then keep giving the gift throughout the year as you email back and forth making fun of the author’s limited technical knowledge of guns. (Note to mystery writers of America: revolvers have the cylinder gizmo like six shooters in Western movies; semi-automatics don’t, but their operation can be explained in two pretty simple sentences, and, automatic weapons are largely not available to the general populace.) Serve a big holiday meal featuring goose and watch the kids scramble over who can be the next to find a shot pellet in their portion (use forks for this as orthodonture is expensive). Tell the kiddies how the goose got from the Chesapeake Bay to the table, even if your daughter-in-law gives you a funny look.

Well, pretty soon, everyone you know will be part and parcel of the gun culture, so much so that perhaps we can all spend less time dividing ourselves into little groups and go back to more meaningful pursuits.

And, maybe, just maybe, we’ll none of us or our children live to see a "Gunowners Museum."