I don’t remember the moment when I decided to come armed and dangerous, but there came a time when I thought it would be wise to exercise my Second Amendment rights, since some people were looking to deprive me of mine.
Looking back, I remember some rough characters in the form of KKK-ers, conspiracy nuts and general detritus of life who could turn on you in a given situation. So I asked a deputy sheriff how I could legally carry a gun and was introduced to membership in the high fliers club that is a Special Deputy Sheriff.
First, I had to get a bond, a legal agreement or guarantee, backed up with money, that I wouldn’t do anything stupid. This produced a gold-plated sheriff’s badge engraved with my name that would let me legally carry a gun.
Only one problem with my Second Amendment rights – I didn’t own one.
Enter Steinberg’s Sports Center where my firearms fantasies could come true.
Steinberg’s began life as Steinberg’s Hide and Fur Company in Baton Rouge, and through the machinations of the Ole Beachcomer, Bob Scearce, branched into outdoor sports.
A onetime Steinberg’s employee, Bob was hired by WAFB-TV as Sports Announcer of the one-man sports department. And one of the first things, in addition to announcing everyday sports news, was creating a Friday TV program called The Great Outdoors, sponsored of course by Steinberg’s Sports Center.
According to fans, Bob’s enthusiasm managed to sway owner Joseph Lipsey Sr. to split the business with the hide and fur business on one side of building and hunting fishing, and the new Steinberg’s Sports Center had the other side.
Into this macho Disneyland I strolled looking for my Second Amendment privileges, across the creaky wooden floor, inhaling the multiple scents of tanned hides mixed with the mustiness of military surplus. I had a name of an employee courtesy of the Ole Beachcomber, a name long since lost in time, to help me select my weapon, which is a plus because all Steinberg’s Sports Center employees blended together, dressed in khaki trousers and a tucked-in button down shirt which made it seem like a uniform.
My Steinberg’s Sports Center man did not give a sales talk, but lessons in fire power to the novice firearms buyer. The end result was a six-shot Colt .38 snub-nosed revolver for me and box of ammo. Oh yes, gun oil and polishing rags. And directions to an out of the way spot where I could kill and main numerous tin cans and bottles without interference. Make that two boxes of ammo then.
It was never fired at man or beast. However, multiple miscreant tin cans and bottles have rued the day they ever posed in my gunsight.
On the way out I heard the spirit of Steve McQueen from ‘Bullit’ calling me to also buy a holster, so I bought his version.
A few years later, when I was working in New Orleans, I was made aware of another perk of the trade:
So, I became a Special Agent for the Louisiana State Police.
No money up front or fussy paperwork, I was just handed a badge with a knowing wink that I had a get out of jail free card.
There are no Special Agents in Louisiana State Police. If circumstances were such that you were forced to show this badge, it let the real law know that you had friends in high places. In Louisiana during the 60s and 70s that counted.
Nowadays it could land you in jail.