here's a utah town:
www.canada.com/sports/olympics/features/021802_guns.htmlGun-toting in America's outback
In Virgin, Utah 'maintaining arms' is required by law
By Allen Abel
National Post
VIRGIN, Utah - Away from the valley of the Great Salt Lake, Utah is as vacant as a skating judge's conscience. This is the American Outback -- the cinnamon cliffs and sage-brushed tablelands of the most beautiful wilderness in the world.
Down near the Arizona state line, there's a quick brown river that slices through a mesa on its way to the canyons of the mighty Colorado. The river is the Virgin, its fount is the jagged rockscape of Zion National Park, and its namesake -- the only settlement on this plateau for miles and miles -- is a notorious little village where each and every family is required to maintain a working gun.
Virgin, Utah.
The town's Ordinance For Civil Emergencies reads, in part:
"Heads of households to maintain arms:
"In order to provide for the emergency management of the town, and to provide for the civil defence of the Town of Virgin, and further, in order to provide for and protect the safety, security and general welfare of the town and its inhabitants, every head of household residing in the Virgin Town limits is required to maintain arms."
It's symbolic, of course; as in the Australian Outback, where I spent the last Summer Olympiad, no legislation is necessary to encourage a culture of firearms in the russet vales of southern Utah. And there are exceptions: felons, the mentally ill, conscientious objectors, and those too poor to be able to afford ammunition. Everyone else has one finger on the trigger and one hand on the Constitution of the United States.
As the Mayor of the village explains: "No police force has the responsibility to protect you. If somebody does something to you, they can arrest him, but if you give citizens a means to protect themselves, they can protect themselves for the rest of their lives.
"So I know, if I break into a house in Virgin, Utah, I'm taking my life in my hands." The Mayor is a 57-year-old child of these spectacular clefts and cliffs named Jay Lee. He's a smallish man in an Ace Hardware ball cap, with a resemblance to the race driver Bobby Unser, compact and lean. He was elected by a count of 86 votes to 52 for a term that doesn't expire until 2006.
We're wandering along Main Street, heading down a sandy trail to look at an old swinging bridge that spans the rushing Virgin. He's telling me about the influence a small-town mayor can have in the Beehive State.
"If I call Salt Lake City and say, 'This is Jay Lee,' I never get through to anybody. But if I say, "This is Mayor Jay Lee, then someone important gets on the phone right away. If they looked it up, they'd see that I only represent 400 people, but they're way too busy up there."
He was 19 years old and serving as a Mormon missionary in the State of Washington before he saw his first traffic light. He would have fought in Vietnam, he says, but for a mastoid infection that kept him out of the army.
"I was doin' real good on my physical," he tells me, "until they looked inside my head."
The gun legislation sprang from two sources: A similar action by a town in Georgia, and a trip the mayor took to his State Capitol a few years ago.
"I went up to Salt Lake one time to see one of our state senators," Mr. Lee says. "We were concerned about traffic on the highway going through town too fast, and they told me I should just get a police car and set it out on the highway with a mannequin in it, and that would slow 'em down.
"While I was up there, I saw something somebody had painted on the sidewalk. It said, 'I love my country but I fear my government.' That really hit me.
"We don't like big government --that's not how it's supposed to be. They keep givin' themselves more power, and we can only blame ourselves for letting them. In a government of the people, by the people, if there's a problem, it's our fault."
The Mayor of Virgin is one of thousands of Utahans who carries a concealed pistol. It's legal here, if one acquires the proper permit, to bring a hidden six-shooter into an elementary school, a tavern, a church, the State Capitol or just about anywhere. In a rare exception, the president of the University of Utah is endeavouring to keep concealed weapons off the campus, but the state's Attorney-General has ruled that such a prohibition would violate state law.
"I've gotten a few threats," Mr. Lee says, explaining his preference for arming himself at all times. "But nothin' I take serious."
When the Olympic flame passed through Virgin a few weeks ago (without stopping), the Mayor's wife, mindful of the overwhelming security presence that accompanies the sacred fire, asked him: "Are ya packin'?"
He wasn't. Nor is he allowed take his gun with him to his full-time job as an accounts manager for a local distributor of irrigation and plumbing supplies. His boss is against it.
"Are there any Democrats in Virgin, Utah?" I ask, out of the blue.
"Oh, I'm sure," the Mayor replies.
- - -
You may have read about Virgin, Utah, in the New York Times, or the Christian Science Monitor, or the Denver Post, or heard its Mayor on what he calls a "my-raid" of radio talk shows.
It was the writer from the Times who made light of the right to bear arms ordinance, noting that "nearly every home has a weapon and no amputees have moved to Virgin."
But the Mayor takes exception.
"As a matter of fact, we do have amputees," he says. "We'll be putting one on our planning commission pretty soon. She lost an arm to cancer, I think."
The Times also referred uncharitably to the Mayor's vehicle as "dung-stained."
He walks me over to his daughter's house to examine it. It's a little white Daihatsu Charade.
"I parked it under a tree," the Mayor shrugs. "There are birds in the trees. Birds do what birds do. But I wouldn't call it 'dung-stained.' "
- - -
Now that he has established the safety, security and general welfare of his townsmen, Jay Lee is preparing to take on the United Nations. He is not alone in this assault; at the base of the mesa upon which Virgin is perched is a municipality called LaVerkin, which already has put in motion a by-law prohibiting the UN and its agencies from setting up shop within the town boundary. That was the brain child of a former mayor of LaVerkin who is Jay Lee's brother-in-law.
There is an anti-UN petition to be signed at Kent's Drive-In in LaVerkin while you enjoy your elk or bison burger, and a billboard on Highway 9 that reads:
"True Patriots Live in LaVerkin!
When All Learn ... Truth ...We'll Speak with One United Voice!
Freedom Under God -- YES!
Global Government
Under United Nations -- NO!"
In Virgin, Mayor Lee has been studying a model resolution that would ordain:
"No United Nations personnel may conduct any official United Nations activity of any kind whatsoever and, under no circumstances, may United Nations peacekeeping or other troops be quartered on any property within the geographic limits of this city."
This, too, goes with the territory. Last summer, I interviewed an old cattle rancher in this area who told me -- straight-faced -- the United Nations is the very beast that rises out of the sea in Chapter 13 of the Book of Revelation, "having seven heads and 10 horns."
So it would be prudent to keep it out of Virgin, as it would harm the tourist trade.
"I don't think we'll have the UN forces marchin' on us," the Mayor admits, when I press him on the issue. "But they keep talking about 'world peace' -- and that means us giving up our sovereignty and living under the United Nations."
- - -
As far as Jay Lee can recall, the last person to be killed by a firearm in Virgin, Utah, was his own uncle Ervin.
"He went out rabbit hunting," the Mayor says. "And when he got back, he reached in his truck to pull the gun off the seat and it went off and killed him."
I cluck in sympathy.
"When you get in a city, you get all that propaganda," he says. "'A firearm's terrible. A firearm's dangerous.' Well, in the United States, we have 1,500 accidental fatal shootings a year. That's pretty good for 80 million gun owners."
We're sitting on a bench outside the adobe house with walls two feet thick where Mr. Lee grew up. Dogs are barking, and the sparrows just won't shut up.
"People think we're just out there slayin' rabbits," he says. "But when I grew up, that was food."
He says he did not know how poor he was until he got to high school in the town of Hurricane and the other kids told him. His father, he says, was a Mormon alcoholic. He remembers chicken coops, a root cellar and fetching water from a pump. His mother, now 81, lives in a trailer near the ancestral adobe.
"Does she own any firearms?" I wonder. I've been in Virgin for an hour and have yet to see anyone toting a shotgun, a flintlock, a muzzle-loader, a Colt .45 or a grenade launcher.
"She still has three or four deer rifles that my step-father had when he died," the Mayor replies. "But she'd never be able to find the key to the gun case. She's got dementia so bad, she can hide her own Easter eggs."