William R. Wilburn
New member
ZZZIIIIIPPPP! Nomex on.
I registered.
I grew up in this Hell-hole known as California. I left about 15 years ago and still remember the palpable physical sensation of weight being lifted from my body when I crossed the border. I left my family and cherished freinds. My only sibbling, a brother, bailed soon after. Three years ago my mom died. My dad is alone. I traveled back, on occassion, and nursed him through surgeries. But, as he ages he needs more help, and I want to share the remaining years of his life. He is healthy as a horse, but age is the final enemy.
My wife and I came "home."
My dad will not leave this place. He is a Texan. He may live in California, but he was born Texan and Texan he will always be. He will stand his ground, and it is his ground. The state may think they own it, and that he rents from them through his taxes, but as long as he breathes it is his ground. I would not attempt to test this point.
When my mom and he came here they owned a '49 Ford, a galvanized wash tub, a range teepee from dad's cowboy days, a saddle, dad's 1902 Colt SAA in .41 Long Colt, mom's 10 inch cast iron skillet (her only wedding present from an uncle), and the clothes they wore. They bought ten acres at $110 per acre, on payments, and set up house keeping in the tent. Mom cooked on a campfire. There was no water except what they hauled.
I grew up here. I bet I did not eat 50 pound of beef in my whole life or shoot 100 rounds of factory ammunition, until I went into the Army ( I think that was beef the Army fed us). Venison, elk, rabbit, gray squirrel, pheasant, quail, and bear and even greasy baked coon fed us. I put my share on the table as a kid. Point being, mom and dad sacrificed, bled, ached, and went with-out to pay off the note on the land, build a house, and give their kids a better chance in life than what they got. Not bad for a man with a 9th grade education (he left school to support his family during the depression).
I owe him. I hate this place. But, if you come from Texas this looks paradise (Texas is where the Devil got to be creative, way back when). This piece of ground represents Dad's life. He spent the strength of his youth here. Here he could make a good living for us. He really wanted to live in the backwoods of Idaho and hunt elk every fall. But, as a child, I remember him coming in from work, 110 degrees out, no shower, no running water, no cold beer, no electricty (so, no air conditioning or refridgeration), no complaints. Texan.
My mom likewise did her part for us. She wanted to be buried on the place. But, there are laws against that, like nearly everything else, anymore. Hand-cream was a big treat for her, at Christmas.
"...our lives, our fortunes, our sacred honor."
Loyalty above all, except honor.
My mission, and if I understand anything I understand the concept of mission, is clear. Loyalty and honor.
If I am in jail I cannot complete my mission.
The state requires that I register any handguns I brought into California as a "Personal Handgun Importer." At $14 dollars per pistol this set me back $112.
I think this is unconstitutional. I am going to research this with the hope of finding an attorney to get this law off the books. Might not win, but I can try.
I have been a LEO and am in the process of returning to law enforcement for the rest of my useful working life. I have friends in law enforcement. If I am found in possession, by an LEO, of a non-registered gun do I shoot it out with him? HE is NOT my enemy.
'...our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor."
Killing a LEO. A comrad in arms.
Where is the honor in this?" We have often emphasized that guns are mere chunks of metal with no life force of there own. Maybe your guns, but not my guns. My guns live. I have the six-shooter my grandad carried when he was the marshal of Magdalena, NM. It has life, because of its history. I would not part with it willingly. But, is killing a comrad for that chunk of metal worth the pain of a grieving LEO's widow and children? NO.
Do not misunderstand. I will defend me and mine and you and yours (and I have), should it come to that. But, law enforcement officers are not the enemy. The ideas are the enemy. That commie Thoreau said (paraphrased), "For every hundred people hacking at the branches of societies problems, there is only one hacking at the roots." LEOs enforcing unconstitutional laws are the branches. Ideas are the roots.
I am here. I cannot run. My mission statement precludes running.
Damn those Texans! Every battle is the Alamo, all over again.
Hell with the Nomex. I AM the flame. Bring it on.
-William
[This message has been edited by William R. Wilburn (edited June 30, 2000).]
I registered.
I grew up in this Hell-hole known as California. I left about 15 years ago and still remember the palpable physical sensation of weight being lifted from my body when I crossed the border. I left my family and cherished freinds. My only sibbling, a brother, bailed soon after. Three years ago my mom died. My dad is alone. I traveled back, on occassion, and nursed him through surgeries. But, as he ages he needs more help, and I want to share the remaining years of his life. He is healthy as a horse, but age is the final enemy.
My wife and I came "home."
My dad will not leave this place. He is a Texan. He may live in California, but he was born Texan and Texan he will always be. He will stand his ground, and it is his ground. The state may think they own it, and that he rents from them through his taxes, but as long as he breathes it is his ground. I would not attempt to test this point.
When my mom and he came here they owned a '49 Ford, a galvanized wash tub, a range teepee from dad's cowboy days, a saddle, dad's 1902 Colt SAA in .41 Long Colt, mom's 10 inch cast iron skillet (her only wedding present from an uncle), and the clothes they wore. They bought ten acres at $110 per acre, on payments, and set up house keeping in the tent. Mom cooked on a campfire. There was no water except what they hauled.
I grew up here. I bet I did not eat 50 pound of beef in my whole life or shoot 100 rounds of factory ammunition, until I went into the Army ( I think that was beef the Army fed us). Venison, elk, rabbit, gray squirrel, pheasant, quail, and bear and even greasy baked coon fed us. I put my share on the table as a kid. Point being, mom and dad sacrificed, bled, ached, and went with-out to pay off the note on the land, build a house, and give their kids a better chance in life than what they got. Not bad for a man with a 9th grade education (he left school to support his family during the depression).
I owe him. I hate this place. But, if you come from Texas this looks paradise (Texas is where the Devil got to be creative, way back when). This piece of ground represents Dad's life. He spent the strength of his youth here. Here he could make a good living for us. He really wanted to live in the backwoods of Idaho and hunt elk every fall. But, as a child, I remember him coming in from work, 110 degrees out, no shower, no running water, no cold beer, no electricty (so, no air conditioning or refridgeration), no complaints. Texan.
My mom likewise did her part for us. She wanted to be buried on the place. But, there are laws against that, like nearly everything else, anymore. Hand-cream was a big treat for her, at Christmas.
"...our lives, our fortunes, our sacred honor."
Loyalty above all, except honor.
My mission, and if I understand anything I understand the concept of mission, is clear. Loyalty and honor.
If I am in jail I cannot complete my mission.
The state requires that I register any handguns I brought into California as a "Personal Handgun Importer." At $14 dollars per pistol this set me back $112.
I think this is unconstitutional. I am going to research this with the hope of finding an attorney to get this law off the books. Might not win, but I can try.
I have been a LEO and am in the process of returning to law enforcement for the rest of my useful working life. I have friends in law enforcement. If I am found in possession, by an LEO, of a non-registered gun do I shoot it out with him? HE is NOT my enemy.
'...our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor."
Killing a LEO. A comrad in arms.
Where is the honor in this?" We have often emphasized that guns are mere chunks of metal with no life force of there own. Maybe your guns, but not my guns. My guns live. I have the six-shooter my grandad carried when he was the marshal of Magdalena, NM. It has life, because of its history. I would not part with it willingly. But, is killing a comrad for that chunk of metal worth the pain of a grieving LEO's widow and children? NO.
Do not misunderstand. I will defend me and mine and you and yours (and I have), should it come to that. But, law enforcement officers are not the enemy. The ideas are the enemy. That commie Thoreau said (paraphrased), "For every hundred people hacking at the branches of societies problems, there is only one hacking at the roots." LEOs enforcing unconstitutional laws are the branches. Ideas are the roots.
I am here. I cannot run. My mission statement precludes running.
Damn those Texans! Every battle is the Alamo, all over again.
Hell with the Nomex. I AM the flame. Bring it on.
-William
[This message has been edited by William R. Wilburn (edited June 30, 2000).]