February 20 dawned cold and clear, and we drove from my office in the Rayburn building up I-95 to Baltimore. John Thomas was earning his pay, since when we arrived at 10 AM at the corner of St. Paul and East Lexington, there were already cameras and microphones set up. There were also a number of State Police officers standing around, and when my party and I got out of the limo, several of them came over to us. The highest ranking officer present, a major, got in my face and asked, "Are you Carl Buckman?"
"Yes, I am."
"Are you carrying a handgun, sir?"
The cameras were rolling, I could tell, and I simply smiled and told the truth. "No, I am not."
"Sir, it has been reported than you are carrying a firearm. Are you denying that report?"
It was like the guy was reading from a script. "I deny I am carrying a firearm, officer.", I replied.
"Sir, since I have received a credible report that you are carrying a firearm, I must insist that you be searched. If you are carrying a firearm and have no permit to do so, I will have no choice but to place you under arrest. If you wish to leave, however, I will not do so at this time."
Ah! Arrest me before we could get to the permit process. Behind me several others began protesting loudly and longly, but I simply smiled and raised my hands over my head, and stepped forward. A couple of beefy sergeants stepped forward, and while one eyed me while resting his hand on the butt of his gun, the other gave me a very thorough frisk, even to the point of having me remove everything from my pockets. I wasn't carrying a gun, or anything else for that matter, not even a nail file. I only had my driver's license in my pocket for identification. I smiled all the while this was going on, and after they stepped back and shook their heads, I simply smiled and turned back to the major. "Satisfied?", I asked.
He grumbled something but stepped out of the way. I led the way through the doors into the lobby. Joe Curren was standing there looking unhappy that I wasn't being arrested for packing heat. Behind us the rest of the group came in, including the camera crews. I waited until everybody was set, and then stepped forward. "Attorney General Curren, my name is Carl Buckman. I am here to apply for a concealed carry weapon permit pursuant to the Federal Defending the Second Amendment Act of 1995. Here is my application." I flourished it for the cameras. "As per the provisions of the law, you have five business days to issue an approval or denial. Can I expect a response by the end of business the 27th?"
Curren smirked, and turned to face the cameras. "The State of Maryland denies the constitutionality of this so-called act. Maryland law states that applications must be made to the Secretary of the State Police and require 90 days for review. Therefore this application is denied as improperly filed." With his own flourish, he tore it in half and then dropped the pieces, to let them flutter to the floor.
That was all it took for me. I stepped back and David Boies popped forward. Before Curren could react, Boies had a blue document in his hand, which he slapped into Curren's hand. "My name is David Boies and I am the attorney for Mr. Buckman. This is a Federal court order demanding..." He was off and running. How he managed to do it was beyond me, but he basically had a Federal judge slap a show-cause order on the state demanding to know why Maryland wasn't obeying the new Federal law. He had other Federal paperwork with him, too, and one of them was a writ that allowed me to carry a concealed weapon while waiting for the Federal court case to be resolved. Joe Curren had not been ready for that one, and he turned an interesting shade of purple.
Boies was a real showman, that much I had to give him. He led the way out of the building, with the reporters in tow, and we went to the rear of the limo. There, in the trunk, was my old .45. I ostentatiously removed my suit coat and pulled on a shoulder holster, and then loaded a magazine into the pistol, and placed that in the holster. Then I took back my jacket and put it on. I was now officially 'carrying a concealed weapon.'
From the doorway the State Police major looked livid, and looked like he was going to barge out and have me arrested on the spot, but then I saw Curren place a hand on his arm and hold him back. Boies had told us that while I could be arrested, the odds were that this would really piss off the tame Federal judge he had in his pocket. If he got pissed off enough, he could send Federal Marshals out to cut me loose and issue bench warrants demanding the presence of Curren and any State Police personnel involved.
I had a few people who thought my arrest would make for great television, and were hoping I would get the cuffs slapped on me. My own thinking was rather more divided. Yes, it would be great television, but, getting arrested? I told Marilyn before this started that while I had seen more than my share of jails over the years, the only time I had ever actually been charged with anything was the time I got caught sleeping on the beach with Marty and Ricky when we were on that road trip, and that wasn't even a misdemeanor, but just a violation. Up until now, if I had to fill out a job application, for instance, when it asked if I had ever been arrested or convicted, I could honestly say, 'No!' Marilyn wasn't amused by my thinking. She didn't want me being arrested by anybody for anything.
As soon as I had my suit coat back on again, I slapped a smile on my face and turned to face the cameras. It was cold, but I would just have to suck it up. Doing this all in a trench coat wasn't going to cut it. The questions were immediately forthcoming.
"Congressman Buckman!? Do you plan to wear a gun from now on?"
"Well, that's kind of the point of the concealed weapon permit, isn't it? You won't know if I am or if I'm not!"
"Why won't you answer the question?"
"I did answer the question. If a criminal decides to attack or rob somebody now, he won't know if his victim will be able to fight back, will he? Maybe that will keep him from trying."
"Won't that mean he'll just get a gun of his own?"
"The criminals already have all the guns they could ask for. This just evens the playing field for all the regular citizens out there."
And then I got the question I knew was coming, the big one, the one that had to be asked:
"Congressman, the State's Attorney has been quoted as saying that the only reason you are doing this is to justify your killing your brother. What do you say about that?"
I straightened up and faced the cameras as best I could. I was starting to freeze, but this needed to be done right. My political future was depending on it.
"Yes, this is about my brother, but not to justify it. No this is to prevent what happened to me from happening to somebody else.
When a madman decided to attack my family, I did the proper and legal things. I went to the police. They told me they couldn't protect us. My wife was being followed, her car was vandalized and set on fire, our home was firebombed. We had a psychotic killer trying to butcher my wife and infant son, and I was told I couldn't protect them either. I asked if I could get a permit to carry a weapon, a weapon I had worn honorably while serving my country, and was told not to even bother asking.