The More Things Change

A decades-old incident points to an issue that seems almost ageless: wielding guns for honor. Phil Perkins shares this story from his youth, not as a partisan point of view but simply his own.

Do you think all of the recent talk about gun control is an indication that guns are more readily available than ever before in the US. Maybe so, but not by my recollection. You see, I’m from a small hardscrabble railroad and steel town in Ohio called Portsmouth. When I was growing up and early in my married life, I worked for the railroad. It was good money, even if I did take a lot of guff from the older men in the railroad yards.

During that period of time there were two factions of young people constantly at “war.” There was a small college there (now Shawnee State University) that bred a young culture of liberal thinkers and … well yes … hippie types. I did attend classes there but never considered myself a hippie. Closest I came was being a musician with relatively long hair.

The other faction were what we called the “townies.” These were the guys who grew up around the steel mill and railroad yards and were destined to work at one of those – good work, but hard work, that often bred attitude. To be fair, some of those guys ended up at the college, but it didn’t seem to wash the “mean” out of them. Bear in mind, these are my recollections. Theirs might be somewhat different.

Tensions ultimately grew between the two factions and, on occasion, violent threats were made to the college kids. It seemed the townies were most offended by the length of our hair. I aways thought that was an odd point of contention. On one occasion, they told a group of us that they were coming to the parking lot of a certain fast food restaurant and would be armed. We took it seriously. One guy of our group was more or less the leader. He had done tours in Vietnam and had earned the respect of most of the folks at the university because he was basically a pacifist. Nonetheless, he took umbrage at the threats.

By this time, I was married, and my wife and I had a nice apartment. Unfortunately, our leader had accepted the challenge from the townies and a time was set for a showdown (I kid you not). In preparation, I had to kiss my wife, say goodbye, and head to a designated point to pick up a gun. We expected the worst. My wife was mortified. But I saw it as a matter of honor.

At the designated time I showed up at the trunk of a car to be passed a rifle. Later we took up stations inside a house on the edge of the parking lot to wait for the townies to come. I remember vividly positioning myself behind a couch with my gun pointed toward an open window. I was scared to death but resolute about what might be to come.

Long story short, they never showed up. Maybe our fearless leader had let them know we were waiting and also armed. I don’t know, but I have never touched a gun again and don’t plan to. I don’t deny the deterrent effect it might have had that night but don’t believe that sort of confrontation is the answer.

Thank God it didn’t escalate. So, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Phil Perkins is a writer, business owner and musician who lives in Richmond and on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, with his wife, Sandi, and two pups named Skippy and Jeter. He is the author of several business books, two novellas about a legendary surfer in the 1960s and two novels about a retired detective living in the Lowcountry.

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