Anti-Crime Militia Armed With Note Pads and Phones
Nora Clark didn’t get so upset the first time. Perhaps, she suggests, it’s natural to feel less vulnerable at age 57 than at 77. Looking back, she allows herself a laugh. Jessica, their collie, probably wagged her tail when the burglar carried away the TV.
The second time, just last summer, left Nora in tears. She and her husband had gone to 8 a.m. Mass and were home by 9:30. Gone was their jewelry, the VCR and $400 cash they’d set aside for Vegas. “Every time I think about it I get upset and scared and nervous.”
Before long, Nora found herself organizing a suburban sort of militia, a group of people who wear the true camouflage of everyday fashion, who arm themselves not with AK-47s, but with eyes, note pads and telephones. On Rawlings Avenue in Woodland Hills, Nora is a block captain for Neighborhood Watch.
Her duties brought her Tuesday night to the library of Francis Parkman Middle School, where about 40 block captains from throughout Woodland Hills shared their concerns with City Councilwoman Laura Chick.
It was all very humdrum. Refreshingly so.
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Here, far from the backwoods of Idaho or Michigan, nobody spoke ominously about the New World Order or mysterious black helicopters or how Oklahoma City might be fairly viewed as pay-back for Waco. Far from the paranoia of the political fringe, people are less concerned about supposed government “tyranny” than about burglars and robbers and more mundane matters. “How do you get your street resurfaced?” one woman asked. Curbside recycling was also a hot topic.
With Councilwoman Chick present, it was interesting that nobody bothered to talk about gun control, always a contentious topic. Only a week before, Chick switched from a no vote to a yes on an ordinance that makes gun rights advocates frown and gun control fans smile.
The city law, awaiting mayoral approval, would require ammunition dealers to keep records of what ammunition is sold and to whom. It would empower the LAPD to inspect gun dealers to make sure they are complying with local laws, as well as to determine if ammunition is being sold to people prohibited from owning firearms. Even gun control advocates acknowledge this won’t make a big dent in crime; outlaws can always find a way. The effect would be difficult to measure.
Had anybody asked Chick how she arrived at her decision, they might have heard her describe a personal debate that reflects society’s lurching, groping and grasping for good gun policy.
The first time the ordinance came before the council, Chick said, she worried that the it was “overly simplistic.” Unconvinced that it would deter crime, Chick found herself thinking it was “feel-good” legislation that would do little more than “send a message” that the L.A. City Council is pro-gun control.
Then something happened that changed her mind. Chick read news accounts about how the National Rifle Assn. and its friends in Congress appeared to have the votes to repeal the ban on certain types of assault rifles. Chick, like many people, sees a big difference between the firearm owned for hunting or home protection and the kind designed for warfare.
“Well, the audacity and arrogance. . . . A ban was recently passed by a bipartisan Congress, and now the NRA and the extremists on one side are trying to take this away from us.”
The idea of “sending a message” suddenly had more appeal. And Chick found herself more inclined to believe LAPD officials who endorse the ammunition ordinance, saying it would serve as at least a mild deterrent.
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The ammo ordinance in particular, and gun control in general, didn’t come up, I suspect, because most people lack fervor one way or the other. Either that or they wanted to steer clear of a testy debate.
Nora Clark would have been pleased with Chick’s position. She won’t have a gun in the house. But Michael Stark, a block captain in a Warner Center condo complex, might have given the councilwoman an argument.
Stark, 33, became involved in Neighborhood Watch when he lived in an Encino apartment. After the rape of a neighbor, he says, he bought a shotgun to protect himself and his wife. Alarmed by the 1992 riots, he bought a handgun to carry, without permit, to his old job Downtown. Then he was hired to manage a gun store. There, Stark says, he saw firsthand the virtue of the legal waiting period and background checks. But most gun laws, he contends, are pointless.
Stark’s own collection includes an assault rifle that he takes to the desert.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he adds with a smile. “I’m not one of these guys who blows up federal buildings.”
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