THE OK CORRAL

     Whenever I hear people whining about the 2cd Amendment and the right to bear arms, the following story always comes to mind: About 35 years ago back in good old Altus, Oklahoma, my father and his best friend, Larry Meadows, were sitting side by side on the big long bench on our back porch. As usual, a couple dozen cans of Coors original were stacked in a pyramid beside them. I'm sure they were "talkin' pussy and tellin' lies" as my father always put it. At some point the discussion turned to the fact that Larry's office had just been broken into again. Larry owned a real estate company which he ran out of a small wooden house he converted into an office. It was either a Friday or a Saturday night. The sun was going down and they were out of beer. "Hey Fonzie," said Larry. He called my father "Fonzie" or "Fonzerelli" or "the Fonz" because he looked to him like Henry Winkler on Happy Days. "Fonzie," he said, "whadya say we go stake it out?"
     "What do you mean?"
     "Let's get our guns and stake it out."
     "I don't know Meadas."
     "We'll just scare 'em. They're probably just a couple of kids." My father killed the last of his beer and burped. "Let's don't and say we did," he said, placing the last can on top of the stack.
     "Come on, I'll buy the beer."
     Half hour later they had slipped in through the back door of Larry's office. My father decided against bringing a gun but Larry had his 20 gage filled with birdshot. They were sitting on a couple of stools in the dark when Larry leapt up with his gun. He raced to the back door and then to the front. "What the hell are you doin', Larry?" said my father.
     Larry reached up, put a hand on the knob, and slowly turned it. "Larry, you're crazy, what the...." was the last thing my father got out.
     Larry flung the door open and stepped out into the darkness with his shotgun high across his chest, the barrel pointing up to the sky. "HALT OR I'LL BLOW YOUR GODDAMN FUCKING ASS OFF!" are the exact words Larry said. Many guns opened fire. Larry's gun went off just as he was blown back into the doorway. My father hit the deck and began crawling over to Larry who was screaming in pain. Lights came on and the bullets and shot kept flying, tearing through the furniture and walls. My father reached Larry and pulled him by his shoulders over to the desk. Finally, the shooting stopped. "This is the police! Come out with your hands up!" My father left Larry bleeding on the floor and walked out with his hands up. It turned out someone had seen them go in and called the police, thinking they were burglars. Larry was lucky, he only got shot with a 38 in the forearm and then high up on his thigh with a 30 ot. But they charged him with attempting to kill police officers. Larry was on the city council and personally knew the Sheriff and the other officers. But every one of them lied in court and said they had turned on their headlights and identified themselves BEFORE Larry came out like that with the shotgun. It broke his heart. The story made national news. Larry was eventually acquitted partly due to my father's testimony. To me, the moral of the story is FUCK GUNS! But then without guns we wouldn't have this wonderful story now would we?