This is my Gun

This is my Gun October 2006

Some years ago, I found myself spending a weekend on business in a friendly southern city. I was representing a major firearms manufacturer at a trade show, which meant I would spend 10- to 12-exhaughsting-hours each day talking advertising strategy and media placements.
On Saturday night, after grabbing a bite to eat and a soda at a Subway sandwich shop, I decided to take a leisurely stroll through the city before heading back to my hotel.
Whenever I traveled on business I would always try to keep a night free of meetings so I could see the city I was in. Otherwise, all I would ever see is the inside of a convention center.
On this cool, clear night, as the sun started setting, I came across a small crowd of about 30 people - most holding hands - by a fountain in a small public courtyard. I walked over to get a closer look and noticed they were praying. A black woman, probably in her late-50s, took my hand and said, “Thanks for coming,” as she pulled me closer to the crowd.
"I'm just here to watch," I said.
She replied, "Of course you are. But we can all use a good prayer."
I'm not big on prayer. I could have just as easily walked on and grabbed a beer somewhere, but this situation seemed welcoming. Comfortable.
I'm not big on guns either. I stepped into the gun account at work as a temporary measure so my firm would not lose the manufacturer as a client.
The client actually loved me because I had prior military experience. They had no idea I had a "cannot qualify for firearm use" on my record because of my staunch opposition to guns.
Most of the prayers were silent, although every so often someone would pray loudly for an end to gun violence or for the overall safety of our children on the streets.
In about 20 minutes time, the crowd grew to about double the size and started heading towards the convention center. The people we passed nodded and waved - some joined us and a few took photographs of us.
I walked with the crowd for a few blocks - engaging those around me in small talk about kids, music and the city. But I soon pulled away so I could get to my hotel.
Early Sunday morning I was back on the trade show floor getting ready for another day of guns and meetings when the lawyer for the gun manufacturer dropped a pile of newspapers onto a nearby table.
"Looks like there was a protest outside the conventions center last night," she said. "There's supposed to be another one today."
The newspaper on top of the pile had a photograph of some people in front of the civic center holding hands, their heads bowed in prayer.
My heart skipped a beat as the thought struck me that it probably wouldn't be cool if I were in one of those photos. But as I grabbed the stack of newspapers and started looking though them, a calmer thought overcame me:
Who am I kidding? I'm not a gun person. I won't be long for this.