Here’s the latest reader question, along with my reply!
G writes: Americans do not seem to comprehend just how far down the freedom slide they are. I now live in a country where “If nobody lays a charge” no crime has been committed. Our freedom is real.
Here’s a little story:-Way back in another country, in the most evil and fascist country in the world (South Africa) a bunch of us (honest) motor bike boys decided we would have a race. A few from other groups were told. We chose an Industrial park on a Sunday morning. Parents , friends, everybody was in on it as Marshals etc. British Motor bikes were the world standard then, Triumphs, AJS’s, Nortons, BSAs, a Harley or two. We mapped out the course. We handicapped them.My mother entered on her 150cc Lambretta Scooter.
How we ever expected to get away with this in one of the country’s biggest cities I do not know. About half way through the race, I saw a gentleman approaching not in uniform, whom I recognized as the head of our traffic department. He had toured our school the week before on one of those standard road safety lectures. He stood for a moment and really did not know what to do. I rushed up to him and said, “Hello Mr Barnard.” Now he was really perplexed (and human). I was 16 years old. We got the message that we had to stop. My buddy who was the organizer said to me, “Ok the next one (of ours) to cross the finish line is the winner. It just happened to be my mother. Mr Barnard, as the cop in him finally kicked in, said: “You all have 15 minutes to get the hell out of here”. That is what policing should be all about. That was 62 years ago.
My reply: Yup. I can relate several such experiences I experienced – and not nearly as long ago. Which gives further evidence of just how far – and fast – this county has slid down the water slide of tyranny. Here’s one of mine:
When I was in college and living in a townhouse with several friends, one of my friends showed up on day in his ’69 Chevelle. He had just replaced the factory two-barrel carb (obviously, the car was not an SS) with a four barrel and wanted to give us the experience of the secondaries of the new four barrel opening up. So, we went for a ride. At the T stop/intersection down the road, my buddy cranked the wheel hard over and punched it, laying rubber sideways . . . and right in front of a cop who crested the little rise to our left just in time to witness the performance.
He turned on his lights, of course – and we dutifully pulled over. But our fear was the ticket, not his Glock. Which in those days cops – as opposed to armed government workers- didn’t even have. The general sidearm was a revolver, usually a thirty-eight.
Anyhow, the cop approached this ratty, primered Chevelle with rusty Cragar mags and asked us what we thought we were doing. We told him about the intake swap and that we were excited to see how the car ran. The cop checked my buddy’s license, gave us a lecture and told us to go an sin no more.
Not even a ticket.
This was 1987.
. . .
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