Quiet, peaceful, still
Town Square, 1971,
he swaggered out of
the theatre, a twenty-six
year old, husband, dad,
university chaplain, preacher
of peace during Viet Nam,
reached into his pocket,
pulled out his hand with
index finger and thumb
cocked, pointed here
there and everywhere:
Blam, blam, blam,
“Do you feel lucky, punk?”
uttered years before he
had a “Go ahead,
make my day” kind
of a day
after watching Dirty
Harry
stare down
the bad guy.
The preacher of peace’s
adrenalin was pumpin’
flowin’. He, too, was
ready to pop the bad
guys just like a few
years before, he was
Steve McQueen in
Bullitt putting his
shoulder holster over
the arm of the chair and
looking at it in a pregnant
pause as if to ask if this
is the right way, the way
he made after the unbelievable
car chase that set the standard
for all car chases to come.
Was it Bullitt’s stare at his
gun that gave him pause,
or simply the still, small
voice that won out
and kept him from ever
owning a gun? And
forty-one years later
he remembers just
how he felt that evening
and he thanks God
that he never bought
that gun.