Guns in Europe

One afternoon, during a tour from Vienna to Amsterdam, to Europe, I was sitting in the ship’s bar as we cruised along the Rhine. An American came in and tried talking to the bartender in German.

“Tomas is not German,” I said.
“Yes,” said Tomas. “I speak better English than I do German.”

Tomas was a delightful young man, tall and good looking, from the Czech Republic. I sat in the bar talking to Tomas every afternoon. Every night I take a little green pill which makes it dangerous for me to drink alcohol, so I don’t. But I have to take another medication (old people take lots of medication), a powder which must be mixed with water. The glasses in the cabin were tiny, only 4 oz. So every afternoon I sat on a bar stool facing Tomas as he mixed my “afternoon drink” in a tall glass.

We talked of many things. I learned that his father was a school teacher. During Soviet control of Czechoslovakia, was his father a member of the Communist Party? “Of course. He had to be. If you don’t join the Party, they shoot you.” Tomas knew nothing about the German occupation during World War II. He is young. I neglected to ask about his grandparents. He would have told me. We talked honestly with each other.

One day Tomas said, “I don’t understand about Americans and their guns. In Europe it is difficult to get a permit to have a gun.”

I told him, “I think it is a cultural thing which goes back to pioneer days. My ancestors moved west in covered wagons, just like you see in the movies. They needed guns to hunt for food. They also needed guns to protect their families from the Indians. I knew a man whose grandmother was killed by Apache Indians in Santa Fe, New Mexico.”

About that time a middle-aged American came into the bar and ordered a beer. I asked, “Sir, do you own any guns?”

“Yes,” he said. “I have four.”

About that time another older American male came and stood on the other side of me. I waited while he ordered whiskey for himself and his wife before I turned and asked the same question, “Sir, do you own any guns?”

“Yes, I own fourteen. I am a collector.”

Tomas and I both threw up our hands.