Source: National Review
Published: February 21, 2000
Author: Andrew Stuttaford

I didn?t want to be Bernie Goetz. I just wanted a handgun. Legally.
Something to keep at home. A move within Manhattan had taken me away from
the comforts of doorman security (you know how it is). A little extra
protection seemed prudent, 911 calls can take a while to answer, and Rudy
isn?t going to be mayor forever. Should be pretty straightforward, I
thought. In my native Britain it would be impossible. But this is the United
States, home of the Second Amendment, land of liberty. Government knows its
place. They do things differently in America.

But then there’s New York City, a place where the old constitutional
certainties have been replaced by the rules of the NYPD, License Division.
If you believe that this is a local problem, a Big Apple nightmare that
could never apply to you, think again. A dozen states already insist on
handgun permits. Citing as always “the children,” it is clear that
Candidates Gore and Bradley want to expand on this at the federal level. The
Brady Act was not enough. There’s earnest talk of licensing, registration,
additional checks to which, allegedly, only the unreasonable could object.

But the unreasonable have a point. New York City’s licensing system has
turned a right into a privilege. Like all privileges, it’s enjoyed only by
the few.

There may be more than 7 million people in the five boroughs, but only
40,000 have valid handgun permits. Licensing isn’t the thin end. It is the
wedge. If you want to find out what that modest-sounding licensing
requirement can mean in the hands of a bureaucracy that doesn’t want you to
have a handgun, come here, to the City.

It starts with a form, of course-PD 643-041 (Re, 1-94) hl. Some of the
questions are obvious (arrest record and, excitingly, “aliases”). Others are
odd (“Have you ever been denied appointment in a civil service system?”) or,
seemingly, aimed at members of the Clinton administration (list any
incidents of “Temporary Loss of Memory”). Watch out for question 19: “Have
you ever had or applied for any type of license or permit issued to you by
any City, State or Federal agency?” You haven’t? Well, if you are a driver
you have. Forget to mention your driver’s license and you will be rejected
and have to start all over again.

Next, submit the form. This, naturally, can be done only in one place, and
in person: Room 110 at Police Headquarters, Manhattan. Nowhere else will
do-not Room 109, and certainly not Room I 11. Anywhere in Brooklyn, Queens,
Staten Island, or the Bronx is out of the question (although Queens–and
nowhere else is where you must go for your rifle or shotgun permit). The
form needs supporting documentation yes, including that driver’s license. It
is not enough, however, merely to present your driver’s license. A notarized
statement certifying that you did indeed apply for that driver?s license is
also essential. The fact that your photograph and signature are on the
license is irrelevant. No notary, and it’s no go.

It’s at this point that capitalism comes to the rescue. Even in New York.
There is no need to struggle through this process alone. A small industry of
license consultants has sprung up. Some, doubtless, add little value, but
the repeated official warnings against them are very reminiscent of
something that might have come from a pre-Miranda cop explaining that, no,
no, you really don?t need that fancy lawyer. I opted for the pistol-
consultant equivalent ($395 all-in) of a fancy lawyer, Larry Goodson of
License Services, “Specialists in Firearms Licensing, Training, Selection
and Safety,” an outfit in Queens. We never met. Like Charlie in Charlie’s
Angels, he was a mysterious voice over the phone. I imagined him as one of
those drill sergeants in an old war movie, dispensing the gruff advice that
would see his rookies through their grueling ordeal. Much of which, we know,
would consist of waiting for that encounter with destiny.

Which can take a while. There aren?t many gun-license applications each year
(between one and two thousand), but when it comes to processing them, the
city that never sleeps, dozes off. The applicant just has to wait, hoping
that his home can be a castle even without a cannon. And if the Grandson of
Sam came crashing through the door? Well, a friend of mine recently managed
to frighten away an intruder from his apartment, but he had a loud voice, a
sand wedge, and, crucially, a cowardly burglar. Would I be so lucky? A
lifetime of avoiding hand-to-hand combat would mean that any brawl would be
likely to turn out badly. The only weapons in my place were kitchen
utensils, a Swiss Army knife, and, perhaps, a very heavy book.

The weeks passed, safely, but without any word from Police Headquarters.
Finally, after five months, a letter arrived. I had to contact the License
Division within “five days of receipt” to fix up an interview in, you
guessed it, Room 110. “Failure to respond and/or comply with this notice
will result in disapproval of your application.” Away on vacation? That,
probably, would be too bad. Do not pass Go, do not collect handgun.

The interview is to be taken seriously. This is not just a quick check for
drool on the chin or blood on the hands. The police want to be sure that the
would-be gun owner knows the law, and they might, warned pistol consultant
Larry, try to trip me up. Try they did. The interviewing officer was
courteous, friendly even, but it didn’t stop him from asking whether I would
be taking my gun to the target range every weekend once I received my
premises residence license (with target endorsement). It was a trick. As,
fortunately, I remembered, holders of such permits can take their guns to
the range only twice a month (unloaded, in a locked box). At the end of the
interview, there is little clue as to how you have done (“That’s to avoid
incidents,” explained Larry). Next, two more officers have to review the
case.

Which they did for another three months. Then, finally, the great day
arrived, if not the permit. I had been approved, but the permit has to be
picked up in person at Police Headquarters in, for variety, Room 152.
Neglect to claim the permit within 30 days and it will be canceled, and the
applicant is back to square one, Room 110. With the permit comes a
handgun-purchase authorization. This entitles the holder to purchase a gun
from another licensee, a licensed dealer, a policeman, or, so long as the
deceased held a valid license, a corpse. Fail to buy a gun within 30 days,
and the authorization is canceled, along with the pistol license that it
took eight months to obtain.

Finding somewhere to buy a gun legally in Manhattan is not much less
challenging than looking for a liquor store in Saudi Arabia. Early
negotiations with a fellow called “Chop” in a Midtown outlet didn?t work
out, but a trip to New York Ironworks hit, so to speak, the target. It’s a
store where the NYPD crowd goes to buy weapons, extra equipment, and fashion
essentials such as “Frisk ‘Em” gloves. It is also just around the corner
from Police Headquarters, which matters, because that is where, for the
fourth time in this process, the new gun owner has to return. Within 72
hours and packing heat (so long as the heat is unloaded and in a locked
box). It’s a quick pass through the metal detectors (yes, they do work) and
then back to Room 152 (so long as it’s Monday to Friday, between the hours
of noon and 2 P.M.). The pistol will be poked and prodded, and the bill of
sale perused. Survive this and the process is complete. The gun can be kept
at home. So there it sits, gripped by its newly mandatory trigger lock, a
last line of defense.

For the time being anyway. The pistol license, of course, is issued subject
to certain conditions. And the first of these, listed right at the top of
the Police Department’s little handbook for licensees? The license “is
revocable at any time.”