Happy Birthday To Me

Forty-four years on this earth.  I suppose that, by some measures, that might make me an old man.  Old-ish, at least.  Which may explain why I found Bob Owens' account of tyrants and dangerous old men an unexpected birthday treat...

The proximate, immediate cause of the first American Revolutionary War was an attempt to capture powder and shot, cannon, and community food stores that supplied not just the organized militia of their day immortalized as the “Minutemen,” but the unorganized militia of those too young, too old, and too female to be part of the organized militia of their day. These were the “alarm listers.” 
The youngest of the estimated 14,000 that turned out against the Regulars that April morning and fired shots was just 13 years old. The oldest man to fight that fateful day was an alarm-lister named Samuel Whittemore, a 78-year-old veteran of three American wars in the King’s service. 
While Lord Percy’s relief column attempted to link up with Regular forces under attack by colonial militias, Whittemore set up behind a low stone wall near his home and attacked the 47th Regiment of Foot by himself.

Read the whole thing, as they say.  I have to admit that I am proud to share a name with Mr. Whittemore.  After all, you can always trust a Sam.  Well, a Sam who is willing to put himself between you and those who would harm you, in any case.

I do want to note one more passage, where Bob makes an excellent point, and one that bears repeating:
The Second Amendment of the United States was never written to protect hunting or target shooting. It was written by men who had just fought a successful armed revolution against the most advanced military of their day, and who wanted to ensure that future generations would be armed with weapons of contemporary military utility in order to stand against the day that once more, tyrants would attempt to consolidate power and lord over the people as their betters.
 Tread carefully, indeed.

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