"Execution."

Since the murders in Lakewood, WA the other morning, the news stories have been filled with silly references to "execution-style murders." What they're referring to, one supposes, is that the actor intentionally went into a coffee shop, and methodically shot and killed three police officers before having to wrestle the fourth and killing him, too.

Merriam-Webster's first definition of "Execution" is "the act or process of executing: PERFORMANCE." Well, that's kind of vague, and basically means that every action is an execution. That would hardly be newsworthy, would it? Second definition: "A putting to death especially as a legal penalty."

Webster's Online's first definition of "Execution" is "Putting a condemned person to death."

Okay. "Legal penalty." "Condemned person." These are key terms. A true execution is a legal action. It is in fact an extension of the legal process. Whether or not you believe execution to be a moral act, in a real execution, the condemned person is being put to death by persons who are acting in good faith that they are serving out the law, and technically serving the will of the people.*

This does NOT describe the multiple-shooting of police officers in a coffee shop. No, not even the "premeditated" part does that. Actually, that's a component of the traditional definition of murder: "with malice aforethought." The thug was a murderer, not an executioner.

Now, who was the thug?

Well, his name was Maurice Clemmons, and he was a convicted felon, out on bail for child rape and assault on a police officer. How do we know that now? Because he just got taken down by Seattle cop** early this morning. Clemmons was in possession of a stolen car, and a gun that he had taken off of one of the fallen officers. Still more damning was the torso wound that Clemmons carried, given him by the last cop to die at the coffee shop, who had fought with Clemmons even after being wounded, and wrestled the murderer out of the coffee shop before being killed.

At this point, we're not being told the name of that fourth police officer who died while fighting. That's a shame, because "Tina Griswold," "Gregory Richards," "Sgt. Mark Renninger," or "Ronald Owens" are easier names to say than "The Lakewood cop who died fighting," while lifting your glass in toast. That's not to condemn the other officers. They were shot in the head, and any one of us could be taken down by a determined adversary. We can shade the odds a bit, but the truth is, beating the drop is very, very hard.

When you go to your favorite Third Place with your buddies, consider who's watching the door and the counter. If you must, demand the seat with your back to the wall, and appoint yourself that guy. But know that you're playing catch-up if the balloon goes up, especially if you pin a target on your suit. That's just part of it.

But if you are hit, and realize that you are hit, then you can probably still fight. If you must, avenge your own death. But at the very least see to it that the last action that your enemy saw you make was one of aggression toward him.

That fourth officer in the coffee shop was just lucky enough to have received a wound that didn't instantly incapacitate, and then he went on the offensive. Sadly, he didn't win. But he died fighting, and rendered a wound to his opponent that helped identify the bad guy and those who helped him. There are worse deaths. I raise my glass to you, Fourth Officer, until such time as I learn your name, so that I may say it properly.
# # #

A word about the Seattle officer. He found a stolen car, and sat on it until Clemmons arrived. He then challenged Clemmons, and recognized Clemmons as the murder suspect***. He shouted for Clemmons to stop, and shot him when Clemmons refused to. Clemmons was mortally wounded, and died later.

Under Tennessee v. Garner (1985), police can no longer shoot fleeing felons simply for being fleeing felons. We must have probable cause that the suspect represented a danger to the officer or others. Certainly Clemmons fit this description perfectly. He had killed, he was armed, and there was a warrant out for his arrest, which gave the officer good faith with regard to the probable cause. Nothing has been said about Clemmons "going for his gun." If nothing in world can convince you that the Seatle cops are retelling the incident without embellishment, then this should. It would be so easy, so neat and tidy, to have the officer best Clemmons as Clemmons went for his gun. But that's not how it went down. If it were, they would have told us that, right away. And I can respect that.

I expect nothing less, but I mention it for those foolish oxygen thieves who would yet again --and more flagrantly, this time-- misuse the term "execution."

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*And let's have no nonsense that most Americans would stop execution, because that's patently false. Want to stop executions in your state? Become governor, and commute every death penalty. Enjoy your single term. Or better yet, have the Amnesty International Party field legislation to outlaw the death penalty. Why don't you do it? Because you don't have the votes to.

**Who will never have to buy his own drinks again.

***Doubtless, he had memorized Clemmons' mugshot and name, as a lot of us North Texas cops did after the "Texas Seven" murdered Aubrey Hawkins, back in 2001. I carried around an array of their mugshots on my clipboard.

Bait and switch

"But those aren't the terms that I was promised," I said pointedly into the phone.

I was short of sleep, having just gotten up from 5 hours of day sleep after working 15 hours. My wife needed me to confirm with Spirit Cruise Lines what date we were going to go on our first little cruise. The woman had just given me two dates that were not on the list of dates that we had submitted as being available, from Galveston, TX. She also said that the only rooms available were luxury sea-view staterooms with substantial price upgrades. "Can you find another way?"

"The certificate that you signed says 'subject to availability,' sir," came the snotty reply. I dreamed of a device or magical power that would let me take hold of that tongue through the phone line. Okay, I'll admit it-- I was cranky.

In my sweetest, most reasonable, "Let's Solve This Together" voice, I asked, "Can I get you to send me a copy of that certificate, then, please? I fear that this trip may not be possible."

My scanner is in storage. And, no, I didn't run down the street to make a copy. Sue me. I'm a bad record keeper. I didn't have a copy of The Certificate. I wanted to read the text on this almighty document, that apparently countermanded what I had been told verbally by Silverleaf people.

"Sir, I can't resend the certificate."

"You can't resend the certificate? Or you can't rescind the certificate?" I asked.

"What?!?" she was clearly not happy with me. Well, I suppose that the feeling was becoming mutual.

However, I pushed on. "Did you mean that you cannot "resend"-- R-E-S-E-N-D-- the certificate, or that you cannot "rescind"--R-E-S-C-I-N-D-- the certificate?" I enunciated very carefully for her. You know, like you would to, say, a retarded chihuahua. Which is hard of hearing. (I was cranky.)

"Sir, I'm quite sure that you understand the conversation that we're having right now," she said, peevishly.

"Actually, no, I'm not. That's why I'm asking you to clarify, so that I, the customer, can get the full picture. Now, back to the predicate. 'Rescind,' or 'Resend?' The way you pronounce the word, it's a homonym. And, as with "raise" and "raze," these two words have vastly different meanings. Well, not as different as raise/raze-- that's one's just ridiculous. Now, I can understand that a phone person might not have the power to revoke a contract, but to be denied the power to even forward me a copy of it, which almost seems the more likely thing that you're saying, makes little sense to me."

"I can't send you another copy," she said testily. Almost as if she felt insulted. "Look, if these dates won't work, I can refund the money that you've put down."

"Aha! In fact, the powers do apparently fall along counter-intuitive lines," I said. "Very well, may I speak to a supervisor?"

"All complaints must be made in writing," she said. "And the supervisors can't be reached by phone."

"Wow. It's good that y'all have planned for success," I said. "But whoever said anything about a complaint?"

"Well, I just figured..."

"Indeed."

I hung up. I really should have gotten some coffee in me before attempting that call.

To would-be Christmas punsters:

Yes, we get it. Santa says "Ho, ho, ho."

Sounds like the now rather old slang alteration of "whore," the etymology of which Merriam-Webster traces back to the early years of the Johnson administration.

And I thought that this was kind of funny, when I first heard it. After all, I was twelve years old.

But now, almost a quarter century later... not so much. Dunno if it lost its luster from the overtelling over time, or if, like so many things that twelve-year-olds find funny, it never was funny in the first place.

Tell you what: let's just put it on the back burner for a decade or two, and see if it's still funny later. Then you can whistle appreciatively and hiss "Classic!"

And won't that be fun?

Heh. This is the kind of crap I grew up with...

Is it a treatise on language? On guns? History? On making do?

This piece by Dad is talk of the ilk which I grew up hearing.

And it's pretty damned good, actually. I like it, anyway.

Growing up with these tendancies can make it difficult to find like-minded friends, at times. :)

Tamara made the case the other day for the Internet being far more humanity-bearing than anyone cares to admit, in that it connects scads of like-minded people who might never meet another like them, otherwise.

I've met a few language/gun junkies in my non-Internet life, but I can name you a quick score of 'em off the top of my head, whom I met online.

"I made a mistake."

A mistake is forgetting your hat.

A mistake is tripping over a step you had forgotten.

A mistake is reading "1 tspn salt" in a cake recipe, and putting in a Tablespoon.

A mistake is missing your exit.

A mistake is setting your alarm, neglecting to change it from "PM" to "AM."



A mistake is not a consistent and imaginative course of action that involves multiple crimes that were committed over 6 years.