Blunt instrument

When I was going through the TSA checkpoint in Philadelphia at the beginning of this run down the Mississippi, something very unfortunate happened.  The TSA agent who was going through my carry-on belongings approached me and said, "Is this your stick?" "Yes, sir," I replied.

"I have a problem with your stick," he said.

"What's wrong with it?", I asked him.

"It's a blunt instrument."

"It's my walking stick," I said.

"You can't fly with this stick," he insisted.  "It's a blunt instrument."

"But, sir, I've flown with it dozens of times, often right through Philadelphia, through this very checkpoint."

"Well, I'm telling you it's a blunt instrument, and I have an issue with it.  You can't fly with this stick." he said, glaring at me with hostility.

"Let me speak to your supervisor."

Whereupon he took me to the platform at the end of the line.

I repeated the whole story about how I'd been through that very checkpoint with the same walking stick many times.  I told the supervisor that the stick had great sentimental value for me, since I had run thousands of miles with it, and I really did need it for balance and traction, also to protect myself from angry dogs and during other dangerous situations, especially in remote and isolated places.

The supervisor looked a little uncomfortable, but knew she had to support her agent's assertion.  Half-a-dozen other TSA agents who were standing nearby witnessing what was going on also looked sympathetic.

In the end, they confiscated my beloved walking stick.  I felt as though a part of my soul had been torn away.

Looking back on what happened that day, it was very much a matter of definition and subjectivity.  The TSA agent subjectively defined my walking stick as a blunt instrument.  End of discussion.

BACKGROUND

During the first half of my transcontinental run (spread out over 2019-2024), when I never flew anywhere, I always carried the precious walking stick that I found on Mount Hiei outside Kyoto in Japan.  It is about 7/8 inches in diameter and 4 feet long.  It is from some special kind of tree that is light but strong as iron.  It has a unique wabi-sabi esthetic quality and  was probably used for many years by the person who lost it on Mt. Hiei (the tough bark — slightly peeling off and worm-eaten in places — glistened from human skin oils in a very subtle and attractibe way).

When I started flying to the beginning point of sections of my crosscountry route during the second half of my crosscountry run (from Omaha onward), I dared not risk having my Mt. Hiei stick confiscated, so I bought a backup stick at Menards (home improvement store like Home Depot and Lowe's).  It was a 3/4 inch dowel made of Wisconsin oak.  It was a beautiful piece of wood, with appealing grain and pinkish / light salmon color.  As I did with the Mt. Hiei stick, I wrapped red and green fluorescent reflective velcro bands around the top and bottom.  That was the stick I finished my transcontinental run with at Astoria, Oregon (roughly following the Lewis and Clark trail during the last part).  It meant much to me, and I will miss it dearly, an arborean companion for years and miles.

AFTERWORD

On September 12, 2001, I flew from Philadelphia to Laramie, Wyoming to deliver a lecture at the University there.  I was carrying a 6+ foot long, 2 inch diameter pole.  Aside from the skeleton crew, I was the only person on the big jet plane.  Nobody stopped me.  Instead, they seemed to respect me doing so.  When I transferred at Denver, I don't recall seeing any other people in the cavernous airport.  It was eerie to walk all alone to the gate where the small plane was waiting to take me to Laramie.

TSA began on November 19, 2001.

 

Selected readings

• "Terrorism and the magical power of words" (8/31/06)
• "Fact v. Assertion" (10/23/11)