Kenneth D. Gartrell

By: Kenneth D. Gartrell

Get a license to carry a concealed weapon…at least that is what I did?

When we make economic decisions we weigh the marginal cost and the marginal benefit of the decisions we are making. But as this tale tells, the point at which we assess the marginal cost and benefit can influence a great deal whether we will take a certain course of action or not.

I like to take occasional trips to exotic places in the world and spend a few days fishing and shooting. Most of my shooting is done with clay pigeons at places like Sandanona, NY or at Holland and Holland in London. I also enjoy the company of good friends who prefer with me to bag our own Hungarian partridge and pheasant for gourmet cooking. I am not fanatic about any of this, but it does provide rewards that are not so common in everyday life.

Until recently, I never owned a firearm and just used what was at hand wherever I visited.
When I finally decided to get my own firearm, I ordered a custom made shotgun from the AyA factory in Spain. I, unwittingly, set off a string of activities that raise interesting questions about how people economize in the face of complex regulations. The following is brief recounting of the experience that followed.

I live in Boston. Firearm laws here are very strict for anyone who seeks legally to have any kind of firearm in their house for lawful purposes. I live near in the Historic South End and often it does not appear that neighboring teenagers roaming the alleys behind all these multi-level, multi-million dollar, Civil-War era townhouses face the same restrictions on firearms as the taxpayers. But that aside, I want to focus on what you must do to own a classic custom firearm and keep it in a locked safe in your Civil-War era townhouse for a once or twice yearly trip to France, Corsica or some other pristine destination.

Once I ordered my firearm, I had to have it shipped to an authorized and licensed firearms dealer in the Boston area. Federal and international mail restrictions, as well as firearm regulations, strictly prohibit shipment directly to my home. I did exactly what I had to do and when the firearm arrived after about a two-year wait (hand crafted firearms take longer to make than zip guns), I went to the appointed dealer to pick up the firearm. But, I was unable to take delivery because I had forgotten a little detail. Namely, that in order to get the firearm; I would have to supply a Federal Firearms Identification Card. I was truly remiss because I knew this was a requirement – it is just that you forget a lot in two years.

I backtracked to find out what I needed to do to get a FFID. The result seemed relatively painless. I was told all I needed to do was come to the new central police station near my house and make application for the ID and pay a fee.

In a day or so, I arrived at the police station and I was sent courteously to a window staffed by a uniformed police officer. Learning what I wanted, the officer invited me around behind the counter. I was promptly fingerprinted and I filled out an array of forms.

Then, the officer questioned me on my need for a firearm and my intended use.
I was told that in order to obtain an FFID in the City of Boston, I would first have to take a firearms safety course (reasonable) at a local gun club. The officer gave me the needed registration information and recommended a gun club in neighboring Dorchester. He was kind enough to point out that this was a good safe place. New police received their training at this club and veterans often went also to practice for their own fitness tests.

That night, I went home and called the gun club and made a reservation for the very next week to begin a four-week training course on Saturday mornings. At the appointed time and place, I showed up for my training. As I made my way through the maze of locked doors, I found my way into a classroom where other students awaited the instructors.

The other students were not like me. Most of them were younger and all of them were there because they needed to carry firearms in their line of work as private security guards. I felt a little out of place, but I decided I needed to follow the rules and do what the police asked.

The firearm safety class was divided into a combination of classroom instruction concerning Massachusetts’s firearm laws and hands on training, cleaning and firing in an enclosed range with classic police revolvers. The instructors were also proud to show off their personal collections of Glocks, Berettas, and WWII style Colt 45 automatics. I confess this all caught me by surprise, but step-by-step I found myself all the more fascinated.

After four weeks, I passed the course and I had established that I could score at least 240 out of 300 with 30 rounds on targets as close as 20 feet and as far as 50 feet. To tell the truth, I was proud of this accomplishment. It was not anything I ever had in mind and it was a far cry from my original intentions. Still, there was psychic reward in learning how to handle a dangerous situation with some air of confidence.

Four weeks later, with my certificate of training in hand, I returned to the central police station to meet with the same friendly sergeant as before. He agreed that I had completed all of the needed work for the FFID and for a small fee he was prepared to have one issued to me. But, he said “Considering that you have come this far, I recommend that for a small additional cost of money and a one day visit to the police firing rage on Moon Island, you apply for and obtain a license to carry a concealed weapon.”

His reasoning was flawless. He pointed out that the small incremental cost was eclipsed by the incremental benefits. He explained to me all the reasons why in the future I may want a license to carry. He explained that it would not be a good thing to stop at the FFID and come back later for a license to carry. He said it would look suspicious in case something dramatic and unexpected should ever happen any of my firearms. I saw his logic and on top of that I was made a little fickle by the potential bragging rights that go with qualifying as a police marksman.

A few weeks later after a lot of range practice at nights at the Dorchester club, I went to Moon Island and stood on an icy firing range to shoot my 270 out of 300 over 30 rounds at 50 feet and earned the right to get and keep a “license” to carry a concealed weapon.

Proud of my accomplishments, I retuned to police headquarters the next week and finished the process. This time there was a new hitch. Since I had last visited, I was told it had been decided by the new officers in charge of the department to issue licenses to carry for recreation use (limited to back and forth to the gun club) only on a restricted basis. Since, I never planned to carry or own a handgun that seemed unobjectionable to me, so I paid the fee and got my stamped restricted license.

Not long ago, I learned by chance that my “license” to carry was always pretty useless because impossible legally buy handgun in Massachusetts and it is illegal to buy one out of state and bring it home.

But, I do finally have my Spanish shotgun and here is an accounting of the total cost to acquire:

Shotgun cost including shipping and duties $15,000.00

Pickup fees 100.00
Training course 250.00
Licenses 100.00
Ammunition for training 200.00
Opportunity cost of total training time 16,000.00
Opportunity cost of total application time 4,000.00

Total cost of custom firearm $35,650.00

The moral

There are at least three economic lessons in this little tale.

First, when making economic decisions it matters a great deal where we define the margin and how clearly we understand the incremental costs at that point. In this case, it is fair to suppose I would not do all this all again. If I had gathered my information before hand, I would not have considered the incremental benefits greater than the incremental costs. I had simply wandered logically and incrementally through the maze. At each point, the marginal benefit seemed to equal or exceed the marginal cost.

Second, there is a lesson in just how complex firearm regulation can get. I never conceived how price discriminatory and discretionary the regulations could be. I have no objection to the fact that I cannot carry a concealed weapon. It was never my intention. Still, I am impressed at all the costs associated with the firearm regulations. I have to wonder whether the relative cost of all types of regulation are the same.

Third and finally, perhaps the most interesting, lesson is how effective the Boston Police were in getting me to subsidize them via my support of the firing range where they train. They also did a clever job in getting me to line the licensing coffers that help pay their salaries to enforce the fireman laws.