Examining the case for a ban on body armor after mass shooting in Buffalo
Paul Riddell didn't sell body armor to the 18-year-old bigot accused of killing 10 people Saturday at a Buffalo grocery store. Wouldn't have sold it, in fact.
He's haunted anyway. Another mass shooting, another zealot in the sort of tactical gear Riddell disperses to a deliberately limited clientele.
"All I can see is this scene playing out in my head," Riddell said, "where these innocent victims are killed by this guy."
It's a scene where a former police officer working security puts a bullet into the attacker's torso, according to authorities, but the bullet is neutralized by Payton Gendron's vest, and the guard is shot to death along with six others inside the store and three outside.
It's a scene played out before at a movie theater in Aurora, Colorado, a supermarket 35 miles away in Boulder, and First Baptist Church in Sutherland Springs, Texas — at least 21 places in total since 1982, according to a nonprofit research group called The Violence Project, with most of them in the past decade.
It's a scene that increasingly comes with questions: How on Earth can civilians get their hands on body armor they plan to use in battles against the first responders it's meant for? Is that against the law? What can be done?
The answers: They buy it, visiting anything from a website to a swap meet. It's legal to own, with limited exceptions. And there's little to be done to restrict sales — which probably isn't as outrageous as it might seem after Buffalo.
Riddell, 53, spent nearly 15 years with the Port Huron Police Department before a car crash on patrol drove him reluctantly from the field. He works now with On Duty Gear, the police equipment store founded by his wife, Cissy, in 1999.
On Duty has a store in Clinton Township, a website and a firm policy.
"By design and by choice, we sell body armor to law enforcement, other first responders and security personnel only," Riddell said. "We do not sell to civilians."'
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Not the well-intentioned, not the clowns playing army and concocting plans to kidnap the governor of Michigan, and not, ideally, to mass murderers.
What the laws say
Federal law says it's a crime for anyone convicted of a violent felony to own a bulletproof vest. The maximum sentence is three years in prison.
State laws vary. Connecticut's is considered the most stringent, with all sales required to be face-to-face.
Michigan allows sales online or in person to anyone 18 or older without a felony conviction. Committing or attempting a violent crime while swaddled in body armor, or even threatening violence, is a separate felony beyond the original offense and can bring up to four years in prison and a $2,000 fine.
Don Shelton, who directs the criminology and criminal justice department at the University of Michigan-Dearborn, wore body armor twice in his 25 years as a district court judge in Ann Arbor. He can’t remember why, other than that he was asked to by court security.
What he does recall is how intensely uncomfortable it was — hot, sweaty, jabbing in inconvenient places.
In his view, it’s only fair to let everyday citizens experience the same discomfort he did — though in a perfect world, he’d feel differently.
“It’s hard to deny civilians the right to wear body armor in view of the rampant availability of guns to everyone,” he said.
Body armor is not protected by the Second Amendment, he noted. In his view, neither are guns to the extent that recent iterations of the Supreme Court have decreed.
Get a handle on guns, he said, and then maybe we’ll be justified in closer scrutiny of who has access to accessories that stop bullets.
Legitimate users
As president of the Police Officers Association of Michigan, James Tignanelli has a vested interest in keeping first responders safe.
He spent 18 years in a patrol car in Fraser. With the POAM, he helps represent about 550 bargaining units across both peninsulas and three-quarters of Michigan’s counties.
He wishes Gendron hadn't been outfitted in armor, he said, but think about a fellow emptying safes for 7-Eleven. Or a jewelry broker. Or his dad, who owned a gas station on the east side of Detroit.
“It’s too broad a brush to say no civilian should have one,” he said.
Gendron arrived at the Tops market in Buffalo wearing a tactical helmet and plated armor. Thanks to technological advancements, his vest was probably lighter and more comfortable than the model Tignanelli still has hanging in a closet, and it fit over his shirt instead of under.
Modern body armor is frequently sold in multiple parts — the vest, sometimes referred to as a plate carrier, and the plates that fit into it.
Grainger, the industrial supplier that sells everything from squeegees to gears, offers carriers for as little as $75.04. A high-end United Shield Active Shooter Kit with a carrier, plates and helmet goes for $969.87, and is marked for government, military and law enforcement sale only.
Riddell said his top-selling models run $600 to $800. He could move more of them than he does, “but I don’t want a product I sold to be used to hurt someone in law enforcement.”
Walk through the door at On Duty Gear, he said, and you’ll be asked for a department ID.
Order online and you can expect a call or an email asking for the same information.
“Then we follow up with a phone call to the employer,” he said. “It’s a little bit labor intensive, but we think it’s worth it.”
The world is awash in nightmares already. He doesn't need guilt fueling the images in his mind.
Neal Rubin is honorary chair of Bookstock, Michigan's largest charity used book and media sale, running through Sunday at Laurel Park Place in Livonia. Reach him on Twitter at @nealrubin_fp, or email NARubin@freepress.com.
This article originally appeared on Detroit Free Press: Michigan body armor sales rules questions arise amid Buffalo shooting
