“I did this joke, saying, ‘If I can’t beat the guy up, I’d sue the bastard.’”

From the audience came a yell. “Hey, Jew-boy!”

In a beat the comic replied, “Listen, pal. I wouldn’t need my lawyer for you, OK? Knock it off.”

Again came the taunt, “Jew-boy!”

It was a hot moment as the comic turned to him, “You know, look at the size of you, you big Aryan man you. I’ll be honest with you. You’d probably kick the shit out of me. There’s really nothing I could do. And, yet, I feel bad for you, because I know that’s not somethng you learned in college, how to hate Jews. So it must be something you learned at home around the dinner table. Your father, working for a rich Jewish man, saying ‘Jew, Jew, Jew, Jew-boy’. Yeah, you’d kick the shit out of me.”

As the comic scanned the audience his eyes settled on a table of black students.

“Hey you black dudes out there! If he hates Jews, you know what he thinks about you guys. Would you take that shit? ” With their attention riveted on him, he asked, “Could you do me a favor? Will you escort this asshole out of here?”

“You got it, brother!” came the reply.

The black students stood up as a group of ten and turned to the taunter. One of them said, “Get your motherfucking ass out!”

A woman answered the door. “Oh hi. You came.”

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s my husband. He’s been drinking. He didn’t go to work this morning.”

I get her name, her age, the name of her husband. “Has he got any guns in the house?”

“No.”

“Knives of any sort? Swords?”

“No.”

“Where’s he at?”

She says, “Oh, take it easy on him. He obeys the law. It’s just when he’s drinking.”

“OK. Sounds good. You wait here.” Now I start walking down this long hallway. And as I’m walking down the hallway, my gun’s unsnapped, still in the holster. I see an alcove built into the wall. I remember looking into this room, then to the alcove. He’s standing there with a gun.

Mid-step it was, bonk! I said, “Oh, how you doing, man?” We are within a foot or two of each other. I remember looking at him and thinking, “Oh fuck!” Everything is slowed down. I remember looking at the gun barrel, thinking, I don’t know how he’s able to hold that with one hand. That’s a huge gun. The bullet is going to smash me. I felt every breath I took I could feel every molecule of air. I started to perspire. It felt like every drop was an ice cube.

I said, “Man, why don’t you put the gun down. You haven’t got problems now. Why don’t you just put the gun down?”

He said, “Fuck you! I’ll kill you and her.”

“Oh boy,” I says. “Buddy, you don’t want to do that. Put the gun down, and let’s end it right here. Because if you don’t, you’re going to die.”

He says, “I’ll kill you!”

Suddenly the gun went down in size and I remember calculating, “That’s a .22 or a .25. If he doesn’t get me in the head, it’s going to take some time for me to die. Well, I’ll be able to kill him because I carry a .38 special.” My gun was half way up, still in the holster.

I says, “I’ll tell you what buddy. You’ve got your chance. Put it down, because I’m going to count to four. When I reach four, you may as well goddam shoot, because I drawing and I’m killing you. I’m not going to die right way. OK? One… .”

And he put the gun down. I was going to draw on two.

He goes, “Aw fuck!” All I remember is his arm reaching all the way to the floor. He must have bent over, but I didn’t notice.

“OK,” I says, “let’s grab the wall.” I put the gun in the waste can, handcuffed him.