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by Fran Van Cleave
In November of '93, I had recently joined the Libertarian Party, not knowing any of the members very well, so at the Spaghetti Company monthly meeting I sat down next to someone I'd never seen before, a good-looking young man with a short Republican haircut.
By way of context, I should add that as a former Democratic campaign worker and fan of Tim Leary, I'd been a little bemused by the motley Libertarian mix of long-hairs and former conservatives, and had an ingrained distrust of just how "former" the latter could be. But I thought, what the hell, might as well try to be friendly.
We began talking in that desultory way strangers have while waiting for the meeting to start and the waiter to appear. He said he'd been interested in politics, Republican politics, for a long time. Surprising in one so young; he was only 24. He also said he'd wanted at one time to become a policeman, but after taking a class on Constitutional law, he began to think there were too many unConstitutional laws that he wouldn't want to enforce.
Like what? I asked.
Drug laws, he replied. He was very opposed to people using illegal drugs, but he'd come to the realization that it wasn't up to government to tell people what they could put in their own bodies. Besides, the Drug War's making the problem worse, not better.
It would not be inaccurate to say that Democratic cynicism had just taken a direct hit. I thought, my God, if someone this conservative-looking can sit down with me and talk rationally about the insanity of our vaunted Drug War, then there's hope..
That young man was Dean Pleasant, one of 12 members of the Viper militia indicted for conspiracy to furnish instruction in the making of explosive devices in the furtherance of civil disorder, furnishing instruction of same, conspiracy to manufacture unlicensed explosive devices, and possession of automatic weapons without tax stamps.
I won't go into long-winded detail about how I don't believe Dean would ever deliberately harm anyone who hadn't attacked him or another person first. If that were so, he wouldn't be a true Libertarian, and I wouldn't be writing this. I'd rather talk about my friend Dean, the person I've known.
When Ernie Hancock, our county chair, was severely burned in a fire the day after the '94 elections, Dean, Chris Wilcoxson and I took turns taking care of his four kids so that his wife could visit him at the Maricopa County Burn Unit. Dean spent more time than any of us with those kids. He bought them ice cream, took them to the movies, and gave them Christmas presents. We all gave them presents, but he gave more than we did, always.
Dean helped other people, too. When Tamara Clark came down from Las Vegas to manage John Buttrick's campaign for governor, she lived at party headquarters, and got the scare of her life when five men tried breaking in at 2:00 a.m. one night. Dean guarded her at night for weeks after that, catching naps on the sofa, running off to school during the day. Several men tried breaking in again while he was there; Dean caught one attempting to disconnect the phone lines, and then the police rolled up and let the guy go.
Did he always carry a gun? I can't remember ever seeing him without one. Since he started working the night shift at Kathy's Donut Farm, the Circle K across the street has been robbed eight times. Last July, a man wearing an overcoat came in wanting donuts at three AM. He didn't care what kind, but he did want coffee. When Dean turned around and reached for the coffee pot, his jacket cleared the gun on his hip. The man was out the door so fast, all Dean saw was the swinging door. We'll never know whether the man was hiding a gun under that overcoat or simply suffering from strangely low body temperature, but I think it's worth pointing out that bloodshed can be averted by the display of a weapon.
I knew he spent a lot of time on shooting and related pastimes. Not only did he talk about it, but he and his friends had their own newsletter called SHF News which ran pictures of the guys shooting Dean's Tommy gun. SHF News has good- quality layout, fonts, and printing, but suffers from a regrettably puerile content. On the front cover of the Dec. '95 issue, it says "We have no other life but our guns," and "Merry Christmas to all four of our readers." The girl on the front cover is drinking a beer, and the caption underneath says, "The way we like our women -- drunk!"
When he gave me a copy, he apologized for the cover, and said, "I know -- it's pretty rude. You probably won't want to read it, but you know how young guys are...." I glanced through it and said, "Dean, you need a woman. All of you guys need girlfriends."
He looked embarrassed. "I know." He also told me and another friend that one of the reasons he stayed with this group was because two of the guys were pretty crazy, and he felt that he had a good effect on calming them down.
When I interviewed Dean last spring, gathering personalities and ideas for a planned science-fiction novel, I asked him where he thought this country was headed. He said it may end up like Belfast.
I said, "God, that would be insane. Nobody would talk about freedom under those conditions. All they'd be able to think about would be their friend or their relative who'd just gotten hurt or killed." Dean said, "You're right, it'd be absolutely crazy."
After the arrests, I telephoned Dean's parents. They were stunned, bewildered, and feeling helpless to do anything for their son. Mrs. Pleasant explained that the guards at the jail wouldn't even let her see him the first night he was arrested. They refused to give him a pencil to fill out the required visitor's card; a pencil is a "dangerous implement."
I attended the bail hearings all day Tuesday, and was able to speak with him for perhaps a minute, while officers were handcuffing the other defendants to take them all away. He looked better than I expected, but his stunned humiliation was obvious to anyone who knew him.
He said, "You probably won't be able to see me [in maximum security]. That's the worst thing about this, that I can't see my friends."
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