Jean Withers, the Winnemucca native in the big hat and the crocheted flower appliques who’s challenging incumbent Stephanie Smith, and who shrugs off requests that she contrast her qualifications or character with those of Ms. Smith, insisting “We’re two different people; you can’t compare one person with another” (Thomas Jefferson or Joseph Stalin; George Washington or Charles Manson -- I know I could never decide), was discussing her proposal that the North Las Vegas City Council “form a committee that could counsel with those people” who live in the older, southeastern sections of the municipality, instructing them in how to refurbish their “run-down” properties.

Bridling a bit at the nice lady’s repeated references to “those people,” I asked Ms. Withers, “How would you feel if someone from the city showed up and starting telling you how to maintain your property?”

“Oh, but they do,” she replied. “We get letters if there are inappropriate things in our yards. Some people leave inappropriate things on their porches.”

“What kinds of things?” someone asked.

“We had a man in our neighborhood” (Country Gardens, a gated community off Decatur between Ann Road and Lone Mountain) “who got several letters because he kept leaving his shoes on his porch.”

“His shoes?” asked editor Tom Mitchell.

“Yes,” said Ms. Withers.

“But what if he was Japanese?” Mitch asked.

“He was,” the candidate replied.

(Many Japanese folk are so scrupulous about keeping the insides of their homes spotless that they prefer you leave your shoes outside the door, rather than track dirt inside.)

Although she sat on the neighborhood association at the time, Ms. Withers did not personally sign these letters -- intended to enforce the community’s deed covenants -- which came from the developer, she explained.

“And ... did the letters resolve the problem?” I asked, now somewhat hesitantly. “Did he stop leaving his shoes on the porch?”

“He moved,” Ms. Withers explained.

Ah, yes. Land of the free, home of the brave. But please check your rights -- and your culture -- at the community gate.

###

Complaints that you “don’t like cops” go with the territory, when part of your job is rooting out police-state abuses.

Few seem to remember the pieces we write, heartily congratulating officers who drew firster and shot straighter when the necessity arose -- knowing most take no personal joy in seeing another piece of our crime problem hauled away feet first -- adding only our recommendation that these good guys start carrying something of a slightly larger caliber in their ankle holsters.

Mind you, I have no intention of letting up on our burgeoning “May I see your travel papers please; unload your firearm and place it on the hood; I’m going to feel your crotch now” police state. But when a cop does something right, I figure I ought to say so.

Given my modestly high profile, I decided long ago to cave on the principle that we shouldn’t allow a God-given (and constitutionally guaranteed) human right to be converted into a “conditional privilege”; I held my nose and applied for a totally unconstitutional state “permit” to carry a concealed weapon in Nevada.

This spring, I went to the Metropolitan Police Department fingerprint office, here in Vegas -- they’ve constructed a fancy new building, way out near the dog pound -- to get my permit renewed.

Fingerprinting is digital now; much less messy. The sheriff admits they’re re-fingerprinting us all to help build up a digital database which they share with the federals. I don’t like that much, though I’m sure my opinion isn’t costing the FBI any sleep.

What really got me scowling, though, was the gal who took my pictures -- four of them: front and profile, with and without my eyeglasses.

“You only use one on the permit,” I pointed out. “What are the others for?”

I got the usual “just doing our job.”

Not seeing any point in grilling the young functionary any further, I drove to my office and fired off a letter to Clark County Sheriff Bill Young, asking why we law-abiding Nevada gun owners were being posed for mug shots like a bunch of criminals.

Sheriff Young called me a couple of weeks later. “I got your letter, Vin, and I think you’re right,” he said. “We’ll let people know they have the option of only having the front photo taken that’s required by law.”

Assuming that instruction gets passed down the chain of command -- as they assure me it will be -- I think the sheriff did the right thing. He did it all on his own, without “sending it through channels” for a couple of years. I appreciated that. And I thought I’d say so.