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"There's been no really bad situations that have occurred, and there's been no really exciting things that have been prevented," says Jim Franklin, executive director of the Minnesota Sheriffs' Association. "Both sides have been somewhat tempered. The law as written has worked as well as it could for these past five years."
Even those gun signs seem to be fading from some storefronts. Jim Pratt owns Adrian's Tavern in south Minneapolis, and when the MCPPA passed, his wife encouraged him to post a sign banning guns. But about two years ago, the sign was stolen, and he hasn't bothered to replace it. "It wasn't worth it to put it back up again," he says.
At least one business has even decided to post a sign encouraging permit holders to carry their pistols inside. Cheri Kappas, co-owner of the Gopher Bar in St. Paul, says she originally put up a tongue-in-cheek sign discouraging pistol carriers, but after an armed robbery, U of M art students drew up a new sign for her that depicts a gopher holding a gun and says, "Permit holders welcome here."
Since then, there hasn't been any trouble, and she credits the sign for dissuading would-be criminals. "They know there's people with guns in here, they kinda leave you alone," she says.
Most of Joel Rosenberg's pistol-permit class takes place in the beige, fluorescent-lit conference room of the AmericInn Chanhassen, where the stocky, bearded instructor holds court with the practiced ease of a professional lecturer. Clad in a T-shirt and jeans with a revolver tucked into the waistband, he lays out all the rules for carrying a pistol in Minnesota, bouncing on the balls of his feet to punctuate his sentences.
Some of the five-hour lecture pertains to where and when you can carry, what types of pistols and holsters are best to carry for self-defense, and which states honor Minnesota's pistol permit. But the majority of Rosenberg's time is spent trying to convince his students that they never, ever want to be in a situation where they'd have to use a gun.
"I'm a big fan of running away," he says, explaining how Minnesota's self-defense laws require the victim to retreat if practical before firing.
He also discourages heading into a bad neighborhood under the assumption that you can "take care of yourself" if you're armed.
"Why go there at all?" he asks. "If there's no conflict, there's no consequences."
His students pay rapt attention, some scribbling notes despite the fact that there won't be a written test later. Craig Vogel, a 27-year-old, tan, and bespectacled National Guardsman, agrees with Rosenberg's cautionary sentiments wholeheartedly. "Me personally, I'd use it as a last resort," he says. "I'm not a person that gets involved in conflicts, I wouldn't go out looking for trouble."
Vicky, a 44-year-old in the class who asked that her real name not be used, recently received an emergency permit to help protect herself against a violent ex, and is now renewing that permit.
"We don't go into carrying like we're going to kill someone," she says. "But we could take self-defense courses all we want and if it's someone who's truly bigger than us it's not going to do much good."