A Dagger Collector's Nightmare

Recently, on a bright and beautiful Sunday morning I received a call from a Vet who sounded like he had, from his description, a pretty nice SA dagger for sale. After getting directions to his home, I jumped in my car and with high expectations took a run over to see him. We negotiated for a while on what turned out to be a super SA dagger by Emil Voos. We finally agreed on a price and soon I departed with my new dagger in hand. When I got in the car I put the dagger on the seat next to me, as I had done with many other past finds, and thought to myself how great things were going on such a terrific day. Driving along, the thrill of my purchase grew; I couldn't resist picking up my new aquisition to examine it under the bright daylight sun. This however, turned out to be my big mistake of the day.

Suddenly from behind, I heard a siren and noticed a police cruiser in my rear view mirror gaining on me rapidly. I pulled over so he could easily pass, but to my surprise it was "me" he wanted! My first thought was that I must have been speeding, since I was concentrating more on the dagger than my driving. But alas, that was not the case. As the officer approached my car I readied my identification for his inspection. Turning to hand my ID through the window you can't imagine my shock to see not only a very large police officer but one with a very large service revolver pointed directly at me. "Keep your hands where I can see them and step out of the car", he ordered. Given the option that his 38 special offered, I quickly obliged. As I got out, this 6'5" gorilla attired in a blue uniform grabbed me, spun me around and threw me on the hood of my car. While searching me he asked what I was doing with a deadly weapon in the vehichle. For a moment I was dumbfounded; never had I thought of any of my daggers as a deadly weapon. While I stared at my reflection in the hood I tried to explain that I was a dagger collector (being careful not to use the term edged weapons). The more he talked however, the more evident it became to me that he was not vaguely aware of WWII, so the hobby of dagger collecting would surely be alien to him. Having now surrendered all my ID (to include my Sears credit card) to this history illiterate, I still had no success in convincing him of my innocence. Still positioned awkwardly across the hood I grew more apprehensive, worrying if this Gestapo incarnation was going to confiscate my dagger while he waited for the computer at SS HQ on Prinz Albrechtstrasse to clear my name. After thirty minutes of this painful delay a lieutenant finally arrived on this major crime scene, and after hearing the facts (as well as the officer's side of the incident) realized that I wasn't Jack the Ripper nor was I intent on holding up a Seven/Eleven with my massive, razor sharp instrument of terror. Before I was released however, I was instructed to place my dagger in the trunk. I had designs on putting the dagger somewhere else, but conceeded to their wishes and drove off, leaving Helmut and Fritz still puzzled over why my initials didn't match those on my dagger...SA....

Gailen David, "A Dagger Collector's Nightmare", Der Gauleiter, 1985