I'm not sure why police officers seem to have a hard time with open carry laws when they clearly act as a tremendous deterrent to would-be criminals.
In 2003 I was living in a run down high-rise on the east side of Las Vegas at Cambridge and Flamingo, a block west of Maryland Parkway. While my building wasn't section 8, there were enough section 8 properties in the neighborhood to drag it into the toilet. Cars got broken into, people got robbed, and there was a lot of drug activity in the area. None of this really bothered me up on the 10th floor though, in fact, I used to enjoy sitting on my balcony and watching the ghetto birds comb through the neighborhood below with their spotlights looking for whoever they were after night after night. Everyday I would drive to work past the same dealers on the same corner (Cambridge and Katie) selling their shit to whoever stopped. Sometimes they'd be lined up against a wall while a Metro cop went through their pockets.
I used to stop at a convenience store on the corner of Katie and Maryland on my way home after gigs, and over time I got to be friendly with the older guy who worked 3rd shift there. His name was Sam, and he was a short little guy in his mid 60's. Sam liked politics, and we were of a similar mindset, so sometimes I'd keep him company in the store for a while while we chatted about libertarian issues. After a while, Sam told me that he owned the store, and the only reason he worked 3rd shift was that he wasn't able to find anyone willing to do it in that neighborhood that wasn't going to try and rob him blind. Sometimes Sam would clip articles out of newspapers or magazines that he thought I'd enjoy, and keep them behind the counter until he saw me again, it was nice.
Christmas in Las Vegas is a strange time, and it generally leads the desperate people in the city to commit even more desperate acts. At the time, there was no shortage of desperate people on the east side of Las Vegas, and the winter of 2003 saw a rash of robberies all along Maryland Parkway. One by one, it seemed like every little tavern and shop I knew got hit by one crew or another. Sometimes people got shot, sometimes the robbers just took what they wanted and left. I remember spending much of that Christmas season on a bar stool, looking up with apprehension every time the door opened, convinced that the next person to come into the joint was going to be waving a gun. Bar owners installed extra security cameras and people all over the place were on edge. It was an uncomfortable time.
You know who was never on edge? Sam.
The safest I ever felt that season was when I was chatting about politics with him in his shop at 4am after a long night, because Sam kept a .45 on his hip in plain sight, and every single asshole in the neighborhood knew it. Nobody ever even considered hitting his shop, and he never gave a thought to it beyond making sure that everyone who ever came into his place could see that he wasn't going to tolerate any bullshit.
I think that neighborhood has changed now, and Sam left town when his daughter got sick, but I've never forgotten that time period and the way his shop felt like an island of order in a sea of distress.