A Most Uncommon Lawfare

Now, in all my travels up and down Nevada, and from the Pacific coast to the cracked and buckled boardwalks of Virginia City, I never once heard tell of a “welfare check” so full of ill-will and thundering nonsense as the one that befell old Mr. and Mrs. Yenovkian of Las Vegas.

To set the scene plain, this all started in that peculiar land known as California—where the trees are tall, the taxes taller, and every man, woman, and cow carries an opinion as if it were a saber. A gentleman by the name of Vem Miller, a former candidate for the Nevada Assembly and the sort of man who wears patriotism like a badge of honor on his vest, took a journey to Riverside County in the Golden State to attend a rally in support of one Mr. Donald J. Trump.

Now, whether you love or loathe that particular fellow is your own business and none of mine, but suffice to say the rally drew a crowd that makes sheriffs nervous and old ladies faint.

Invited as a special guest by the Nevada Republican Party–Vem Miller brought—not concealed in a boot or under a seat but stowed lawfully in his trunk firearms. Not loaded or brandished. Just sitting like old hounds waiting for the hunt.

But no sooner had Vem arrived than the sheriff of Riverside, one Chad Bianco, declared to the newsmen with all the bravado of a dime novel hero that he had “probably stopped another assassination attempt.” Probably! Now, friends, I don’t know about you, but when my barber tells me he’s “probably” not going to cut my ear, I reconsider my haircut.

To his credit, Vem maintained his composure, stating it was all a misunderstanding and that he had done what he always did—alert the local constabulary that he was legally armed in case they had forgotten the Second Amendment. He even went so far as to file a lawsuit—$100 million, mind you—accusing the sheriff of defamation and constitutional foul play.

Here’s where the story turns from the ridiculous to the grotesque. Days after the arrest, officers from the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police—an outfit known for its shiny boots and dusty procedures—showed up not at Vem’s house but at the quiet residence of his aged parents, Berj and Sonia Yenovkian. These two elderly souls, who had never started a riot nor missed a church raffle, found themselves face-to-face with lawmen claiming to be performing a “welfare check.”

A what? Who called it in? Nobody knew. It was as if the idea of concern had taken corporeal form and placed the call by itself. But the officers didn’t come bearing tea and blankets. No, sir. They wanted inside, and they were none too subtle about it. The Yenovkians, confused and frightened, stood like store mannequins until the officers were satisfied they weren’t harboring their rebellious son in the broom closet.

According to the lawsuit they filed soon after, the whole ordeal left them humiliated and shaken, and not two sunsets later, they were handed a five-day eviction notice and pushed out of their rented home like yesterday’s tenants of Sodom.

A family friend, Steve Sanson, joined them in filing complaints with the Internal Affairs Division, which—true to modern custom—did absolutely nothing. Nowadays, a man’s good name and a woman’s peace of mind are worth less than the ink it takes to file a complaint.

So now the Yenovkians and their son have taken to the courts, that final refuge of the beleaguered American, hoping to find some justice in a system that no longer recognizes the sound of its gavel. And if you’re asking yourself whether such things can happen in a free country, I invite you to recall that we live in an age where ‘probably’ is a valid reason for arrest, and a “welfare check” is just a clever disguise for a warrantless search.

If Samuel Clemens were still walking this earth with pen in hand, he’d say, “It’s a good thing we’ve got liberty, because Lord knows we haven’t got sense.”