When Russell Lewis wants to unwind, he heads from his suburb of Florissant, Missouri, to the SharpShooter indoor gun range in St. Louis.
On an early winter Saturday, Russell takes aim at paper targets, including one labeled 鈥淪nowflakes,鈥� and fires his Panzer Arms M4 12-gauge shotgun. It gives off a deafening blast that you can feel from several feet back.
鈥淚t鈥檚 just something about the power and being able to release that and let it go downrange,鈥� Russell says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 just a nice thing to do. It relaxes me.鈥�
Russell鈥檚 wife, Sharis, came to practice with her new handgun, a SIG Sauer P365. She鈥檚 been worried about increasing crime in St. Louis, which had the in 2020. She said learning to use a firearm made her feel safer at home.
鈥淚 kinda feel like the door now is for the person on the other side of it,鈥� Sharis says. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 for their protection. Because this is a peaceful place for us, and now I can defend that peace.鈥�
Sharis and Russell are part of a quickly growing cohort of African American gun owners. Nationwide, surveys found that , up from .
The State of Missouri And most adults can carry firearms without permits in many public places.
But even gun enthusiasts say new owners often lack the information needed to keep themselves safe 鈥� especially when it comes to suicide prevention. Homicides in Missouri recently reached a record high, spurring even more people to buy guns, but .
That鈥檚 where Bill Mays comes in.
Strolling into a St. Louis pawn shop, Mays gave a cheery greeting on his way to the gun counter in back. He makes regular visits to spots like this across the city, to restock safety pamphlets and talk with shop owners.
As a firearms trainer and a concealed carry advocate, Mays has been part of the St. Louis gun community for years. He said he knows how to talk with fellow gun enthusiasts in ways that health experts usually can鈥檛.
鈥淚t鈥檚 a matter of, if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, then what is it? I鈥檓 a duck!鈥� Mays said. 鈥淪o I can talk. But if you come in there and you a hen and you talking to ducks, they not gonna understand that language.鈥�
Mays, who is Black, is part of the , a project based at the University of Missouri鈥揝t. Louis involving gun owners across Missouri. They鈥檙e hoping to persuade gun sellers, owners and their families to help keep firearms temporarily out of the hands of people in crisis.
Suicide is usually an impulsive act. If people nearing suicide are kept away from a means of killing themselves for even a short period of time, their risk of dying can drop dramatically.
鈥淭hat鈥檚 the thing about suicide, is that you can have that feeling, but if someone intervenes, you know, that feeling can easily go away,鈥� Mays said.
Firearms are a main focus of suicide prevention efforts because they are more deadly than other methods.
Missouri's Safer Homes Collaborative is modeled on the , which sought to soothe any fears about stepping on Second Amendment rights by involving gun owners to deliver the message about .
But this message still doesn鈥檛 always go over well with gun rights advocates, and Mays' charm is sometimes put to the test. On one visit, a shop owner told Mays that his materials were no longer welcome.
鈥淚 went to a shop and the guy said, 鈥榃e鈥檙e not doing that anymore, because we don鈥檛 want that anti-gun stuff in here,鈥欌�� Mays said. 鈥淚鈥檓 like, 鈥楥鈥檓on, are you kidding me? You know this is not no anti-gun! Would I be talking to you?鈥欌��
Mays is not easily discouraged. He knows from personal experience how even small actions can save lives.
A few years ago, Mays struggled with suicidal thoughts, he said. He remembers one episode when he was on the verge of taking his life. But he said a phone call with his daughter pulled him out of the crisis.
When Mays signed on with the Safer Homes project, he told project director Katie Ellison he was worried about where the growing gun ownership was leading.
鈥淚 told her I think in the near future, suicide鈥檚 gonna be big among African Americans,鈥� Mays recalled.
'The model gun owner'
For decades, older white men have had among the highest rates of suicide, in part because of high rates of gun ownership. Having a gun in the home .
Since 2012, however, suicides among young Black men have . And suicide rates for .
While overall suicide rates for white Americans remain much higher than for African Americans, , associate director of the Harvard Youth Violence Prevention Center, said it's past time to update assumptions about who owns firearms 鈥� and who's at risk for suicide.
Azrael coauthored a new study estimating that from 2019 to April 2021, . Of the new buyers, 21% were Black.
鈥淭he model gun owner has already been a White guy," Azrael said. "That鈥檚 the vision that people have, and to the extent that who the gun owner we鈥檙e thinking about, when we鈥檙e thinking about who鈥檚 at risk for suicide, has changed, then it鈥檚 really important that there be efforts to reach out to new populations of gun owners 鈥� to women, to African Americans, to Hispanics 鈥� who are newly exposed and exposing other to the risk of a gun in the house."
In St. Louis, Reba Rice-Portwood has been urging her neighbors to recognize the shifting trends.
鈥淲hen someone would die by suicide, and if we heard about it on television, or we read about it or something like that, we would always assume that it was a Caucasian,鈥� Rice-Portwood said.
That assumption was broken when she lost her son, Ricky, to suicide in 2014.
Rice-Portwood said Ricky had an 鈥渙ld soul.鈥� He loved Sam Cooke and looked out for older people in his mother鈥檚 apartment complex, but Reba said her son was also tormented by depression.
On Sept. 17, Reba got a frantic call at work from her son鈥檚 fianc茅e, who told her that Ricky had shot himself.
Ricky died later that day at a hospital. He was 22.
鈥淲hat did I do so bad in this life for God to allow my son to pass?鈥� Rice-Portwood asked.
In the days following her son鈥檚 death, Rice-Portwood grappled with shock and grief. She strained to understand how her son, who was known to struggle with his mental health, managed to obtain a gun.
Then came surprising news: Ricky鈥檚 fianc茅e discovered she was pregnant.
Today, Rice-Portwood is raising her grandson, Jackson, who鈥檚 6 years old. On a Saturday morning at her apartment, he shows off his multiplication skills on a tablet while his "granny" beams.
A former jail worker, Rice-Portwood is now a counselor, and she's outspoken about the need to address trauma among young African Americans in St. Louis. She grapples with how to stop the spread of gun violence, especially when the proliferation of firearms in her community seems impossible to contain.
Despite what happened to her son, Reba still keeps a .380 pistol in a safe at home. She said she鈥檚 held onto it for one big reason.
鈥淔ear. Like, actually I went to the grocery story about three weeks ago, you know, and was almost carjacked,鈥� Rice-Portwood said. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 the reason why I still have it now, because I was like, it鈥檚 just too much going on.鈥�
'Who's going to help?'
For Bill Mays and his friends, discussions about self-defense and guns have taken on increased urgency.
At Bang Good BBQ, next door to the SharpShooter range, Bill Mays meets up with Russell and Sharis Lewis. After placing lunch orders, they launch into talking about firearms, the Kyle Rittenhouse case and recent incidents of violence against African Americans.
Living in St. Louis, a city with a strained relationship between police and Black residents, Sharis sees double standards in law enforcement and justice. Those reinforce her belief that carrying a pistol has become a requirement for her personal safety.
鈥淢e calling the police officer for help, I鈥檓 probably not going to get help,鈥� Sharis said. 鈥淚 have to be able to explain that I鈥檓 the victim. And as soon as they show up to the scene: 鈥業 called you. I鈥檓 the one that needs the help,鈥� you know what I mean? So, who鈥檚 going to help?鈥�
Mays said he鈥檚 felt those safety concerns too. But his work in suicide prevention, and renewed interest in religion, has changed his personal relationship with firearms.
鈥淚 think a lot about the Bible. And the experience with Jesus 鈥� would Jesus walk around with a firearm? Of course not,鈥� Mays said. 鈥淏ut it鈥檚 more than that. It鈥檚 just a point of 鈥� I don鈥檛 want to hurt anybody. I don鈥檛 want anybody to hurt me, but I just don鈥檛 want to hurt anybody like that.鈥�
Although he no longer carries a gun, Mays wants to keep helping the people who do 鈥� and hope that those tough conversations might prevent another suicide death in Missouri.
If you or someone you know is in crisis, please contact the any time by calling 1-800-273-8255 or texting 鈥淗OME鈥� to 741741.
