Just last night a friend told me that the Seattle police shot a native American woodcarver because he was whittling with his knife as he crossed the street in front of a patrol car.<p>"Put down the knife! Put down the knife!"<p>It turned out that he was deaf.<p>I myself once asked a stranger to dial 9-1-1 for me, as, being mentally ill, I realized I was becoming quite severely symptomatic.<p>Six - count 'em: SIX! - California Highway Patrol cars appeared damn near instantly.<p>"How can we help you?"<p>"Could you give me a non-emergency lift to a psychiatric hospital?"<p>"The dispatcher told us you had a knife?"<p>"I was using a razor blade to trim the spines from prickly pears." (The fruit of a cactus. Tasty, if you cut the spines off first.)<p>The head patrolman scolded me for not taking better care of myself, then one of the others gave me a lift at 140 miles per hour to a fast food joint.