Haha - I was 20 feet away from being the guy in the article back in 1985.
It was April 1, 1985, and I had just moved to a new state. The moving van had unloaded that morning and the unpackers were not scheduled until the next day, so I carried a bunch of stuff to my new office. The office phone rang and it was my boss telling me there was an emergency in city X and arrangements were being made for me to fly there ASAP today. After a few minutes of total panic, I called the boss back, thanked him for jerking my chain so hard on the first day in the new office and rudely wished him a happy April Fool's Day. Except it was not a joke and the boss told me to get my carcass to the airport. I raced home, scrounged through moving boxes to find clothes and took them to my car; some of the stuff was crammed in a carry-on bag in the car's trunk.
Everything was a rushed blur until I got to the airport, picked up my ticket, and was walking to the security checkpoint. It finally dawned on me that the carry-on bag seemed awfully heavy. About twenty feet from the security checkpoint, I stopped at a bench and checked the bag. Under my hastily gathered clothes was ... my wife's loaded S&W N-frame .357 revolver!
Yep, the movers had refused to transport firearms, so my wife had put her HD revolver in the bag in the trunk of the car we had driven to our new residence and I had dumped clothes into the bag without looking.