It seems we tolerate the long lines - in the name of safety - the same at a concert or football game as at an airport.

And, under Utah law, the gatekeepers checking our stuff must be trained. They also are licensed by the state, which happens only after an applicant undergoes a federal criminal background check involving two sets of fingerprints.

But a so-called industry bill - which flew under the radar during the recently completed legislative session - may have a profound effect on the caliber of security at, say, Rice-Eccles Stadium, the E Center or Usana Amphitheater, where that service is contracted out.

Senate Bill 71, which amends Utah's Security Personnel Licensing Act, exempts ticket takers and bag checkers from the aforementioned state standards. In short, they still will be screening, but they won't be classified as security or required to receive training and a license.

Critics fear the laxer standards could lead to screeners, at the least, turning a blind eye to booze smuggled in by friends. Their bigger worry is that something more ominous - like canisters of tear gas - could slip by.

"They can basically hire people off the streets," says Robert Anderton, Salt Lake City chapter chairman of the American Society for Industrial Security. "From a terrorist standpoint, you worry about the friend that walks in and they don't check the bags. You'd end up with a real mess."

Rep. Curtis Oda, R-Clearfield, who is calling for a veto, says SB71 was touted as a mere tweak affecting ticket takers. "I could not believe nobody really understood it."

But Kevin Bruder, president of Centennial Management, which has provided security for the E Center, Usana and Rice-Eccles, says the fears are overblown.

"They're hitting the panic button," he says. The bill "doesn't change how we've been operating. It clarifies some issues."

Bruder says creating a separate designation for bag checkers is appropriate since they mostly search for food and alcohol. "They're not security issues."

Besides, Bruder says, trained security guards along with uniformed and undercover police are on hand at such events.

Plus, he insists, all Centennial employees undergo an in-house background check.

That wasn't enough to appease state security officials during the Legislature.

"Our official opinion was neutrality, but we felt this was a public-safety issue," says Clyde Ormond, with the Division of Occupational and Professional Licensing.

DOPL officials testified as much to a Senate committee and pointed out the state would lose $38,000 a year from the security personnel no longer required to renew their licenses.

Without SB71 - which is awaiting the governor's verdict - all event-management licensees are required to fulfill 16 hours of security training every two years once they have cleared federal background checks.

Sessions include everything from bomb threats and search and seizure to sexual harassment.

The state licenses about 600 people every two years to conduct security in Utah, according to Ormond.

So why the proposed change?

It comes down to money, Oda says. By eliminating the license requirement, event-management companies such as Centennial can save the $99 state fee per employee.

It's a wrongheaded move, says Clark Aposhian, chairman of Utah Self Defense Instructors Network, who helped manage security at events such as NBA All-Star weekend at the Delta Center.

"They should have lobbied the Legislature to reduce the fees, rather than put the public at risk," he says. "In these heady days of homeland security, you've got to have at least security guards working those gates."

Salt Lake County Sheriff Aaron Kennard, who likens entrances at the E Center to the airport, agrees.

"If we don't catch it at the gate, where are we going to catch it?" he says, noting someone lacking a background check "can always be bought off."

"That worried me when the bill came up," he adds. "If they were able to get through that first line of defense, somebody could raise a lot of hell before they could be taken down."

Aposhian notes a small container of pepper gas "would affect everybody in [an arena or stadium] - let alone something more terrible."

Even so, Centennial has a solid track record, says Craig Black, assistant police chief for West Valley City.

"The communication is good. The operation is good. I have no complaints with the way they conduct business," Black says.

Rep. Brent Goodfellow, D-West Valley City, the House sponsor, concedes the industry has changed since 9-11.

But, he notes, the issue also raises philosophical questions about providing security in a free society.

"Are we living in a police state where we have to have armed police officers at every event?" he says. "I don't think we're there yet."

Bill sponsor Gene Davis, D-Salt Lake City, agrees. "The terrorists win if we take that attitude."

Security companies, he says, are using fear tactics since they suddenly face losing big venue business.

"This is more a turf issue than it is a security issue," Davis says.

The Delta Center, for example, has a longstanding security force for Jazz games who will continue to receive the state-mandated training and licensing.

Event-management companies such as Centennial, on the other hand, would not need to take those steps for screeners.

SB71 supporters suggest that requiring full-fledged security at the gate could result in higher ticket prices.

After a minor hurdle in a Senate committee, the bill sailed to the House. It passed in the final hours of the session.

Sen. Chris Buttars, R-West Jordan, a proponent, says the bill illustrates the conundrum between too much security and too little.

"I thought we found the right balance, but I guess only time will tell."

djensen@sltrib.com