LaPierre was unresponsive. Instead, he remained at the podium, shaking his head slightly and reviewing his notes. ''The truth is,'' he said, ''our society is populated with a number of genuine monsters.'' LaPierre reacted to the Newtown shooting in the same way he has to other massacres that have taken place during his 22-year tenure as the NRA's chief executive. ''The only way to stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun,'' he said. Although he's no Charlton Heston, LaPierre is the bureaucratic figurehead responsible for the transformation of the NRA into the corporate and political powerhouse it is today, with its 4 million members and an annual budget estimated at between $250 million and $300 million. After each of the 62 mass shootings in the US over the past 30 years, public outrage has surged, then receded. Legislation for gun control has been discussed and dismissed. And throughout the debate, the NRA has remained with LaPierre at the helm.

Dolls are left at a memorial near Sandy Hook Elementary School, where a gunman shot dead 20 children last December. Credit:Reuters Who is this man who heads one of the most powerful lobby groups in America? His friends and colleagues say the public hardline attack-dog persona presented to the public is not the ''real'' Wayne. In fact, they say, he is not a gun man at all. ''If Wayne had a gun in his hand, I would turn around and run the other way. Or duck for cover,'' says John Aquilino, a former NRA spokesman. ''He's very likeable, but very absent-minded; I don't think he could lead you out of the men's bathroom.'' Aquilino remembers LaPierre as the man who once slept through a golfing date with then vice-president Dan Quayle, the man who regularly lost his keys, and who dreamt of owning an ice-cream parlour in Maine. But LaPierre is also fascinated by power. ''There aren't many issues that have the same intensity and ability to change the political landscape like guns,'' says Richard Feldman, president of the Independent Firearm Owners Association and author of the book Ricochet - Confessions of a Gun Lobbyist.

Raised in Roanoke, Virginia, LaPierre was heavily involved in politics from a young age. He earned his master's degree in government from Boston College, volunteered for Democrat George McGovern's failed presidential bid in 1972 and worked as a legislative aide for a Virginia state Democrat. After joining the NRA in 1978, he quickly climbed the ranks from regional representative to Capitol Hill lobbyist and then chief administrator. Tanya Mataksa, the NRA's former chief lobbyist who first hired LaPierre, remembers a bookish young man who was often seen carrying reams of paper under his arm. ''He was passionate about politics … and learnt about guns on the job,'' Mataksa says. ''He just cared deeply about the Second Amendment [the right to bear arms] and the legislative spectrum the NRA could offer him.'' LaPierre joined the NRA at a pivotal moment in the organisation's history. In 1977, a group of hardliners staged a coup during its annual convention in Cincinnati. They were angry about a plan to move the headquarters to Colorado and to focus more intently on sportsmanship and conservation. But the more fundamentalist members had a new agenda: they ousted the leadership and rewrote the organisation's bylaws to reflect greater protection of the Second Amendment and more authority for its legislative arm. That night, the NRA as it is known today was born. It was a tumultuous time. But LaPierre understood where the power was and how to use it to his benefit, says Joseph Tartaro, who has worked with him for 35 years. ''He knew who to talk to, when to talk to them, and when to stay quiet.''

Feldman attributes LaPierre's rise partly to his powers of diplomacy. ''I always hear him say 'Good point' or 'I can see that'. He still never says 'No'. Whether you think that's an honest approach is another question.'' In contrast to his staid demeanour in private meetings, LaPierre learnt that, in public, inflammatory language produced membership and money. It also got him in trouble. In 1995, he published a leaflet that depicted law enforcement agents as ''jack-booted thugs''. Then, a few days later, former NRA member Timothy McVeigh bombed downtown Oklahoma, killing 168 people including federal agents. LaPierre was forced to make a public apology, and former president George Bush snr resigned from the NRA soon afterwards. But what wasn't made public was the criticism received from NRA hardliners for backing down. After that moment, ''it was like he vowed never to say sorry again'', says Feldman.

On March 15, 2000, LaPierre appeared on ABC's Nightline program and said: ''I've come to believe president Clinton needs a certain level of violence in this country. ''He's willing to accept a certain level of killing to further his political agenda. And the vice-president, too.'' It was a year after the Columbine High School massacre - and an election year - and Bill Clinton was calling for new gun controls. NRA supporters and conservative politicians alike were shocked at LaPierre's shot at the president. But LaPierre refused to apologise - and two weeks later the NRA recorded one of its best fund-raising periods in its history. ''I've never seen anything like that spike,'' says Feldman. ''That was a turning point for us. It was a lesson in how to appeal to members with money.'' LaPierre had discovered that controversial, hardline messages resulted in surges in donations, especially from the NRA's 200,000 core supporters.

Feldman estimates those donations are worth upwards of $10 million a year. This explains the decades-long NRA post-tragedy tactic: to first stay silent for maybe a week or so, then when the frenzied shock and pain have receded, LaPierre, with the full force of every rank-and-file member of the NRA, will launch a controversial counter-attack on anti-gun campaigners and politicians. ''It's effective,'' says Feldman. ''Fear works.'' These statements are clearly part of the NRA's strategy, drafted by Oklahoma City PR firm Ackerman McQueen. LaPierre, who answers to a 76-member board of directors, is the public face of that formula. While he has been well rewarded for his work over the years - NRA tax returns show he earned $835,000 in salary and $126,000 in other compensation in 2010 - this shy, bumbling policy wonk is a strange fit for the role of chief executive, according to his former colleagues. Some don't understand how he has stayed in the position. ''He's totally unqualified for the job; that's not Wayne up there,'' says John Aquilino, who believes the childless LaPierre is a compassionate man. ''He's not writing this stuff, I think he's just learnt very well how to read scripts.'' Feldman agrees: ''He couldn't give a speech to save his life when I met him 25 years ago.''

Whether LaPierre's or Ackerman's, the message remains focused. Days after the Aurora cinema shooting that killed 12 people in Colorado last July, LaPierre sent a fund-raising letter to his membership. ''The future of your Second Amendment rights will be at stake,'' he wrote. ''Nothing less than the future of our country and our freedom will be at stake.'' After the Tucson shooting, President Barack Obama invited LaPierre to discuss gun control. His response? ''Why should I sit down with a group of people that have spent a lifetime trying to destroy the Second Amendment?'' he said. But the tragic deaths of 26 people - 20 of them children at elementary school - in Newtown, Connecticut, in December shocked the US in a way not felt for decades. Now LaPierre's reign of power is perhaps under threat more than ever before as an outraged public has joined with activists and politicians to launch an animated campaign for gun control. As of today, the Obama administration is proposing background checks, New York mayor Michael Bloomberg has hijacked an Illinois primary by sinking the pro-gun candidate with more than $2 million worth of advertising and Democrat senator Dianne Feinstein is holding high-profile hearings to reinstate a ban on assault weapons.

While Sandy Hook might seem different, the NRA's response was much the same. This time LaPierre warned of the threat of imminent social collapse. In articles and public appearances he has said a threatening dystopia, ''a hurricane, terrorist attack, or some other natural or man-made disaster'' could be the catalyst ''for a national nightmare of violence and victimisation''. In that December 21 news conference he called for armed guards to patrol every public school in the country. La Pierre's response to the Sandy Hook massacre ignited gun control advocates, while media flaunted headlines such as ''NRA losing the arms race'' and ''LaPierre: Gun Nut''. But rather than the NRA losing its grip on membership, Feldman says the anti-gun movement in the US is taking its last gasps. ''If you'd asked me two months ago, I'd have said this is a moment for national changes,'' he says. ''If they can't change legislation now, it won't happen for another generation.'' Feldman's predictions may be coming to fruition. Feinstein's assault weapons bill looks unlikely to even achieve a Senate vote, let alone be passed by a Republican-controlled House of Representatives.

He also estimates that, in the lead-up to the 2014 Senate elections, there are at least six Democrat senators who won't be willing to give up their 3 per cent margins on a vote about gun control. The implication of which is that the Democrats wouldn't have a 51-vote majority to pass the measure, let alone break a Republican filibuster. Politicians need votes, and they need the NRA. ''In tightly contested races, the NRA votes can tilt the election towards one candidate,'' says Adam Winkler, professor at UCLA school of law and author of Gunfight: The Battle over the Right to Bear Arms in America. ''There are a lot of single-issue, pro-gun voters in America. There are not a lot of single-issue, non-gun voters in America,'' he says. In the last election cycle, the NRA's pro-gun lobby spent at least $18.6 million - a whopping 3199 times what the country's leading gun control organisation, the Brady Campaign to Prevent Gun Violence, spent ($5816) in the election, according the Sunlight Foundation, which promotes transparency in government. ''That's the power the gun issue has to determine the outcome of American politics,'' Feldman says. ''The NRA's power in US politics will diminish only when gun ownership in America diminishes.'' Additional reporting by Robin Respaut.