NOTE: I have read many wonderful books and stories written by Lewis Grizzard. Who can ever forget his books with titles like "Shoot Low, Boys; They're Ridin' Shetland Ponies" and "I Love You, Kathy Sue Loudermilk!"?
His quotations and comments are equally entertaining and clever. Can you recall his comments after one of his divorces? He said "I ain't never gettin' married again. I'll just find a woman I don't like and give her a house!"
Another jewel was this morsel about sled dogs. He wrote, "If you ain't the lead dog, the scenery never changes!"
This column about the traveling salesman is indicative of his story telling genius and his incredibly sharp wit. I present it here giving 99.9% of the credit to him; with my sole contribution being the usual jab at Topeka. I have been unable to find the exact book that his story was in so I am re-telling it here from my poor memory. His original story is more than adequate to shine through brilliantly in spite of my paraphrasing.
This is Lewis's story...
Back in the early 50's, a pharmaceutical salesman had a territory that encompassed several southern states, including Georgia. He had one more call to a make on this late summer day and as he was still some distance from Valdosta, he ate his dinner on the road as he was driving along. (in the south, the three meals are called breakfast, dinner, and supper)
By and by, the gallon of sun tea he had consumed during the trip began bangin' on his kidneys and he knew that soon he must stop for a potty break. Since this was in the early 50's, there were no rest areas as we know them today. A large tree was frequently used by purveyors of patent nostrums and salesmen of various and sundry items.
Soon enough he approached a clearing that had a large oak tree that would be just perfect for his needs. He stopped the car and ambled over to the tree, out of sight from the road, and began sprinkling the base of the tree.
Relief began right away and with half closed eyes and a gentle smile on his face, he sprinkled the base of this conveniently located tree, thinking what a beautiful day it really was. Soon he would be in Valdosta for the last call of the day and in his small mind, he was already enjoying the fine Bar B Que with a big red soda water he would have for supper that evening.
All this good feeling ended abruptly when an angry swarm of ground wasps boiled up out of the site of his sprinkling and one of them actually stung him right on the tip of his business! (for those in Topeka, this means he was stung right on the end of his...sprinkler)
The pain was incredible, like unto a red hot needle! Immense swelling was instantaneous and most severe! In point of fact, he could not put the sprinkler away and quickly wrapped his sport coat around his waist. With great alacrity he ran to his car and starting it up, he drove off in great haste, headed directly for the Valdosta Pharmaceutical Emporium and Mercantile.
Arriving there, he flung open the car door and raced inside the drug store. Seeing the spinster lady filling prescriptions, he ran behind the counter and whipped off his sport coat from around his waist, thereby exposing his painfully swollen member.
"Ma'am, what can you give me for this?" he cried.
The little spinster eyed this phenomenon for a moment and replied, "Hmm. How about half interest in this store, 80 acres of good bottom land, and a '49 Packard?"
Great stuff, Lewis. I would have enjoyed knowing you.
PB
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
The Guardian
He protects his home with great diligence, prepared to repel any invaders bent on attacking his security. He is armed because his size alone is not adequate to defend what is important to him. His weapons will serve him well as he goes forth to protect his loved ones from those who are larger and will come in greater numbers than he.
He knows there will be no help from others of his kind, who, like him, have learned that it is only his determination and defensive skill sets that will ensure his ultimate survival. He does not care if his actions will be viewed as politically correct or even legal; he will be ready for battle at any time.
His aggressiveness is shown by his manner of dress. He is boldly attired in a neat, form fitting black suit, with a splash of crimson at his throat. He relies heavily on situational awareness and constant vigilance, but never wears headgear. He’s ready to spring into action quickly, efficiently, and without mercy. Speed and agility are his ”go-to” weapons and they are supported by an aggressive attitude that all intruders will be forced to deal with; mostly to their regret and dismay.
There is nothing in their world that could have prepared them to deal with this bold warrior. Who is he?
He…is the young male Hummingbird that patrols and defends the back yard near the feeder on our deck! He protects the rich red nectar that is placed in the feeder and he has more than repaid us for our expense in the form of high entertainment, aerial combat, and great courage.
In one set of battles, we observed him dispatch several of his brothers, a couple of wasps that came to poach, and the State bird of Missouri…the loathsome bluebird. (in my opinion) He is aggressive enough to dive bomb intruders and will actually strike them in mid air with enough force that we can hear the little bodies collide!
The only individual allowed to partake of his food source is a drab and fat chick that he apparently likes a lot. She is dull brown, a little bigger than he is and must be a real Hummingbird centerfold model as she is the only one he allows to use "his" feeder. I’m guessing she is bigger because while he spends most of his time defending the territory, she spends most of her time eating!
In about three weeks, they will all be gone; south bound for the winter. Some will migrate as far as South America. They will stop along the way and take on extra protein in the form of a dwindling supply of insects.
Our little guy may even cross the Gulf of Mexico in a non stop flight of 20 hours and covering over 500 miles; losing more than half of his weight! Considering he weighs around 1/8th of an ounce now, this is significant.
He will fly alone at about tree top level, singly, as a flock of Hummingbirds may attract the unwanted attention of large winged predators. What will he eat or drink during this flight? How will he rest? What is his average air speed? I don’t know.
I just hope he has a safe journey and comes back next year.
PB
He knows there will be no help from others of his kind, who, like him, have learned that it is only his determination and defensive skill sets that will ensure his ultimate survival. He does not care if his actions will be viewed as politically correct or even legal; he will be ready for battle at any time.
His aggressiveness is shown by his manner of dress. He is boldly attired in a neat, form fitting black suit, with a splash of crimson at his throat. He relies heavily on situational awareness and constant vigilance, but never wears headgear. He’s ready to spring into action quickly, efficiently, and without mercy. Speed and agility are his ”go-to” weapons and they are supported by an aggressive attitude that all intruders will be forced to deal with; mostly to their regret and dismay.
There is nothing in their world that could have prepared them to deal with this bold warrior. Who is he?
He…is the young male Hummingbird that patrols and defends the back yard near the feeder on our deck! He protects the rich red nectar that is placed in the feeder and he has more than repaid us for our expense in the form of high entertainment, aerial combat, and great courage.
In one set of battles, we observed him dispatch several of his brothers, a couple of wasps that came to poach, and the State bird of Missouri…the loathsome bluebird. (in my opinion) He is aggressive enough to dive bomb intruders and will actually strike them in mid air with enough force that we can hear the little bodies collide!
The only individual allowed to partake of his food source is a drab and fat chick that he apparently likes a lot. She is dull brown, a little bigger than he is and must be a real Hummingbird centerfold model as she is the only one he allows to use "his" feeder. I’m guessing she is bigger because while he spends most of his time defending the territory, she spends most of her time eating!
In about three weeks, they will all be gone; south bound for the winter. Some will migrate as far as South America. They will stop along the way and take on extra protein in the form of a dwindling supply of insects.
Our little guy may even cross the Gulf of Mexico in a non stop flight of 20 hours and covering over 500 miles; losing more than half of his weight! Considering he weighs around 1/8th of an ounce now, this is significant.
He will fly alone at about tree top level, singly, as a flock of Hummingbirds may attract the unwanted attention of large winged predators. What will he eat or drink during this flight? How will he rest? What is his average air speed? I don’t know.
I just hope he has a safe journey and comes back next year.
PB
More Gun Control?
Read any newspaper (even the yellow rags) about the criminal use of firearms and you will quickly grasp one glaring fact; namely that the perpetrators of this activity are all known police characters that have multiple felonies on their rap sheets.
This tidbit of information is usually hidden in the body of the report or slipped in at the end when the great unwashed reader’s attention has waned. In the most recent case I read, the accused had just been sentenced to 10 years in a Federal prison for illegal possession of a firearm. (for those cretins that live in Topeka, this means no parole) At the end of the story was the small fact that he had eight prior felonies!
What the hell are these criminals doing out on the street?
This dramatic style of reporting is presented like a superb dessert at the beginning of a long dull meal. After dessert, few would want to have a salad or a plate of beans. Hence…the reader’s attention is riveted only to the juicy parts. Some may even re-read the grisly details and miss entirely the real issue.
With this documentation of previous criminal activity, they could have been, should have been locked away for a long, long time. Yet here they are, appearing frequently in the news while the honest law abiding citizen lives with the daily harassment of background checks, training and licensing requirements, along with other needless restrictions foisted upon us by the witless Neanderthals that we have elected.
Go back to the Klinton years during which the Monica pervert went down as the most anti gun President in history. A shady, back room, midnight deal ushered in the assault weapons ban. By itself it was virtually worthless as criminals opt for small easily hidden handguns, rather than large, conspicuous weapons. Klinton paid the ultimate price two years later when he lost both the Senate and the House to NRA backed voters who put in second amendment candidates.
Later Klinton bragged about keeping guns out of the hands of more than 600,000 felons through the instant background check. (BTW, the NRA was responsible for pushing the instant background check through).
Now let us pause here and review the law on felons and guns. It is a criminal Federal offense for a felon to attempt to purchase a rifle, pistol, or shotgun. It is a further criminal Federal offense to attempt to purchase ammunition for said firearms.
So…even those residents of Topeka, Kansas would (should, may, well...maybe not) logically conclude that these laws were violated by felons attempting to purchase firearms and/or ammunition. (Just a brief note here about why, in my writings, I am so critical of Topeka...it's because the politicians in this Capital city and the Menniger outpatients have inbred over the years and produced a majority of seriously deranged and deeply disturbed individuals concentrated in just this one little nest who somehow rise to positions of influence.)
Hence…there should have been over 600,000 arrests, prosecutions, and convictions of these felons attempting to buy firearms and/or ammunition illegally and therefore committing yet another felony…or two. But how many convictions were there? Eleven. Why so few? Klinton couldn’t say.
The most spectacular of these was one Benjamin Smith who was not allowed to purchase a firearm because of a domestic assault charge and a restraining order. Rather than arrest and charge him for this felonious attempt to purchase a firearm and ammunition, the Feds simply allowed him to walk out of the store! Later, he obtained weapons and over the July 4th weekend, shot 11 people, killing 2 of them before killing himself. Google up "Benjamin Smith Shooting" for all the details.
This is the case that caused Wayne LaPierre of the NRA to accuse Klinton of being willing to allow a certain amount of pain, suffering, and death of innocent people in order to further his anti gun agenda. Stung and embarrassed by this factual charge, Klinton's reponse was lash out with the insipd claim that 600,000 felons had been denied access to firearms.
Note: If you are going to tangle with LaPierre, start early. And you better have your facts straight or else you will play Wayne's game of "Today's hasty, ill chosen words; eaten tomorrow; taste like turds!"
It seems to me that it would be more effective to pass new laws that required those judges who return career criminals (can you say repeat offenders?) to the streets to now accompany them as they return to prison and serve out the remainder of their sentences. Judge control; criminal control. I like that.
But it is always easier to attack honest citizens because in the end they will obey the additional laws no matter how inappropriate they are. And why is this? Because they are honest citizens!
Just like the anti second ammendent loons, PETA people protest the wearing of animal skins by throwing red paint on wealthy women who wear fur coats.
If PETA is really serious about this, why then do they not go to the Sturgis Motorcyle Rally and throw red paint on the boys and girls that attend this social event? Are not leather jackets and pants made of animal skins?
Ah yes, but PETA people know that if they do that, they will limp away with a sore hiney and other damaged body parts; much the worse for wear. Any one can see (yes, even Topekans) that an upset elderly society woman is much easier to deal with than a mean motorcycle rider that is highly pissed off.
And just like the anti gun folks, PETA knows who is safe to harass and who will break legs, arms, and heads.
Cowards, all.
I am...Pecos Bill and I wrote this column.
JB
This tidbit of information is usually hidden in the body of the report or slipped in at the end when the great unwashed reader’s attention has waned. In the most recent case I read, the accused had just been sentenced to 10 years in a Federal prison for illegal possession of a firearm. (for those cretins that live in Topeka, this means no parole) At the end of the story was the small fact that he had eight prior felonies!
What the hell are these criminals doing out on the street?
This dramatic style of reporting is presented like a superb dessert at the beginning of a long dull meal. After dessert, few would want to have a salad or a plate of beans. Hence…the reader’s attention is riveted only to the juicy parts. Some may even re-read the grisly details and miss entirely the real issue.
With this documentation of previous criminal activity, they could have been, should have been locked away for a long, long time. Yet here they are, appearing frequently in the news while the honest law abiding citizen lives with the daily harassment of background checks, training and licensing requirements, along with other needless restrictions foisted upon us by the witless Neanderthals that we have elected.
Go back to the Klinton years during which the Monica pervert went down as the most anti gun President in history. A shady, back room, midnight deal ushered in the assault weapons ban. By itself it was virtually worthless as criminals opt for small easily hidden handguns, rather than large, conspicuous weapons. Klinton paid the ultimate price two years later when he lost both the Senate and the House to NRA backed voters who put in second amendment candidates.
Later Klinton bragged about keeping guns out of the hands of more than 600,000 felons through the instant background check. (BTW, the NRA was responsible for pushing the instant background check through).
Now let us pause here and review the law on felons and guns. It is a criminal Federal offense for a felon to attempt to purchase a rifle, pistol, or shotgun. It is a further criminal Federal offense to attempt to purchase ammunition for said firearms.
So…even those residents of Topeka, Kansas would (should, may, well...maybe not) logically conclude that these laws were violated by felons attempting to purchase firearms and/or ammunition. (Just a brief note here about why, in my writings, I am so critical of Topeka...it's because the politicians in this Capital city and the Menniger outpatients have inbred over the years and produced a majority of seriously deranged and deeply disturbed individuals concentrated in just this one little nest who somehow rise to positions of influence.)
Hence…there should have been over 600,000 arrests, prosecutions, and convictions of these felons attempting to buy firearms and/or ammunition illegally and therefore committing yet another felony…or two. But how many convictions were there? Eleven. Why so few? Klinton couldn’t say.
The most spectacular of these was one Benjamin Smith who was not allowed to purchase a firearm because of a domestic assault charge and a restraining order. Rather than arrest and charge him for this felonious attempt to purchase a firearm and ammunition, the Feds simply allowed him to walk out of the store! Later, he obtained weapons and over the July 4th weekend, shot 11 people, killing 2 of them before killing himself. Google up "Benjamin Smith Shooting" for all the details.
This is the case that caused Wayne LaPierre of the NRA to accuse Klinton of being willing to allow a certain amount of pain, suffering, and death of innocent people in order to further his anti gun agenda. Stung and embarrassed by this factual charge, Klinton's reponse was lash out with the insipd claim that 600,000 felons had been denied access to firearms.
Note: If you are going to tangle with LaPierre, start early. And you better have your facts straight or else you will play Wayne's game of "Today's hasty, ill chosen words; eaten tomorrow; taste like turds!"
It seems to me that it would be more effective to pass new laws that required those judges who return career criminals (can you say repeat offenders?) to the streets to now accompany them as they return to prison and serve out the remainder of their sentences. Judge control; criminal control. I like that.
But it is always easier to attack honest citizens because in the end they will obey the additional laws no matter how inappropriate they are. And why is this? Because they are honest citizens!
Just like the anti second ammendent loons, PETA people protest the wearing of animal skins by throwing red paint on wealthy women who wear fur coats.
If PETA is really serious about this, why then do they not go to the Sturgis Motorcyle Rally and throw red paint on the boys and girls that attend this social event? Are not leather jackets and pants made of animal skins?
Ah yes, but PETA people know that if they do that, they will limp away with a sore hiney and other damaged body parts; much the worse for wear. Any one can see (yes, even Topekans) that an upset elderly society woman is much easier to deal with than a mean motorcycle rider that is highly pissed off.
And just like the anti gun folks, PETA knows who is safe to harass and who will break legs, arms, and heads.
Cowards, all.
I am...Pecos Bill and I wrote this column.
JB
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Unexpurgated Hospital Stories
After a long career working in hospital emergency rooms, ICU areas, home care, and private duty respiratory support, many warm and humorous stories have been accumulated. Here’s a few appetizers just to get you interested.
QUANG TI DUC
This was a practical joke that went badly awry. During the time when South Vietnamese refugees were being relocated to the redistribution center at Fort Chaffee, Arkansas, a fellow department head thought it would be amusing to rattle the cage of the Director of Personnel.
He had been attempting to find three students for his small school of Nuclear Medicine and was having no takers. According to the Federal employment laws, the Personnel Director was required to post the position on the hospital bill board before seeking applicants from outside the organization. Who knows, maybe there is an individual presently employed in the Housekeeping Department with degrees in Radiology, Chemistry, Physics, and Biology. Not likely, but hey…it could happen.
After waiting a week to see if someone miraculously appeared from within, it became obvious to even the PD that more aggressive efforts would be required. Ads were then placed in several large Kansas newspapers and he settled back to wait.
My friend saw this as a golden opportunity for an extraordinary practical joke and proceeded to create a letterhead from Fort Chaffee and upon it he wrote a heartfelt letter of thanks to himself; he who had expressed such great concern for these unfortunate victims of circumstance. Yep, that oughta do it.
In the letter, he listed three fictitious Vietnamese applicants with medical backgrounds and wonderfully grand names; Hang Son Moon, Le Duc Tho, and the only one of the three who spoke the King’s English, the star of the show, one Quang Ti Duc!
The Fort Chaffee official advised my friend that based upon their conversations, he was thrilled to know that these three ‘students’ would be most welcome in our town and at our Hospital.
He also advised that they would be arriving on July 4th (how appropriate) to attend the school of Nuclear Medicine. Thoughtfully, a small stipend would be provided including lodging quarters, meals, and transportation. Green cards would be procured for the students by my friend, and just like that, three deserving refugees would gain legal entrance to America and her boundless opportunities.
The final sentence was the kicker saying that as soon as the ‘boys’ were settled, the wives and children would be arriving…along with many extended family members of which there was a veritable Greek Chorus including; fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, grandfathers, grandmothers, etc! All were so happy and immensely grateful to my friend; scarcely able to wait until they would meet this wonderful benefactor.
Zounds! This should cause the Personnel Director a modicum of panic.
So, when the time was right, my friend, in an agitated state, approached the Personnel Director and admitted he had inadvertently created an enormous problem and asked for help…fast! What to do?
The PD read the letter and turned ashen! Racing out of his office he ran down to the conference room and interrupted a special emergency Executive Committee meeting that was underway. The topic? Unlicensed Vietnamese medical personnel!
Unbeknownst to my friend, one of the young rogue physicians on the staff had gone off the reservation by hiring three unlicensed Vietnamese physicians and planned to set them up in satellite offices in nearby towns. They would work under his supervision and would see patients just like a state licensed physician! The special meeting was convened to discuss ways to stop this.
When the committee members read my friend's letter to himself, he was summoned to appear. Curtly, the CEO demanded to know how this came to be. One of the physicians was particularly incensed and demanded to know by what authority my friend had arranged for these three students. When my friend attempted to explain, he was rudely interrupted by yet another doctor who told him that he knew of this Quang Ti Duc fellow as he was the ringleader of the group and was hostile to all with round eyes.
A melee ensued and it was several minutes before my friend was able to respond. When he did speak, it was to report all this was merely a complicated joke with the Personnel Director as the target. There was no Hang Son Moon nor was there a Le Duc Tho. The ringleader, one Quang Ti Duc, was a figment of the imagination. My friend knew nothing about the other activities and told the committee that it was just an unfortunate coincidence that the phony letter was given to the Personnel Director on the same day and at the same time that the emergency meeting was held! Bad luck all around.
An uncomfortable silence developed and the CEO dismissed my friend saying they would talk later. Yes, they would indeed have a talk; several of them in fact, but that is a story for another day.
News of this went though the Hospital grapevine like wildfire. Everyone (well, almost everyone) had a good laugh at the unintended consequences of the prank. My friend vowed never to pull a joke on anyone again, but then again...maybe just one more.
AT THE ZOO
A young physician joined the staff of our hospital in Western Kansas and soon it was his turn to rotate through the Emergency Room. He was immediately swamped with sick kids, bumps, bruises, lacerations and old folks with trouble breathing
About 10:00 am, the EMT's reported by radio that they were bringing in a victim of an animal mauling. The victim was reported to have suffered many cuts, scratches, and bites. When the young physician saw the patient, he was aghast! He had never seen so many deep lacerations with spurting bleeders and obvious large animal bites in his life! He quickly set about clamping off the arterial bleeders while giving the patient a generous sedative to keep him from being so distressed while he was being cared for.
After a couple of hours of tedious work and a few hundred stitches, followed by a tetanus shot and massive antibiotics, the patient was admitted and sent to the surgical floor. It was only then that the police were able visit with the doctor and he learned what had happened.
The victim was a caretaker at the Zoo and had been responsible for the carnivores for twenty five years. Lions, tigers, and bears were all were under his care. He would transfer them from one cage to another, clean the soiled cage, place fresh water and food in the newly cleaned pen, and then reverse the procedure.
On this morning, he made a small mistake and forgot to latch the door connecting the cages. The old Polar bear almost had his head through the door when the caretaker realized he was nearly free. He attempted to close the door. When he pushed the door back the bear simply lunged forward and attacked him!
Fortunately, a police officer drove by at the very start of the mauling and dispatched the bear with several shots from his pistol. He called for back up and an ambulance, then attempted to roll the bear off the terrified caretaker. When help arrived, several men were required to move the dead bear and free the caretaker. He was treated at the scene and rapidly transported to the hospital.
The young doctor told this story many times at special meetings over the next few years . He was struck by the irony that one of his first patients, while working in the great Southwest American desert, was a victim of…a polar bear mauling!
PAGING DR. TURDELL
One night I called the ICU to talk with my co-worker. The phone was answered by a male nurse who had this to say; “Good evening, World’s Best Hospital, Intensive Care Unit, Kevin speaking, how may I help you?” Whew! A wacko who answers a phone like this just begs for a snappy comeback.
In a loud voice, I replied, “Kevin! This is Dr.Turdell! You got any coffee down there?”
"Who is this now?” he asked.
“Coffee!” I said. “I’m making rounds and will be down there in ten minutes. I’ll want a couple of sandwiches too and make it fast. I’ll be in a big hurry.” Bang! I hung up the phone, waited a couple of minutes and strolled down to the Unit to see what havoc I had created.
Kevin was in a state of near apoplexy, trying to fix a fresh pot of coffee and figure out where to get sandwiches for this very important personage who was coming down. I got there just as he was telling the charge nurse what had happened. He did not know the physician's name.
Attempting to be helpful, I told them “Oh, you must be referring to Dr. Turdell. I heard him yelling at someone to make some coffee and sandwiches."
“Just who is this Dr. Turdell?” asked the charge nurse.
I said, “You’re asking me? Who is J. Winthrop Turdell, III? Why, he’s one of the really big admitters here." Did I get a mention I go a nearly violent reaction here? I should have. Wow!
Everybody then began racing around trying to find sandwich fixin's. My co-worker appeared on the scene and after taking all this in, asked Kevin what was going on. Kevin was too excited to be really coherent, but my co-worker tumbled to the joke immediately.
Looking over at me, he raised one eyebrow slightly and pointed at me. I grinned and imperceptibly nodded one time only. We walked back to our office and I told him all about it. He laughed and then suggested I get the hell out of Dodge till this blew over. I concurred.
After a while, they figured it out. Next time I went down there, it was like entering an armed camp. Unprofessional, immature, stupid, uncalled for, and dangerous were only a few of the printable words thrown my way.
Oh, what the hell? On a slow evening it sure woke everybody up, didn’t it?
THE ANNIVERSARY
Part of the joy of providing respiratory support service to home patients on oxygen and ventilator care is the relaxed way in which one interacts with the patients. These folks are in their element here as opposed to being in the sterile environment of a hospital setting. We are on their turf now and it's gratifying to see the changes is their personalities.
In some cases, it was sad to know that when I arrived at the home, my visit appeared to be the highlight of the week for these neglected folks who have been all but forgotten by former friends and family members.
One of my favorite stories was of an elderly couple who lived in a small Kansas town. When I arrived to service their oxygen concentrator, they were still excited about the wonderful evening they had on their 48th wedding anniversary.
"Oh, it was just great!!", they told me. "We went into the city, saw a great movie and then had a wonderful supper." (for those who live in Topeka, Kansas, there are three meals every day; breakfast, the morning meal, dinner, the noon meal, and supper, the evening meal) They went on to tell me all about the movie, who was in it, and what the story was about. It was clear to me that they indeed had a nice date.
I nearly choked when they told me about the elegant supper they had in response to my asking them which restaurant they chose for their special anniversary meal.
Grinning hugely, they replied in unison, "Long John Silver's!"
HOME MADE BREAD
I had just finished my first visit to a home where a little boy was on a ventilator until he grew large enough to undergo a special surgical procedure that would allow him to assume a much more normal life. Optimism ran high in this home and I was pleased to be a part of it.
As I got ready to leave, the young mom asked if I could come on Tuesday afternoons instead of Thursdays." Well, yes, I could do that.
"Oh, good!" she said. "What time will you be coming on Tuesdays?"
I gave her my stock answer of sometime between 1:00 pm and 5:00 pm.
She then looked a little disappointed and asked if I could narrow it down a little more. I told her it was all dependent upon other visits yhat were scheduled on those days and where she would fit in with them; geographically speaking.
She replied, "That's unfortunate. You see, I bake homemade bread on Tuesday afternoons and I hoped to have some warm bread ready for you when you arrive. Oh, well..."
Hm. After a moment's thought, I asked her what time the bread would be coming out of the oven on Tuesdays.
She replied, "About 2:00 pm."
After another moment's thought on my part and I said, "I'll be here at 2:00 pm on Tuesdays!"
DOUGHNUTS TOO
Another elderly couple wanted me to come at 9:00 am. While it is difficult to guarantee a specific time, inducements can be made. When this request was made of me, it was asked right after I was given the information that the old fella (cagey old dude) loved to make fresh homemade doughnuts in the mornings. He advised that they would be ready at 9:00 am.
What else could I say? After all, I had previous experience in these matters after enjoying fresh homemade bread from the oven of the young mom.
"Yep, I can do that. I'll be here at 9:00 am!"
PB
QUANG TI DUC
This was a practical joke that went badly awry. During the time when South Vietnamese refugees were being relocated to the redistribution center at Fort Chaffee, Arkansas, a fellow department head thought it would be amusing to rattle the cage of the Director of Personnel.
He had been attempting to find three students for his small school of Nuclear Medicine and was having no takers. According to the Federal employment laws, the Personnel Director was required to post the position on the hospital bill board before seeking applicants from outside the organization. Who knows, maybe there is an individual presently employed in the Housekeeping Department with degrees in Radiology, Chemistry, Physics, and Biology. Not likely, but hey…it could happen.
After waiting a week to see if someone miraculously appeared from within, it became obvious to even the PD that more aggressive efforts would be required. Ads were then placed in several large Kansas newspapers and he settled back to wait.
My friend saw this as a golden opportunity for an extraordinary practical joke and proceeded to create a letterhead from Fort Chaffee and upon it he wrote a heartfelt letter of thanks to himself; he who had expressed such great concern for these unfortunate victims of circumstance. Yep, that oughta do it.
In the letter, he listed three fictitious Vietnamese applicants with medical backgrounds and wonderfully grand names; Hang Son Moon, Le Duc Tho, and the only one of the three who spoke the King’s English, the star of the show, one Quang Ti Duc!
The Fort Chaffee official advised my friend that based upon their conversations, he was thrilled to know that these three ‘students’ would be most welcome in our town and at our Hospital.
He also advised that they would be arriving on July 4th (how appropriate) to attend the school of Nuclear Medicine. Thoughtfully, a small stipend would be provided including lodging quarters, meals, and transportation. Green cards would be procured for the students by my friend, and just like that, three deserving refugees would gain legal entrance to America and her boundless opportunities.
The final sentence was the kicker saying that as soon as the ‘boys’ were settled, the wives and children would be arriving…along with many extended family members of which there was a veritable Greek Chorus including; fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, grandfathers, grandmothers, etc! All were so happy and immensely grateful to my friend; scarcely able to wait until they would meet this wonderful benefactor.
Zounds! This should cause the Personnel Director a modicum of panic.
So, when the time was right, my friend, in an agitated state, approached the Personnel Director and admitted he had inadvertently created an enormous problem and asked for help…fast! What to do?
The PD read the letter and turned ashen! Racing out of his office he ran down to the conference room and interrupted a special emergency Executive Committee meeting that was underway. The topic? Unlicensed Vietnamese medical personnel!
Unbeknownst to my friend, one of the young rogue physicians on the staff had gone off the reservation by hiring three unlicensed Vietnamese physicians and planned to set them up in satellite offices in nearby towns. They would work under his supervision and would see patients just like a state licensed physician! The special meeting was convened to discuss ways to stop this.
When the committee members read my friend's letter to himself, he was summoned to appear. Curtly, the CEO demanded to know how this came to be. One of the physicians was particularly incensed and demanded to know by what authority my friend had arranged for these three students. When my friend attempted to explain, he was rudely interrupted by yet another doctor who told him that he knew of this Quang Ti Duc fellow as he was the ringleader of the group and was hostile to all with round eyes.
A melee ensued and it was several minutes before my friend was able to respond. When he did speak, it was to report all this was merely a complicated joke with the Personnel Director as the target. There was no Hang Son Moon nor was there a Le Duc Tho. The ringleader, one Quang Ti Duc, was a figment of the imagination. My friend knew nothing about the other activities and told the committee that it was just an unfortunate coincidence that the phony letter was given to the Personnel Director on the same day and at the same time that the emergency meeting was held! Bad luck all around.
An uncomfortable silence developed and the CEO dismissed my friend saying they would talk later. Yes, they would indeed have a talk; several of them in fact, but that is a story for another day.
News of this went though the Hospital grapevine like wildfire. Everyone (well, almost everyone) had a good laugh at the unintended consequences of the prank. My friend vowed never to pull a joke on anyone again, but then again...maybe just one more.
AT THE ZOO
A young physician joined the staff of our hospital in Western Kansas and soon it was his turn to rotate through the Emergency Room. He was immediately swamped with sick kids, bumps, bruises, lacerations and old folks with trouble breathing
About 10:00 am, the EMT's reported by radio that they were bringing in a victim of an animal mauling. The victim was reported to have suffered many cuts, scratches, and bites. When the young physician saw the patient, he was aghast! He had never seen so many deep lacerations with spurting bleeders and obvious large animal bites in his life! He quickly set about clamping off the arterial bleeders while giving the patient a generous sedative to keep him from being so distressed while he was being cared for.
After a couple of hours of tedious work and a few hundred stitches, followed by a tetanus shot and massive antibiotics, the patient was admitted and sent to the surgical floor. It was only then that the police were able visit with the doctor and he learned what had happened.
The victim was a caretaker at the Zoo and had been responsible for the carnivores for twenty five years. Lions, tigers, and bears were all were under his care. He would transfer them from one cage to another, clean the soiled cage, place fresh water and food in the newly cleaned pen, and then reverse the procedure.
On this morning, he made a small mistake and forgot to latch the door connecting the cages. The old Polar bear almost had his head through the door when the caretaker realized he was nearly free. He attempted to close the door. When he pushed the door back the bear simply lunged forward and attacked him!
Fortunately, a police officer drove by at the very start of the mauling and dispatched the bear with several shots from his pistol. He called for back up and an ambulance, then attempted to roll the bear off the terrified caretaker. When help arrived, several men were required to move the dead bear and free the caretaker. He was treated at the scene and rapidly transported to the hospital.
The young doctor told this story many times at special meetings over the next few years . He was struck by the irony that one of his first patients, while working in the great Southwest American desert, was a victim of…a polar bear mauling!
PAGING DR. TURDELL
One night I called the ICU to talk with my co-worker. The phone was answered by a male nurse who had this to say; “Good evening, World’s Best Hospital, Intensive Care Unit, Kevin speaking, how may I help you?” Whew! A wacko who answers a phone like this just begs for a snappy comeback.
In a loud voice, I replied, “Kevin! This is Dr.Turdell! You got any coffee down there?”
"Who is this now?” he asked.
“Coffee!” I said. “I’m making rounds and will be down there in ten minutes. I’ll want a couple of sandwiches too and make it fast. I’ll be in a big hurry.” Bang! I hung up the phone, waited a couple of minutes and strolled down to the Unit to see what havoc I had created.
Kevin was in a state of near apoplexy, trying to fix a fresh pot of coffee and figure out where to get sandwiches for this very important personage who was coming down. I got there just as he was telling the charge nurse what had happened. He did not know the physician's name.
Attempting to be helpful, I told them “Oh, you must be referring to Dr. Turdell. I heard him yelling at someone to make some coffee and sandwiches."
“Just who is this Dr. Turdell?” asked the charge nurse.
I said, “You’re asking me? Who is J. Winthrop Turdell, III? Why, he’s one of the really big admitters here." Did I get a mention I go a nearly violent reaction here? I should have. Wow!
Everybody then began racing around trying to find sandwich fixin's. My co-worker appeared on the scene and after taking all this in, asked Kevin what was going on. Kevin was too excited to be really coherent, but my co-worker tumbled to the joke immediately.
Looking over at me, he raised one eyebrow slightly and pointed at me. I grinned and imperceptibly nodded one time only. We walked back to our office and I told him all about it. He laughed and then suggested I get the hell out of Dodge till this blew over. I concurred.
After a while, they figured it out. Next time I went down there, it was like entering an armed camp. Unprofessional, immature, stupid, uncalled for, and dangerous were only a few of the printable words thrown my way.
Oh, what the hell? On a slow evening it sure woke everybody up, didn’t it?
THE ANNIVERSARY
Part of the joy of providing respiratory support service to home patients on oxygen and ventilator care is the relaxed way in which one interacts with the patients. These folks are in their element here as opposed to being in the sterile environment of a hospital setting. We are on their turf now and it's gratifying to see the changes is their personalities.
In some cases, it was sad to know that when I arrived at the home, my visit appeared to be the highlight of the week for these neglected folks who have been all but forgotten by former friends and family members.
One of my favorite stories was of an elderly couple who lived in a small Kansas town. When I arrived to service their oxygen concentrator, they were still excited about the wonderful evening they had on their 48th wedding anniversary.
"Oh, it was just great!!", they told me. "We went into the city, saw a great movie and then had a wonderful supper." (for those who live in Topeka, Kansas, there are three meals every day; breakfast, the morning meal, dinner, the noon meal, and supper, the evening meal) They went on to tell me all about the movie, who was in it, and what the story was about. It was clear to me that they indeed had a nice date.
I nearly choked when they told me about the elegant supper they had in response to my asking them which restaurant they chose for their special anniversary meal.
Grinning hugely, they replied in unison, "Long John Silver's!"
HOME MADE BREAD
I had just finished my first visit to a home where a little boy was on a ventilator until he grew large enough to undergo a special surgical procedure that would allow him to assume a much more normal life. Optimism ran high in this home and I was pleased to be a part of it.
As I got ready to leave, the young mom asked if I could come on Tuesday afternoons instead of Thursdays." Well, yes, I could do that.
"Oh, good!" she said. "What time will you be coming on Tuesdays?"
I gave her my stock answer of sometime between 1:00 pm and 5:00 pm.
She then looked a little disappointed and asked if I could narrow it down a little more. I told her it was all dependent upon other visits yhat were scheduled on those days and where she would fit in with them; geographically speaking.
She replied, "That's unfortunate. You see, I bake homemade bread on Tuesday afternoons and I hoped to have some warm bread ready for you when you arrive. Oh, well..."
Hm. After a moment's thought, I asked her what time the bread would be coming out of the oven on Tuesdays.
She replied, "About 2:00 pm."
After another moment's thought on my part and I said, "I'll be here at 2:00 pm on Tuesdays!"
DOUGHNUTS TOO
Another elderly couple wanted me to come at 9:00 am. While it is difficult to guarantee a specific time, inducements can be made. When this request was made of me, it was asked right after I was given the information that the old fella (cagey old dude) loved to make fresh homemade doughnuts in the mornings. He advised that they would be ready at 9:00 am.
What else could I say? After all, I had previous experience in these matters after enjoying fresh homemade bread from the oven of the young mom.
"Yep, I can do that. I'll be here at 9:00 am!"
PB
Friday, June 4, 2010
Arizona Cracks Down
It's time someone should document exactly what is going on in Arizona with their new law dealing with illegal immigrants. Okay, you talked me into it. I'll say just a few words.
According to the news media, it’s been likened to Hitler’s prosecution of Jewish people back in the 1940’s. Like everything connected with the mainstream news media, this is rubbish!
Growing up in West Texas, this subject is not news to me nor is it news to the ranchers who live along the borders of Texas and Arizona. Actually this law is virtually a carbon copy of the current Federal law which is not being enforced.
Let’s establish one thing right now. This law is not aimed directly at the immigrants who come to the USA to escape extreme poverty and violence in Mexico. Nope, even though they enter the country illegally, they are not the target of this new Arizona law. The illegals are really in the wrong place at the wrong time. Could they not come in through the front door using the INS legally? Shame on the news media for failure to do right in reporting this truthfully.
This fact is common knowledge among the ranchers who live along the border. What the news media does not report, (why anyone would believe any of the drivel these cretins write is beyond me) is the blatant border terrorism going on now and which has been going on for a long time. Specifically, we are talking about the violent and deadly drug cartels.
When a rancher returns home with his family to find a woman’s severed head on his mail box, that sort of gets his attention. Why has a journalist not reported this? When there is a $250,000 bounty placed on the head of a Border Patrolman by the drug cartel, why has a journalist not reported this?
The answer is simple. It’s not politically correct. Being politically correct is best described as wild eyed lunatics, (see the current crop of elected Liberal Democrats) loudly screeching through foam flecked lips, insisting that it is indeed possible to pick up a turd by the clean end! Real journalists have gone the way of the dodo bird. Dismiss the present news readers and talking heads from anything resembling credibility or reliability. They are useless and can actually be hazardous to your health.
More than forty tunnels have been discovered connecting Nogales, Mexico to Nogales, Arizona. These underground tunnels are structurally very sound, using the latest engineering techniques to reinforce, light, and ventilate the corridors. They come up inside warehouses controlled by the drug cartels and are used to flood the US with illegal drugs. These tunnels are as far as 400 yards inside the USA and are used to dump in many undocumented immigrants along with the drugs to further confuse the issue.
As a direct result of the border violence and terrorism, many ranchers are selling out and moving north. So…who buys their land? You guessed it; one of the drug cartels. In this fashion, they control long stretches of the border and can freely move drugs and people through this private gateway as well. Did I mention that the drugs cartels have lots of money? I should have.
Mexico’s current President, one Felipe Calderon (who could only become a bigger fool if he gained some weight) has proposed a tightening of American gun laws to prevent his criminals from arming themselves! In the extreme, this is wanton bullshit!
Calderon blames the USA’s second amendment for his country’s failure to control his own home grown criminals. Look how successful Mexico's strict gun laws have been in rendering his few remaining honest citizens helpless and defenseless.
Truthfully, I feel he has received guidance in this harebrained idea from some of our own home grown traitors, idiots, and worthless sons of bitches like Senator Charles Schumer, Senator Diane Feinstein, and New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg.
These despicable and unethical charlatons, along with George Soros of Moveon.org, really want the assault weapons ban reinstated at any cost to us along with even more severe restrictions added! We must be more careful about who we elect.
Calderon conveniently forgets how his country, back in 1858 if my memory of Texas history serves me correctly, President Santa Anna deeded over Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, and California to the USA in return for safe passage back to Mexico so he could once again install himself as Mexico’s President.(editor's note: it would be okay with me if we gave California back)
There are three ways to defeat the drug cartels. One way is to shoot on sight everyone who illegally crosses the border, but the problem here is how would the shooter know who were the drug dealers and who were the innocent pawns known as undocumented immigrants?
The second way is to legalize drugs in this country. By selling drugs in liquor stores, the government could remove the profit motive from the sale of illegal drugs. Also the government could collect yet another whopping tax while saving the vast amounts of money currently being wasted on pretend efforts to stop the flow across our borders.
Finally, the criminal element can be arrested, prosecuted and sentenced to long, severe, and miserable terms in tent city prison compounds in the desert. Just because many criminals are breaking the law in no justification to stop the enforcement of these laws.
I personally favor the swift capture and sentencing of the criminals, but in reality none of these solutions are totally practical.
Right now, there are no other viable solutions. Until there is, Arizona and Texas ranchers are left to deal with this problem as best they can. That means some innocent victims from both sides of the border may get collected and this responsibility will rest squarely on the shoulders of the President of the USA. Not to decide…is to decide. Get off the pot, Obama. Time to man up!
Short of contracting with the Israelis for help in controlling our southern borders, I see no long term effective solution.
In the meantime, we must be very grateful for our second amendment and protect it vigorously! It’s all we have that separates us from the rampant violence of third world countries…like Calderon's Mexico.
Vote responsibly. This time; it's for real!
PB
According to the news media, it’s been likened to Hitler’s prosecution of Jewish people back in the 1940’s. Like everything connected with the mainstream news media, this is rubbish!
Growing up in West Texas, this subject is not news to me nor is it news to the ranchers who live along the borders of Texas and Arizona. Actually this law is virtually a carbon copy of the current Federal law which is not being enforced.
Let’s establish one thing right now. This law is not aimed directly at the immigrants who come to the USA to escape extreme poverty and violence in Mexico. Nope, even though they enter the country illegally, they are not the target of this new Arizona law. The illegals are really in the wrong place at the wrong time. Could they not come in through the front door using the INS legally? Shame on the news media for failure to do right in reporting this truthfully.
This fact is common knowledge among the ranchers who live along the border. What the news media does not report, (why anyone would believe any of the drivel these cretins write is beyond me) is the blatant border terrorism going on now and which has been going on for a long time. Specifically, we are talking about the violent and deadly drug cartels.
When a rancher returns home with his family to find a woman’s severed head on his mail box, that sort of gets his attention. Why has a journalist not reported this? When there is a $250,000 bounty placed on the head of a Border Patrolman by the drug cartel, why has a journalist not reported this?
The answer is simple. It’s not politically correct. Being politically correct is best described as wild eyed lunatics, (see the current crop of elected Liberal Democrats) loudly screeching through foam flecked lips, insisting that it is indeed possible to pick up a turd by the clean end! Real journalists have gone the way of the dodo bird. Dismiss the present news readers and talking heads from anything resembling credibility or reliability. They are useless and can actually be hazardous to your health.
More than forty tunnels have been discovered connecting Nogales, Mexico to Nogales, Arizona. These underground tunnels are structurally very sound, using the latest engineering techniques to reinforce, light, and ventilate the corridors. They come up inside warehouses controlled by the drug cartels and are used to flood the US with illegal drugs. These tunnels are as far as 400 yards inside the USA and are used to dump in many undocumented immigrants along with the drugs to further confuse the issue.
As a direct result of the border violence and terrorism, many ranchers are selling out and moving north. So…who buys their land? You guessed it; one of the drug cartels. In this fashion, they control long stretches of the border and can freely move drugs and people through this private gateway as well. Did I mention that the drugs cartels have lots of money? I should have.
Mexico’s current President, one Felipe Calderon (who could only become a bigger fool if he gained some weight) has proposed a tightening of American gun laws to prevent his criminals from arming themselves! In the extreme, this is wanton bullshit!
Calderon blames the USA’s second amendment for his country’s failure to control his own home grown criminals. Look how successful Mexico's strict gun laws have been in rendering his few remaining honest citizens helpless and defenseless.
Truthfully, I feel he has received guidance in this harebrained idea from some of our own home grown traitors, idiots, and worthless sons of bitches like Senator Charles Schumer, Senator Diane Feinstein, and New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg.
These despicable and unethical charlatons, along with George Soros of Moveon.org, really want the assault weapons ban reinstated at any cost to us along with even more severe restrictions added! We must be more careful about who we elect.
Calderon conveniently forgets how his country, back in 1858 if my memory of Texas history serves me correctly, President Santa Anna deeded over Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, and California to the USA in return for safe passage back to Mexico so he could once again install himself as Mexico’s President.(editor's note: it would be okay with me if we gave California back)
There are three ways to defeat the drug cartels. One way is to shoot on sight everyone who illegally crosses the border, but the problem here is how would the shooter know who were the drug dealers and who were the innocent pawns known as undocumented immigrants?
The second way is to legalize drugs in this country. By selling drugs in liquor stores, the government could remove the profit motive from the sale of illegal drugs. Also the government could collect yet another whopping tax while saving the vast amounts of money currently being wasted on pretend efforts to stop the flow across our borders.
Finally, the criminal element can be arrested, prosecuted and sentenced to long, severe, and miserable terms in tent city prison compounds in the desert. Just because many criminals are breaking the law in no justification to stop the enforcement of these laws.
I personally favor the swift capture and sentencing of the criminals, but in reality none of these solutions are totally practical.
Right now, there are no other viable solutions. Until there is, Arizona and Texas ranchers are left to deal with this problem as best they can. That means some innocent victims from both sides of the border may get collected and this responsibility will rest squarely on the shoulders of the President of the USA. Not to decide…is to decide. Get off the pot, Obama. Time to man up!
Short of contracting with the Israelis for help in controlling our southern borders, I see no long term effective solution.
In the meantime, we must be very grateful for our second amendment and protect it vigorously! It’s all we have that separates us from the rampant violence of third world countries…like Calderon's Mexico.
Vote responsibly. This time; it's for real!
PB
Monday, May 3, 2010
The Chapman Academy of Practical Shooting
The Chapman Academy of Practical Shooting was founded by Ray Chapman in the middle 1970's His previous experience in the Marine Corps and Law Enforcement led him to become involved in competitive shooting. He opened the Academy shortly after he won the inaugural World Championship of Practical Shooting in 1975 with a near perfect score following this by winning over 250 major shooting tournaments.
Shortly after winning that first Championship, he initiated the Bianchi Cup, an International Pistol Competition held at the Green Valley Rifle and Pistol Club just north of Columbia, Missouri. Because of his strong belief that civilians should strive to become proficient in urban combat skills and opened the Chapman Academy of Practical Shooting.
As his personal reputation grew, as a direct extension of his shooting skill, so too did the school benefit and it's reputation for excellence expanded rapidly among shooters. Those who have been fortunate enough to attend any of his programs benefited greatly from the teaching principles he imparted. Some of his clients include all types of law enforcement personnel, Highway Patrol officers, SWAT teams, DELTA force teams, and Navy SEALS. Yes, and even old duffers like me!
Ray semi retired from the Academy around 1996 and promoted John Skaggs to serve as Director and Chief Instructor of the Chapman Academy. Ray made a few appearance for special classes of returning students over the next few years. John Skaggs continued on until 2004 when he suffered a debilitating strokeand has not yet been able to return. John carried the same principles forward as taught by Ray and was excellent in making difficult tactical problems look easy.
His easy going manner inspired confidence and approachability, but when a group of Navy SEALS goofed up and shot the mirrors off the old Toyota range truck, they learned new words to add to their vocabulary.
The lack of civilian competency with defensive pistol skills became evident after Florida passed the Concealed Weapons law in 1987. Ray’s Chapman Academy took over where state requirement ended. This column describes my experience at the Chapman Academy for three days in May, many years ago. But first, a little background…
In the modern era, concealed carry has been a fact of life since Florida first opened the door in 1987. It was not uniformly embraced by the ‘Chicken Little’ news media who trumpeted dire predictions of shoot outs at high noon, blood running in the streets, gun battles over parking spaces, and macho gun fights. These bizarre claims were in the Florida newspapers daily.
History has proven them to be totally wrong. And just how wrong were they? Try this. While an immediate decrease in personal violent crime was observed, a drastic increase in car hijackings began taking place within a year of the implementation of this law. How can this be? This law was intended to provide the private citizen with the ability to protect themselves. Why then are we seeing an increase in violent crime?
Interesting question, and the increase in car hijackings overshadowed the decrease in one on one violence. But of even more interest were the answers that the investigators discovered. The profile of the hijack victims fit a narrow set circumstances. All of them were tourists. All of them entered Florida for vacations from busy International airports. All of them rented an upscale automobile. How does concealed carry fit into this scenario? Puzzling. Investigators (Rossi et al) decided to go to the source and asked those who were involved.
Setting up a series of interviews with felons who had been recently arrested for hijackings and muggings, it was learned that it was because of the recent law that had armed private citizens that criminals had changed their tactics; drastically.
Note well that there have been fewer than 1% of license holders out of millions nationwide who have mishandled their responsibilty. Virtually none of us are cop wannabes. Compared to the police, our gun handling skills are learned only to help us survive an attack. That's it!
Police on the other hand, must pursue felons into dark alleys, into dangerous buildings and apprehend them; all while adhering to a ridiculous set of politically correct rules of conduct. The tactics they use and the decision they make will then be second guessed by armchair quarterbacks who were not there and did not have to make a life saving decision in a split second. My respect for these men and women is boundless. Civilian license holders need merely to get away without damage to tender hide.
Well, enough of that. Let's get back to the car hijackers who have now learned to station themselves in the airports, waiting for passengers to disembark. Some of them even memorized the arrival times of all overseas flights as well as national arrivals from bigger cities.
Well dressed couples, young and old, preferably without children, were selected upon disembarking and followed through the airport to the baggage section, then on to the car rental desks, on out to the shuttle buses, ending at the pick up point of the rental car.
From there, the rental car itself was identified and followed by the hijackers. When the victims had reached a part of town that was less populated, the hijackers would gently bump the rear end of the victim’s car. As the law abiding folks stopped to exchange information as the rental brochures advised, the car was taken over by the bad guys. From there the victims were driven to a secluded place where the target was relieved of money, watches, clothes, tickets, credit cards and other items that could be fenced to pawn shops. In certain cases, the victims were killed!
Why? The reason is more simple than the biased news media is willing to believe. Did I mention I have no respect for members of Liberal news media? I should have.
If the victims had high limit credit cards, then killing them prevented American Express from being aware that the card had been stolen. No survivors meant no one will call to report the card stolen. This gave the hijackers more days and hours to make more purchases before the card was deactivated. Think that’s bad? Read on.
In California, young gang bangers crawl under an expensive car in exclusive shopping centers. When the driver, usually elderly women who had been pre selected, returns to her car, the miscreant reaches out with a sharp knife and cuts her on the back of her ankle, severing the Achilles tendon.
As the victim lies flopping around on the pavement, helpless, she is relieved of her purse, credit cards, and various and sundry articles that could be exchanged for cash money at pawn shops. The crowning blow was the use of bolt cutters to remove ring fingers with swollen arthritic knuckles so that her large diamond rings could more easily be removed. Nice kids. Driving away in her expensive car was a bonus and finished the crime.
Remember well that these are dangerous and vicious criminals; not far removed from rabid animals. They are not overly bright, but they are astute enough to know that selecting a Florida resident may expose them to a CCW license holder and they will face a victim who will actually fight back.
Being cowardly as well as lazy, they greet the incoming flights that provide an endless supply of targets consisting of safe and most importantly, unarmed victims. But, you may ask, how do they know the tourists are unarmed? The secret, Baba Looie, is because of the stringent Federal laws prohibiting firearms on commercial aircraft!
So now we know that the concealed carry law has indeed altered the behavior of career criminals as they go about their business of choosing safer victims. This in itself is very good, but brings up some additional questions. Just how competent are these license holders?
If the only training they received is the state mandated requirements, that training is woefully inadequate. Speaking from personal experience, I can attest to the fact that the initial class that qualified me for my Texas CHL was not related to anything other that minimum safety rules and very basic shooting qualification.
As a bonus, information was imparted about places to carry and not carry, along with circumstances that justify use of a firearm in self defense. That was about it. I was extremely uneasy when I began carrying. It's a common phenomenon among new license holders.
In talking with friends who were active law enforcement officers, they were unanimous in recommending a basic “Introduction to Defensive Pistol” course followed by regular practice and monthly participation in organized practical shooting scenarios. The Chapman Academy offered the highly desirable introduction course that I sorely needed. I quickly signed up for the three day program and headed for Columbia.
In my truck, I had two fine pistols that I would use for the course along with the minimum recommended 1,500 rounds of new factory ammo. Additionally, I took along that minimum required inventory, plus an extra 2,000 rounds of reloaded ammo, a third back up pistol, holsters for all, complete with several extra magazines, a cleaning kit, eye and ear protection, a bandanna to keep hot brass from entering my shirt at the neck, and knee and elbow pads as recommended by the faculty. Did I mention I really enjoy shooting? I should have.
Early on a beautiful Friday morning in May, I appeared at the Green Valley Rifle and Pistol Club just north of Columbia, Missouri, ready to learn. There were eight of us in the class and we spent a few minutes in the classroom with John Skaggs as he went over the outline of the course and the rules of the range.
We would learn the basics of the course as developed by Ray Chapman; shoot effectively, move quickly, and utilize cover. From this, all other skills grow.
For safety, the range was designated as a ‘cold’ range. This means the firearm is always in the holster, always unloaded, and with the magazine well always empty and open. Loading took place only on the firing line, and only when directed by the range officer. Failure to follow this rule would be met with a percussion solo as performed upon the head of the violator by John, followed by an unceremonius dismissal without benefit of a refund. Safety is a serious business at the Chapman Academy.
We started with some basic dry firing as the proper grip was demonstrated and the techniques of two rounds center mass was discussed. Finally, we got to the point where John decided we were ready to start. This went well and we shot a couple of hundred rounds. Break time. We sat in the shade and cleaned our pistols while listening to a review of our individual strengths and weaknesses along with a description of the next drill; shooting on the move.
For this dynamic drill, we again start with the dry fire exercise. This scenario deals with two attackers who, when some distance away, look at one another, move apart and with weapons drawn, advance toward us. John demonstrates the “Groucho” walk, using a smooth, gliding walk, advancing toward the threats, and shooting as he goes! Most street criminals are accustomed to seeing their victims submit without resistance or running away.
We do neither. We not only are not running away, we are headed their way decisively and aggressively. Not only are we headed their way, we are shooting at them as we advance! This gives them two things to think about at the same time, creating too many moving parts for their small minds to process. They will either freeze and get shot or run away. If they try to shoot back at us they will have to hit a moving target and John explains that if a street criminal has no prior training, they won’t fare well.
Later John has us shooting at these threats while moving laterally left and right, while moving obliquely, and while backing away. This is the heart of the program; shoot, move, find cover.
Break time again. Clean those pistols. Modern semi automatic firearms work splendidly when kept clean and most of them like proper lubrication. To keep the gun running, keep it wet! If the gun stops running, it becomes a beautiful and attractive but relatively useless short club. Clean those pistols well, boys!
While we eat lunch, clean pistols and reload magazines, John describes the next exercise that will involve shooting from cover. Cover is described as something that will stop a bullet, like a concrete wall, a fire hydrant, or the engine compartment of a car.
Concealment is something that may hide us, but will not stop a bullet; a sheetrock wall, a thin door, an overturned table. Like learning to swim, it is better to learn now rather than jumping off into the deep end. It is good to be ready.
We are now prepared to shoot from the right side of cover, from the left side of cover, and various other positions. For example we could use a large tree even if we were some distance away from it. As long as we keep it between us and the threat, it can be used as cover.
Remember our objectives, shoot effectively, (hit the target) move quickly, (to cover or to the threat) use cover. (a tree, a concrete wall). This is priceless information that may save our lives one day. The CCW class makes it legal for us to carry concealed weapons, the Chapman Academy prepares us to defeat armed attackers and survive the encounter.
We spend the rest of the day repeating the drills we learned today. At 1630, John dismisses the class and warns us that not all bad guys are untrained. Some may have military experience and will be at least as competent as we are, maybe more. Do not assume they are without gun handling skills. Our objective is to avoid getting hurt or killed. And with that, everyone heads for the exit ready for hot showers and a good meal. But, not me…
I run headlong for the steel plate target range for a little more play time. I saw this range earlier in the day and just can’t resist a few shots at these reactive targets. These plates are in four groups of six plates each, and will go down with a clang and a satisfying thump. I shoot for just a few minutes…or so I thought. When I look at my watch I am astonished to see it’s almost 1900! (For those who live in Topeka, Kansas, this means 7:00 o'clock in the evening.)
I do a quick inventory of my remaining ammo to make sure I have enough to finish the course tomorrow and Sunday. Fortunately I brought along an extra 2000 rounds of reloads so I can shoot a little more. But the recoil, the muzzle blast, and the pounding are finally getting to me. One can only have so much fun.
Back at the Red Roof Inn, I enjoy a long hot shower, call home, make a couple of sandwiches, drink some Gator Aid and clean the pistols once more and reload the magazines. It has been a good day.
Saturday morning at McDonalds, two Egg Macs, a thermos of coffee, and I'm ready to head for the range. Was I the first shooter there? Yep, but not the first visitor. The range cat, named Sh*t Head greeted me with a smile. This cat appeared at the range as a dumped kitten a couple of years back. John and the guys took him in, provided regular meals and a warm place to sleep.
The ungrateful little wretch repaid this kindness by chewing up expensive leather goods left out in the open. As he grew older, he scratched up chair legs, sofa arms, and marked out his territory leaving his pungent scent everywhere. He was a mean little dude till one day John scooped him up and presented him to the local vet for a little well deserved and long overdue personal surgery. He came back to the range without cajones and was truly a...changed cat. Still a good mouser, though, but the girls held no fascination for him now.
I drank my coffee while waiting for the others to arrive. Today would be a scorcher with temperatures in the 90’s. John reviewed some observations from yesterday and we started the day with a repeat of Friday's drills. John made corrections here and there and generally seemed satisfied that we were progressing, but by the meal break we were all ready for something new. John did not disappoint.
The new drill would have us shooing at close range, from behind cover, and at a moving target. Sounds like fun.
John demonstrates the drill. A panhandler approaches at two yards, begging for money. When rebuffed, he pulls a knife and threatens us. For the first time, we hear the phrase “the need for speed, the need for precision.” This situation calls for speed. At the signal, John draws his pistol, holding it tight against his ribs, gets off two fast shots while moving backward and laterally. There is no time to draw, extend the arms, get the two handed grip, aim and shoot. It is logical and correct to assume that if the pistol is at the level of John’s ribs, it will therefore be at the level of the threat's ribs as well.
For a threat under four yards away, the procedure changes to where the position of the pistol is held in a partly extended shooting hand much as if you were going to shake hands with someone. To give yourself a little more time, you can move backward while you are drawing. For stability, your left arm is placed diagonally across your chest to form a supported shooting platform.
At all times the draw calls for the weak hand to move in close to your own chest and out of the line of fire from the muzzle of your own pistol. As Clint Smith of Thunder Ranch says, it does not help to set yourself on fire.
Next step is to engage the target at fifteen yards. There is still a need for speed but precision is more applicable here. Run to cover and engage the threat at fifteen yards. Then it’s on to the moving target that is twenty five yards away. That’s it. Oh, by the way, this must all be done in six seconds.
When we started this drill we all finished in less than six seconds which surprised all of us except John. The fact that we missed so many of the longer shots surprised all of us except John.
The rest of the day was spent working on this drill with one addition. Following our last two shots at the moving target, we reload and move to a long stairway leading up to a wall. We move up the stairs slowly one at a time using the wall for cover and engage the threats found in the courtyard.
Black steel discs are planted at thirty, twenty five, twenty, fifteen, ten, and five yards. The assignment is to take them out without hitting the white steel discs which are innocent bystanders or in some cases hostages. Remember “the need for speed, the need for precision”.
We conclude the day with this scenario. Tomorrow…is qualification day.
Sunday morning dawned, bright, clear, another beautiful spring day. Did I mention we have had perfect weather for this class? I should have.
We are all assembled at the range where we started on Friday. John goes over the course of fire and we learn that we must have a minimum of 170 points to qualify for a certificate. But we don't want just any old certificate, we want that Master's certificate!
The classifications are; Sharpshooter, Marksman, Expert, and Master but everybody wants the Master. For that we’ll need a minimum of 187 total points.
We start out with the stand up and shoot drill. John’s words echo in our little pink ears and we make sure our grip is tight, and our stance is right. Everybody comes through this phase without any problems. After yesterday, this seems very simple.
Next is the moving and shooting scenario. We all do the “Groucho” walk and nail these targets neatly as as we move forward. If memory serves me, I believe that John threw in an unexpected moving target near the end of this drill. He likes to see how we’ll react to surprises.
We take a short break again to clean pistols and reload magazines. John keeps his distance from us today as he wants to maintain absolute integrity; this is test time!
Now we are using cover as we shoot. This does not go as well as we expected because the ranges are a little longer than we rememberand we’re shooting from more difficult positions. Only two students earn enough points to still qualify for the Master certificate. The others could shoot a perfect score from here on and still be eliminated mathematically. Gettin’ tougher.
We remember the story John told about the police officer who was 6’4” and weighed around 245 pounds. He told John it was ridiculous to expect him to find adequate cover behind a fire hydrant. John told him any cover at all is better than no cover.
Some weeks later in real life, this same officer was involved in a shooting and took cover behind a fire hydrant! He told John there was more than enough room and even several of his buddies could have joined him behind that cover!
Heading into the final scenario, the Miami Massacre, I learn that I am up first. During the break, we also learned that one other student and I are the only two still in the hunt for the Master classification. More pressure!
John asks if I understand the course of fire and I nod yes. He then gives the order to load and make ready. I put a 17 round magazine in the Beretta 92 and rack the slide to load the chamber. Then I use the decocker lever to let the hammer down, holster the pistol, and nod that I am ready.
When the moving target starts, I draw and fire. But nothing happens! I had forgotten to return the decocker lever to the ready position! I correct this fast and race through the scenario. If I’m lucky, I can make up the lost time as I have been completing this drill in about 4 seconds. I ran to cover and took out the next target and got on the moving target as fast as I could. Could not tell if I got the mover with that second shot. It’s gonna be close.
Climbing the stairs and taking out the black steel targets without collecting a hostage or an innocent bystander went well requiring only one shot per each of the six threats.
I unload, show John the empty chamber and receive the order to holster the weapon and stand down That's it, I'm finished.
I have to now wait for the other seven shooters to finish the course. I use the time wisely and clean the pistol one last time. Lovingly, I reassemble it and wipe it down, placing it in the protective case. This didn’t take anywhere near long enough and I still have time to fret over my screw up.
Eventually every one finishes and we all trudge back to the class room where John and his staff tally up the scores. He tells me he knew I had forgotten to return the decocker lever to the ready position, but after all, this was a test. All coaching was ended at the start of the day.
He did say I made a great recovery and nearly got by with it anyway. The second shot hit the barricade just nano seconds after the target disappeared behind the wall. He said the shot was on line and would have scored the point, but…
How close was it? I needed 187 points to achieve Master. I accumulated 186.4 points. Even worse, the high score was only 191.4. If that last round had connected I would have achieved the Master classification and been high gun as well with 192 points. That was a costly mistake that I’ll grieve about for a long, long time.
John told me I will receive more benefit from that miss than I realize. He said I would never forget that again and it proved to him (and should prove to me) that I could recover from unexpected surprises. You know how John loves unexpected surprises.
But it still nags at me even today. Bill Jordan, the famous Texas Border Patrol legend wrote a book about not finishing first. He entitled the book, “No Second Place Winner.” Yep, that’s me; a second place non winner.
Bill Jordan’s gone now, along with Jeff Cooper and Ray Chapman. These splendid pioneers did much to bring competency to civilian shooters as well as military and law enforcement officers. Information about these fellows is abundant on the Internet. Google them up and see what interesting lives they led. You'll be glad you did. And check out the number of other shooting schools out there as well; Thunder Ranch in Oregon, Gunsite in Arizona, and Front Sight in Nevada.
John’s final speech told us we should be proud; we had come through a shooting program that put us on a level with that of a graduate police officer. We completed the same scenarios that are taught in the Police Academy curriculum across the nation, but he also cautioned that we were just now ready to learn something about shooting!
He urged us to practice what we had learned here and to participate in local events sponsored by the various national practical shooting sports organizations. Keep on shooting, he said.
There's much more to learn, he told us; situational awareness, weapons retention, low light shooting, shooting from prone and other awkward positions, carjacking prevention, room to room clearance in case a shopping mall is attacked by terrorists and you need to get your family out, and shooting from vehicles.
Remember to shoot effectively, move quickly, and use cover. Come back regularly for additional all the Advanced Defensive Pistol courses.
That was the last time I saw John Skaggs. I learned later that he had a stroke and has not yet returned to teaching. Then in February 2008, Ray Chapman died and the highly respected Chapman Academy of Practical Shooting closed its doors.
But we must continue; and here's a good way to do that.
Each May, the Bianchi Cup International Pistol Championship match lives on at the Green Valley Rifle and Pistol Club just north of Columbia, Missouri.
Go there and watch; you'll be glad you did!
PB
Shortly after winning that first Championship, he initiated the Bianchi Cup, an International Pistol Competition held at the Green Valley Rifle and Pistol Club just north of Columbia, Missouri. Because of his strong belief that civilians should strive to become proficient in urban combat skills and opened the Chapman Academy of Practical Shooting.
As his personal reputation grew, as a direct extension of his shooting skill, so too did the school benefit and it's reputation for excellence expanded rapidly among shooters. Those who have been fortunate enough to attend any of his programs benefited greatly from the teaching principles he imparted. Some of his clients include all types of law enforcement personnel, Highway Patrol officers, SWAT teams, DELTA force teams, and Navy SEALS. Yes, and even old duffers like me!
Ray semi retired from the Academy around 1996 and promoted John Skaggs to serve as Director and Chief Instructor of the Chapman Academy. Ray made a few appearance for special classes of returning students over the next few years. John Skaggs continued on until 2004 when he suffered a debilitating strokeand has not yet been able to return. John carried the same principles forward as taught by Ray and was excellent in making difficult tactical problems look easy.
His easy going manner inspired confidence and approachability, but when a group of Navy SEALS goofed up and shot the mirrors off the old Toyota range truck, they learned new words to add to their vocabulary.
The lack of civilian competency with defensive pistol skills became evident after Florida passed the Concealed Weapons law in 1987. Ray’s Chapman Academy took over where state requirement ended. This column describes my experience at the Chapman Academy for three days in May, many years ago. But first, a little background…
In the modern era, concealed carry has been a fact of life since Florida first opened the door in 1987. It was not uniformly embraced by the ‘Chicken Little’ news media who trumpeted dire predictions of shoot outs at high noon, blood running in the streets, gun battles over parking spaces, and macho gun fights. These bizarre claims were in the Florida newspapers daily.
History has proven them to be totally wrong. And just how wrong were they? Try this. While an immediate decrease in personal violent crime was observed, a drastic increase in car hijackings began taking place within a year of the implementation of this law. How can this be? This law was intended to provide the private citizen with the ability to protect themselves. Why then are we seeing an increase in violent crime?
Interesting question, and the increase in car hijackings overshadowed the decrease in one on one violence. But of even more interest were the answers that the investigators discovered. The profile of the hijack victims fit a narrow set circumstances. All of them were tourists. All of them entered Florida for vacations from busy International airports. All of them rented an upscale automobile. How does concealed carry fit into this scenario? Puzzling. Investigators (Rossi et al) decided to go to the source and asked those who were involved.
Setting up a series of interviews with felons who had been recently arrested for hijackings and muggings, it was learned that it was because of the recent law that had armed private citizens that criminals had changed their tactics; drastically.
Note well that there have been fewer than 1% of license holders out of millions nationwide who have mishandled their responsibilty. Virtually none of us are cop wannabes. Compared to the police, our gun handling skills are learned only to help us survive an attack. That's it!
Police on the other hand, must pursue felons into dark alleys, into dangerous buildings and apprehend them; all while adhering to a ridiculous set of politically correct rules of conduct. The tactics they use and the decision they make will then be second guessed by armchair quarterbacks who were not there and did not have to make a life saving decision in a split second. My respect for these men and women is boundless. Civilian license holders need merely to get away without damage to tender hide.
Well, enough of that. Let's get back to the car hijackers who have now learned to station themselves in the airports, waiting for passengers to disembark. Some of them even memorized the arrival times of all overseas flights as well as national arrivals from bigger cities.
Well dressed couples, young and old, preferably without children, were selected upon disembarking and followed through the airport to the baggage section, then on to the car rental desks, on out to the shuttle buses, ending at the pick up point of the rental car.
From there, the rental car itself was identified and followed by the hijackers. When the victims had reached a part of town that was less populated, the hijackers would gently bump the rear end of the victim’s car. As the law abiding folks stopped to exchange information as the rental brochures advised, the car was taken over by the bad guys. From there the victims were driven to a secluded place where the target was relieved of money, watches, clothes, tickets, credit cards and other items that could be fenced to pawn shops. In certain cases, the victims were killed!
Why? The reason is more simple than the biased news media is willing to believe. Did I mention I have no respect for members of Liberal news media? I should have.
If the victims had high limit credit cards, then killing them prevented American Express from being aware that the card had been stolen. No survivors meant no one will call to report the card stolen. This gave the hijackers more days and hours to make more purchases before the card was deactivated. Think that’s bad? Read on.
In California, young gang bangers crawl under an expensive car in exclusive shopping centers. When the driver, usually elderly women who had been pre selected, returns to her car, the miscreant reaches out with a sharp knife and cuts her on the back of her ankle, severing the Achilles tendon.
As the victim lies flopping around on the pavement, helpless, she is relieved of her purse, credit cards, and various and sundry articles that could be exchanged for cash money at pawn shops. The crowning blow was the use of bolt cutters to remove ring fingers with swollen arthritic knuckles so that her large diamond rings could more easily be removed. Nice kids. Driving away in her expensive car was a bonus and finished the crime.
Remember well that these are dangerous and vicious criminals; not far removed from rabid animals. They are not overly bright, but they are astute enough to know that selecting a Florida resident may expose them to a CCW license holder and they will face a victim who will actually fight back.
Being cowardly as well as lazy, they greet the incoming flights that provide an endless supply of targets consisting of safe and most importantly, unarmed victims. But, you may ask, how do they know the tourists are unarmed? The secret, Baba Looie, is because of the stringent Federal laws prohibiting firearms on commercial aircraft!
So now we know that the concealed carry law has indeed altered the behavior of career criminals as they go about their business of choosing safer victims. This in itself is very good, but brings up some additional questions. Just how competent are these license holders?
If the only training they received is the state mandated requirements, that training is woefully inadequate. Speaking from personal experience, I can attest to the fact that the initial class that qualified me for my Texas CHL was not related to anything other that minimum safety rules and very basic shooting qualification.
As a bonus, information was imparted about places to carry and not carry, along with circumstances that justify use of a firearm in self defense. That was about it. I was extremely uneasy when I began carrying. It's a common phenomenon among new license holders.
In talking with friends who were active law enforcement officers, they were unanimous in recommending a basic “Introduction to Defensive Pistol” course followed by regular practice and monthly participation in organized practical shooting scenarios. The Chapman Academy offered the highly desirable introduction course that I sorely needed. I quickly signed up for the three day program and headed for Columbia.
In my truck, I had two fine pistols that I would use for the course along with the minimum recommended 1,500 rounds of new factory ammo. Additionally, I took along that minimum required inventory, plus an extra 2,000 rounds of reloaded ammo, a third back up pistol, holsters for all, complete with several extra magazines, a cleaning kit, eye and ear protection, a bandanna to keep hot brass from entering my shirt at the neck, and knee and elbow pads as recommended by the faculty. Did I mention I really enjoy shooting? I should have.
Early on a beautiful Friday morning in May, I appeared at the Green Valley Rifle and Pistol Club just north of Columbia, Missouri, ready to learn. There were eight of us in the class and we spent a few minutes in the classroom with John Skaggs as he went over the outline of the course and the rules of the range.
We would learn the basics of the course as developed by Ray Chapman; shoot effectively, move quickly, and utilize cover. From this, all other skills grow.
For safety, the range was designated as a ‘cold’ range. This means the firearm is always in the holster, always unloaded, and with the magazine well always empty and open. Loading took place only on the firing line, and only when directed by the range officer. Failure to follow this rule would be met with a percussion solo as performed upon the head of the violator by John, followed by an unceremonius dismissal without benefit of a refund. Safety is a serious business at the Chapman Academy.
We started with some basic dry firing as the proper grip was demonstrated and the techniques of two rounds center mass was discussed. Finally, we got to the point where John decided we were ready to start. This went well and we shot a couple of hundred rounds. Break time. We sat in the shade and cleaned our pistols while listening to a review of our individual strengths and weaknesses along with a description of the next drill; shooting on the move.
For this dynamic drill, we again start with the dry fire exercise. This scenario deals with two attackers who, when some distance away, look at one another, move apart and with weapons drawn, advance toward us. John demonstrates the “Groucho” walk, using a smooth, gliding walk, advancing toward the threats, and shooting as he goes! Most street criminals are accustomed to seeing their victims submit without resistance or running away.
We do neither. We not only are not running away, we are headed their way decisively and aggressively. Not only are we headed their way, we are shooting at them as we advance! This gives them two things to think about at the same time, creating too many moving parts for their small minds to process. They will either freeze and get shot or run away. If they try to shoot back at us they will have to hit a moving target and John explains that if a street criminal has no prior training, they won’t fare well.
Later John has us shooting at these threats while moving laterally left and right, while moving obliquely, and while backing away. This is the heart of the program; shoot, move, find cover.
Break time again. Clean those pistols. Modern semi automatic firearms work splendidly when kept clean and most of them like proper lubrication. To keep the gun running, keep it wet! If the gun stops running, it becomes a beautiful and attractive but relatively useless short club. Clean those pistols well, boys!
While we eat lunch, clean pistols and reload magazines, John describes the next exercise that will involve shooting from cover. Cover is described as something that will stop a bullet, like a concrete wall, a fire hydrant, or the engine compartment of a car.
Concealment is something that may hide us, but will not stop a bullet; a sheetrock wall, a thin door, an overturned table. Like learning to swim, it is better to learn now rather than jumping off into the deep end. It is good to be ready.
We are now prepared to shoot from the right side of cover, from the left side of cover, and various other positions. For example we could use a large tree even if we were some distance away from it. As long as we keep it between us and the threat, it can be used as cover.
Remember our objectives, shoot effectively, (hit the target) move quickly, (to cover or to the threat) use cover. (a tree, a concrete wall). This is priceless information that may save our lives one day. The CCW class makes it legal for us to carry concealed weapons, the Chapman Academy prepares us to defeat armed attackers and survive the encounter.
We spend the rest of the day repeating the drills we learned today. At 1630, John dismisses the class and warns us that not all bad guys are untrained. Some may have military experience and will be at least as competent as we are, maybe more. Do not assume they are without gun handling skills. Our objective is to avoid getting hurt or killed. And with that, everyone heads for the exit ready for hot showers and a good meal. But, not me…
I run headlong for the steel plate target range for a little more play time. I saw this range earlier in the day and just can’t resist a few shots at these reactive targets. These plates are in four groups of six plates each, and will go down with a clang and a satisfying thump. I shoot for just a few minutes…or so I thought. When I look at my watch I am astonished to see it’s almost 1900! (For those who live in Topeka, Kansas, this means 7:00 o'clock in the evening.)
I do a quick inventory of my remaining ammo to make sure I have enough to finish the course tomorrow and Sunday. Fortunately I brought along an extra 2000 rounds of reloads so I can shoot a little more. But the recoil, the muzzle blast, and the pounding are finally getting to me. One can only have so much fun.
Back at the Red Roof Inn, I enjoy a long hot shower, call home, make a couple of sandwiches, drink some Gator Aid and clean the pistols once more and reload the magazines. It has been a good day.
Saturday morning at McDonalds, two Egg Macs, a thermos of coffee, and I'm ready to head for the range. Was I the first shooter there? Yep, but not the first visitor. The range cat, named Sh*t Head greeted me with a smile. This cat appeared at the range as a dumped kitten a couple of years back. John and the guys took him in, provided regular meals and a warm place to sleep.
The ungrateful little wretch repaid this kindness by chewing up expensive leather goods left out in the open. As he grew older, he scratched up chair legs, sofa arms, and marked out his territory leaving his pungent scent everywhere. He was a mean little dude till one day John scooped him up and presented him to the local vet for a little well deserved and long overdue personal surgery. He came back to the range without cajones and was truly a...changed cat. Still a good mouser, though, but the girls held no fascination for him now.
I drank my coffee while waiting for the others to arrive. Today would be a scorcher with temperatures in the 90’s. John reviewed some observations from yesterday and we started the day with a repeat of Friday's drills. John made corrections here and there and generally seemed satisfied that we were progressing, but by the meal break we were all ready for something new. John did not disappoint.
The new drill would have us shooing at close range, from behind cover, and at a moving target. Sounds like fun.
John demonstrates the drill. A panhandler approaches at two yards, begging for money. When rebuffed, he pulls a knife and threatens us. For the first time, we hear the phrase “the need for speed, the need for precision.” This situation calls for speed. At the signal, John draws his pistol, holding it tight against his ribs, gets off two fast shots while moving backward and laterally. There is no time to draw, extend the arms, get the two handed grip, aim and shoot. It is logical and correct to assume that if the pistol is at the level of John’s ribs, it will therefore be at the level of the threat's ribs as well.
For a threat under four yards away, the procedure changes to where the position of the pistol is held in a partly extended shooting hand much as if you were going to shake hands with someone. To give yourself a little more time, you can move backward while you are drawing. For stability, your left arm is placed diagonally across your chest to form a supported shooting platform.
At all times the draw calls for the weak hand to move in close to your own chest and out of the line of fire from the muzzle of your own pistol. As Clint Smith of Thunder Ranch says, it does not help to set yourself on fire.
Next step is to engage the target at fifteen yards. There is still a need for speed but precision is more applicable here. Run to cover and engage the threat at fifteen yards. Then it’s on to the moving target that is twenty five yards away. That’s it. Oh, by the way, this must all be done in six seconds.
When we started this drill we all finished in less than six seconds which surprised all of us except John. The fact that we missed so many of the longer shots surprised all of us except John.
The rest of the day was spent working on this drill with one addition. Following our last two shots at the moving target, we reload and move to a long stairway leading up to a wall. We move up the stairs slowly one at a time using the wall for cover and engage the threats found in the courtyard.
Black steel discs are planted at thirty, twenty five, twenty, fifteen, ten, and five yards. The assignment is to take them out without hitting the white steel discs which are innocent bystanders or in some cases hostages. Remember “the need for speed, the need for precision”.
We conclude the day with this scenario. Tomorrow…is qualification day.
Sunday morning dawned, bright, clear, another beautiful spring day. Did I mention we have had perfect weather for this class? I should have.
We are all assembled at the range where we started on Friday. John goes over the course of fire and we learn that we must have a minimum of 170 points to qualify for a certificate. But we don't want just any old certificate, we want that Master's certificate!
The classifications are; Sharpshooter, Marksman, Expert, and Master but everybody wants the Master. For that we’ll need a minimum of 187 total points.
We start out with the stand up and shoot drill. John’s words echo in our little pink ears and we make sure our grip is tight, and our stance is right. Everybody comes through this phase without any problems. After yesterday, this seems very simple.
Next is the moving and shooting scenario. We all do the “Groucho” walk and nail these targets neatly as as we move forward. If memory serves me, I believe that John threw in an unexpected moving target near the end of this drill. He likes to see how we’ll react to surprises.
We take a short break again to clean pistols and reload magazines. John keeps his distance from us today as he wants to maintain absolute integrity; this is test time!
Now we are using cover as we shoot. This does not go as well as we expected because the ranges are a little longer than we rememberand we’re shooting from more difficult positions. Only two students earn enough points to still qualify for the Master certificate. The others could shoot a perfect score from here on and still be eliminated mathematically. Gettin’ tougher.
We remember the story John told about the police officer who was 6’4” and weighed around 245 pounds. He told John it was ridiculous to expect him to find adequate cover behind a fire hydrant. John told him any cover at all is better than no cover.
Some weeks later in real life, this same officer was involved in a shooting and took cover behind a fire hydrant! He told John there was more than enough room and even several of his buddies could have joined him behind that cover!
Heading into the final scenario, the Miami Massacre, I learn that I am up first. During the break, we also learned that one other student and I are the only two still in the hunt for the Master classification. More pressure!
John asks if I understand the course of fire and I nod yes. He then gives the order to load and make ready. I put a 17 round magazine in the Beretta 92 and rack the slide to load the chamber. Then I use the decocker lever to let the hammer down, holster the pistol, and nod that I am ready.
When the moving target starts, I draw and fire. But nothing happens! I had forgotten to return the decocker lever to the ready position! I correct this fast and race through the scenario. If I’m lucky, I can make up the lost time as I have been completing this drill in about 4 seconds. I ran to cover and took out the next target and got on the moving target as fast as I could. Could not tell if I got the mover with that second shot. It’s gonna be close.
Climbing the stairs and taking out the black steel targets without collecting a hostage or an innocent bystander went well requiring only one shot per each of the six threats.
I unload, show John the empty chamber and receive the order to holster the weapon and stand down That's it, I'm finished.
I have to now wait for the other seven shooters to finish the course. I use the time wisely and clean the pistol one last time. Lovingly, I reassemble it and wipe it down, placing it in the protective case. This didn’t take anywhere near long enough and I still have time to fret over my screw up.
Eventually every one finishes and we all trudge back to the class room where John and his staff tally up the scores. He tells me he knew I had forgotten to return the decocker lever to the ready position, but after all, this was a test. All coaching was ended at the start of the day.
He did say I made a great recovery and nearly got by with it anyway. The second shot hit the barricade just nano seconds after the target disappeared behind the wall. He said the shot was on line and would have scored the point, but…
How close was it? I needed 187 points to achieve Master. I accumulated 186.4 points. Even worse, the high score was only 191.4. If that last round had connected I would have achieved the Master classification and been high gun as well with 192 points. That was a costly mistake that I’ll grieve about for a long, long time.
John told me I will receive more benefit from that miss than I realize. He said I would never forget that again and it proved to him (and should prove to me) that I could recover from unexpected surprises. You know how John loves unexpected surprises.
But it still nags at me even today. Bill Jordan, the famous Texas Border Patrol legend wrote a book about not finishing first. He entitled the book, “No Second Place Winner.” Yep, that’s me; a second place non winner.
Bill Jordan’s gone now, along with Jeff Cooper and Ray Chapman. These splendid pioneers did much to bring competency to civilian shooters as well as military and law enforcement officers. Information about these fellows is abundant on the Internet. Google them up and see what interesting lives they led. You'll be glad you did. And check out the number of other shooting schools out there as well; Thunder Ranch in Oregon, Gunsite in Arizona, and Front Sight in Nevada.
John’s final speech told us we should be proud; we had come through a shooting program that put us on a level with that of a graduate police officer. We completed the same scenarios that are taught in the Police Academy curriculum across the nation, but he also cautioned that we were just now ready to learn something about shooting!
He urged us to practice what we had learned here and to participate in local events sponsored by the various national practical shooting sports organizations. Keep on shooting, he said.
There's much more to learn, he told us; situational awareness, weapons retention, low light shooting, shooting from prone and other awkward positions, carjacking prevention, room to room clearance in case a shopping mall is attacked by terrorists and you need to get your family out, and shooting from vehicles.
Remember to shoot effectively, move quickly, and use cover. Come back regularly for additional all the Advanced Defensive Pistol courses.
That was the last time I saw John Skaggs. I learned later that he had a stroke and has not yet returned to teaching. Then in February 2008, Ray Chapman died and the highly respected Chapman Academy of Practical Shooting closed its doors.
But we must continue; and here's a good way to do that.
Each May, the Bianchi Cup International Pistol Championship match lives on at the Green Valley Rifle and Pistol Club just north of Columbia, Missouri.
Go there and watch; you'll be glad you did!
PB
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Free Health Care!!! Free Lunch?
Time and again, we have been told, “There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.”
Sad, but true. To all you welfare recips who sold your vote to the Democrats expecting free medical care, free gas, and free housing; it’s time for you to wake up. Not gonna happen.
To all the naïve voters, including many nurses that I know personally, here is an urgent message. Your employer, (hospital, physician’s office, teaching institution) just took a major broadside hit in the form of significantly increased costs of providing you with health care benefits; important benefits you have come to know and love. Worse, your employer will now be required by law to provide more health care for more patients for less revenue than before! What happens to your annual raise, your job security, your ability to take care of your own family?
To all the bitter Republicans who intend to teach the incumbent Republicans a lesson by not voting or by voting for the opposition, be careful what you wish for; it just might come true.
To everyone else, vote these incumbents OUT!!!! All of them.
Let’s review the previous health care system that was so ‘bad’. In what other country could an indigent homeless person, living under a bridge, be discovered unconscious, taken to any major hospital, be diagnosed as having had a major heart attack, be taken to the cath lab for stent placement, or if stents are inadequate, be taken to surgery that same hour for open heart surgery? Can you name just one? No? That’s because there are none! That’s right, there are none.
Obama and his henchmen have repeatedly told the gullible news media that many folks are without insurance. Yes, that’s true, but does that mean that they will not receive prompt, superb medical care that is better than any other country in the world can provide? No. This is the big lie most uninformed supporters of this law have swallowed hook, line, and sinker.
It’s those damned greedy insurance companies, Obama reads to us off his teleprompter.
Yeah?
Let me see if I understand this. Follow along with me now as I noodle this out for myself. You might learn something. For decades the ‘greedy’ insurance companies have silently paid higher hospital bills for their clients. Because hospitals charge the same fees for insured as well as the uninsured, the responsible patients who have insurance are the only ones who actually pay the billsin full! In essence, insurance companies have been subsidizing health care. Where now is the incentive for them to continue with this largess?
Here’s more untruths. The rich will now have to pay their fair share of taxes to support this new health care program. Really? Whoa, I got a headline for you, Louise. I feel this is just the old class envy technique revisited. Those damned rich folks have it made; they owe us! Share the wealth! Call this what it is; income re-distribution!
But this will not work. Remember in the Carter Administration when a luxury tax of 38% was levied on yachts? Oh, yeah! Soak those rich SOB’s. They will have to pay more for their toys.
Except…the boating industry took an unexpected major broadside hit because rich folks moved out of the country, like they are doing now, and bought their toys on the world market. American jobs were lost.
More than 50% of Americans are now on welfare or some sort of socially assisted programs. Where is the money coming from for this new health care scheme? I’m glad you asked.
Get ready for higher taxes. Consider these novel approaches…15-20 cents per gallon gasoline tax, a sales tax on real estate, a new tax on sugar drinks, a national sales tax, and most deadly of all, the dreaded value added tax. (VAT)
Here’s how the VAT tax works. A Texas cattleman takes his herd to the railhead for shipping. There the stock buyer pays a sales tax of, let’s say, a mere 2%.
The stock buyer transports the cattle to the slaughter house and sells the stock to the processor who then pays a 2% value added tax.
The slaughter house processes, bundles,and freezes the steaks, chops, roasts, and hamburger. He then sells the finished product to a wholesaler.
The wholesaler then pays a 2% value added sales tax and sells the finished product to a retailer, your friendly neighborhood Piggly Wiggly, Safeway, or Winn Dixie grocer, who now pays a 2% value added tax.
Where does this end? With YOU!! You want steaks for supper? Pony up with your fair share of the added value tax. But wait just a minute. Are you going to pay a mere additional 2% tax for your steaks? Nope, you are going to get taken for all the 2% hikes along the way. Let's look at the tally sheet. The stock buyer, the processor, the wholesaler, and finally the retailer have all paid their 2% VAT. That totals 8% additional costs before you buy your steaks for supper. You can bet the farm that each entity that has been taxed will pass this cost along.
Now it's time for you to pay "your fair share". You are going to get hit for the whole damn 8% plus "your fair share". This is the Ponzi scheme you are participating in; the same scheme that has ruined the encomoy in Great Britain and indeed the entire European monetary system. You really should review the damage VAT has done to countries like England. More than 50% of national tax revenue in Europe comes from the VAT tax. Look it up, it’s on the Internet.
What’s next? How about amnesty for 13,000,000 undocumented aliens presently living in the USA? Right; here’s another grateful voting block of new Americans for the Democrats. They'll need these votes to replace the ones they lost by voting this asinine health care law in over the objections of nearly 80% of registered voters!! Then again, it may not replace the lost votes.
Then what? Probably more left leaning Supreme Court Justices, some form of gun control, more entitlement programs, more borrowing money from China till we are no longer a super power. Like the Romans, we will become weak and irrelevant; rotted and decayed from within. How do you like it so far?
I saw a bumper sticker last week with a picture of George Bush smiling at us. The caption asked, "Miss me yet?" Speaking just for me, I can respond with a resounding, "Hell, yes!"
OBAMA
O-one
B-big
A-assed
M-mistake
A-America
If we survive, it will only be because of a second American revolution, rising up and voting these Marxists out of office. Otherwise, all I can say is, “Damn”.
What will you say?
PB
Sad, but true. To all you welfare recips who sold your vote to the Democrats expecting free medical care, free gas, and free housing; it’s time for you to wake up. Not gonna happen.
To all the naïve voters, including many nurses that I know personally, here is an urgent message. Your employer, (hospital, physician’s office, teaching institution) just took a major broadside hit in the form of significantly increased costs of providing you with health care benefits; important benefits you have come to know and love. Worse, your employer will now be required by law to provide more health care for more patients for less revenue than before! What happens to your annual raise, your job security, your ability to take care of your own family?
To all the bitter Republicans who intend to teach the incumbent Republicans a lesson by not voting or by voting for the opposition, be careful what you wish for; it just might come true.
To everyone else, vote these incumbents OUT!!!! All of them.
Let’s review the previous health care system that was so ‘bad’. In what other country could an indigent homeless person, living under a bridge, be discovered unconscious, taken to any major hospital, be diagnosed as having had a major heart attack, be taken to the cath lab for stent placement, or if stents are inadequate, be taken to surgery that same hour for open heart surgery? Can you name just one? No? That’s because there are none! That’s right, there are none.
Obama and his henchmen have repeatedly told the gullible news media that many folks are without insurance. Yes, that’s true, but does that mean that they will not receive prompt, superb medical care that is better than any other country in the world can provide? No. This is the big lie most uninformed supporters of this law have swallowed hook, line, and sinker.
It’s those damned greedy insurance companies, Obama reads to us off his teleprompter.
Yeah?
Let me see if I understand this. Follow along with me now as I noodle this out for myself. You might learn something. For decades the ‘greedy’ insurance companies have silently paid higher hospital bills for their clients. Because hospitals charge the same fees for insured as well as the uninsured, the responsible patients who have insurance are the only ones who actually pay the billsin full! In essence, insurance companies have been subsidizing health care. Where now is the incentive for them to continue with this largess?
Here’s more untruths. The rich will now have to pay their fair share of taxes to support this new health care program. Really? Whoa, I got a headline for you, Louise. I feel this is just the old class envy technique revisited. Those damned rich folks have it made; they owe us! Share the wealth! Call this what it is; income re-distribution!
But this will not work. Remember in the Carter Administration when a luxury tax of 38% was levied on yachts? Oh, yeah! Soak those rich SOB’s. They will have to pay more for their toys.
Except…the boating industry took an unexpected major broadside hit because rich folks moved out of the country, like they are doing now, and bought their toys on the world market. American jobs were lost.
More than 50% of Americans are now on welfare or some sort of socially assisted programs. Where is the money coming from for this new health care scheme? I’m glad you asked.
Get ready for higher taxes. Consider these novel approaches…15-20 cents per gallon gasoline tax, a sales tax on real estate, a new tax on sugar drinks, a national sales tax, and most deadly of all, the dreaded value added tax. (VAT)
Here’s how the VAT tax works. A Texas cattleman takes his herd to the railhead for shipping. There the stock buyer pays a sales tax of, let’s say, a mere 2%.
The stock buyer transports the cattle to the slaughter house and sells the stock to the processor who then pays a 2% value added tax.
The slaughter house processes, bundles,and freezes the steaks, chops, roasts, and hamburger. He then sells the finished product to a wholesaler.
The wholesaler then pays a 2% value added sales tax and sells the finished product to a retailer, your friendly neighborhood Piggly Wiggly, Safeway, or Winn Dixie grocer, who now pays a 2% value added tax.
Where does this end? With YOU!! You want steaks for supper? Pony up with your fair share of the added value tax. But wait just a minute. Are you going to pay a mere additional 2% tax for your steaks? Nope, you are going to get taken for all the 2% hikes along the way. Let's look at the tally sheet. The stock buyer, the processor, the wholesaler, and finally the retailer have all paid their 2% VAT. That totals 8% additional costs before you buy your steaks for supper. You can bet the farm that each entity that has been taxed will pass this cost along.
Now it's time for you to pay "your fair share". You are going to get hit for the whole damn 8% plus "your fair share". This is the Ponzi scheme you are participating in; the same scheme that has ruined the encomoy in Great Britain and indeed the entire European monetary system. You really should review the damage VAT has done to countries like England. More than 50% of national tax revenue in Europe comes from the VAT tax. Look it up, it’s on the Internet.
What’s next? How about amnesty for 13,000,000 undocumented aliens presently living in the USA? Right; here’s another grateful voting block of new Americans for the Democrats. They'll need these votes to replace the ones they lost by voting this asinine health care law in over the objections of nearly 80% of registered voters!! Then again, it may not replace the lost votes.
Then what? Probably more left leaning Supreme Court Justices, some form of gun control, more entitlement programs, more borrowing money from China till we are no longer a super power. Like the Romans, we will become weak and irrelevant; rotted and decayed from within. How do you like it so far?
I saw a bumper sticker last week with a picture of George Bush smiling at us. The caption asked, "Miss me yet?" Speaking just for me, I can respond with a resounding, "Hell, yes!"
OBAMA
O-one
B-big
A-assed
M-mistake
A-America
If we survive, it will only be because of a second American revolution, rising up and voting these Marxists out of office. Otherwise, all I can say is, “Damn”.
What will you say?
PB
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Un Hombre Plastico
Due to countless requests for more information about Captain Elwell, here is yet another tidbit surrounding the exploits of this fearless brother officer of the law.
Another tidbit? You ask if there are more? Yes, there are many more; as numerous as the stars in the sky, but you must be patient. These will be sprinkled here and there in future columns to offset the dreary political hacks that I normally write about.
Captain Read Elwell, of the Finney County Sheriff’s Patrol, circa 1970 brought new meaning to club checks in the city, frequently elevating routine inspections to situations approaching a near riot!
The club checks served a multitude of good things; compliance with safety regulations, monitoring customers to ascertain that minors were not drinking with the big kids, and keeping unruly drunks from damaging the bar owner’s property or assaulting the more peaceful customers. These were usually friendly visits that fostered good public relations between customers, club owners, and the law enforcement community. No one was disturbed.
Ah yes, but...the Captain held that no one should ever resort to tact and diplomacy when a little violence would do. Within weeks, threats were made to visit evil upon his small round head. The High Sheriff began to fear for the Captain’s life so he was removed from routine bar checks.
Captain Elwell chafed at this politically correct molly coddling of ne'r do wells and lower life forms, but being a good soldier, he accepted this decision and looked around for other opportunities for mayhem. After all, felons are plentiful and who knows where they may be lurking?
He got this bad news just as he finished working a homicide where five undocumented alien agricultural workers, engaged in a dispute over a dark eyed club dancer, shot it out in a narrow hallway leading to a tiny bathroom. Even in this confined space leading to el bano, only one person was hit; the deceased. Amazing lack of accuracy. And the Captain was now supposed to leave high drama like this and happily return to writing parking tickets? How embarrassing.
Unfortunately, the Captain had been a victim of Senior Management’s infamous Seagull protocol. In the face of big problems, management flies in, like seagulls, making a big noise, crappin’ all over the place, and then flying away. This leaves the troops with the original problems yet to solve plus the new messes left by the departing seagulls!!
In due time he was able to arrest and offend numerous other perpetrators who probably needed to be arrested. These miscreants were collected under circumstances that were a trifle, shall we say, nebulous? This is as good a word as any, meaning a little foggy, unclear, iffy...
Then one day, a friend called and asked the Captain if he would please check up on one of his employees. She was a nice young lady who had missed three days work and had not called in. The friend was worried about her and asked the Captain to check this out for him.
How boring. Ah well, Captain Elwell, good man that he was, dutifully went to the address provided by her boss and knocked upon the door.
After several minutes, a weary looking young lady opened the door. Captain Elwell introduced himself and pushed past the girl and entered the living room. The place was a mess; with leftover pizza on the coffee table, empty beer cans, and dog poop on the floor.
The Captain would make short work of this and asked her if she was okay to which she nodded sleepily. He suggested she call her boss to advise him that she was indeed okay and would soon be back at work. As he took his leave, he espied an aluminum pie pan on the window sill just plumb full of little green plants.
Zounds! This experienced officer of the law turned ashen as he recognized the distinctive sprouts of leaves that identified this plant as...MARIJUANA!!!! Ah, ha! He now had a high misdemeanor, not actually a felony, but what the hell? Close enough.
Ever mindful of his delicate relationship with the Sheriff’s position, he elected to report back to him immediately and obtain a legal search warrant. The Captain would now lead a platoon of brave young officers on a real drug bust! Picture in the paper, promotion to major, a medal of valor, maybe even a book or a movie? Hey, it could happen!
Back they sped in force and reentered the dwelling. Gone was the friendly approach of the benevolent Sheriff Andy Griffin and in his place, stomped the caustic and cynical Detective Andy Sipowitz! All that was missing was a baseball bat, but a baton would serve just as well. One of his officers seized the marijuana plant and upon further review, slowly began to smile.
The evidence that justified this search warrant and this dramatic drug bust was a plastic marijuana plant!!! Plastic! Some inhabitants of the drug culture find this amusing. Captain Elwell was not amused.
Angry and embarrassed, he ordered a complete tossing of the apartment. Imagine, if you will, the thoughts racing through his small mind. He could hear the laughter of the bar owners and every suspect he had collared; not to mention the ribbing he would have to endure from his troops. How could this have happened to him?
But wait! In a chest of drawers, hidden under the girl’s lingerie, was a Polaroid picture of her and her boyfriend posing with a clear plastic trash bag full of marijuana! The Captain felt excitement clutch his little black heart. Was this to be his salvation? Please let it be so. Now if he could only find the stash...
Again he was cruising in great good fortune as another deputy soon found the huge bag of marijuana hidden in the suspended ceiling. Good! What a relief! A righteous bust. Anyone could mistake a plastic marijuana plant for the real thing so the warrant was legal. Probable cause was established; no humiliation for the Captain there; so life is good. He was saved.
But wait! No tan de prisa, amigo. Captain Elwell would not totally escape without losing at least a few tail feathers. He was known then, now, and forever more as...“Plastic Man!”
Rooster Cogburn would be proud!
PB
Another tidbit? You ask if there are more? Yes, there are many more; as numerous as the stars in the sky, but you must be patient. These will be sprinkled here and there in future columns to offset the dreary political hacks that I normally write about.
Captain Read Elwell, of the Finney County Sheriff’s Patrol, circa 1970 brought new meaning to club checks in the city, frequently elevating routine inspections to situations approaching a near riot!
The club checks served a multitude of good things; compliance with safety regulations, monitoring customers to ascertain that minors were not drinking with the big kids, and keeping unruly drunks from damaging the bar owner’s property or assaulting the more peaceful customers. These were usually friendly visits that fostered good public relations between customers, club owners, and the law enforcement community. No one was disturbed.
Ah yes, but...the Captain held that no one should ever resort to tact and diplomacy when a little violence would do. Within weeks, threats were made to visit evil upon his small round head. The High Sheriff began to fear for the Captain’s life so he was removed from routine bar checks.
Captain Elwell chafed at this politically correct molly coddling of ne'r do wells and lower life forms, but being a good soldier, he accepted this decision and looked around for other opportunities for mayhem. After all, felons are plentiful and who knows where they may be lurking?
He got this bad news just as he finished working a homicide where five undocumented alien agricultural workers, engaged in a dispute over a dark eyed club dancer, shot it out in a narrow hallway leading to a tiny bathroom. Even in this confined space leading to el bano, only one person was hit; the deceased. Amazing lack of accuracy. And the Captain was now supposed to leave high drama like this and happily return to writing parking tickets? How embarrassing.
Unfortunately, the Captain had been a victim of Senior Management’s infamous Seagull protocol. In the face of big problems, management flies in, like seagulls, making a big noise, crappin’ all over the place, and then flying away. This leaves the troops with the original problems yet to solve plus the new messes left by the departing seagulls!!
In due time he was able to arrest and offend numerous other perpetrators who probably needed to be arrested. These miscreants were collected under circumstances that were a trifle, shall we say, nebulous? This is as good a word as any, meaning a little foggy, unclear, iffy...
Then one day, a friend called and asked the Captain if he would please check up on one of his employees. She was a nice young lady who had missed three days work and had not called in. The friend was worried about her and asked the Captain to check this out for him.
How boring. Ah well, Captain Elwell, good man that he was, dutifully went to the address provided by her boss and knocked upon the door.
After several minutes, a weary looking young lady opened the door. Captain Elwell introduced himself and pushed past the girl and entered the living room. The place was a mess; with leftover pizza on the coffee table, empty beer cans, and dog poop on the floor.
The Captain would make short work of this and asked her if she was okay to which she nodded sleepily. He suggested she call her boss to advise him that she was indeed okay and would soon be back at work. As he took his leave, he espied an aluminum pie pan on the window sill just plumb full of little green plants.
Zounds! This experienced officer of the law turned ashen as he recognized the distinctive sprouts of leaves that identified this plant as...MARIJUANA!!!! Ah, ha! He now had a high misdemeanor, not actually a felony, but what the hell? Close enough.
Ever mindful of his delicate relationship with the Sheriff’s position, he elected to report back to him immediately and obtain a legal search warrant. The Captain would now lead a platoon of brave young officers on a real drug bust! Picture in the paper, promotion to major, a medal of valor, maybe even a book or a movie? Hey, it could happen!
Back they sped in force and reentered the dwelling. Gone was the friendly approach of the benevolent Sheriff Andy Griffin and in his place, stomped the caustic and cynical Detective Andy Sipowitz! All that was missing was a baseball bat, but a baton would serve just as well. One of his officers seized the marijuana plant and upon further review, slowly began to smile.
The evidence that justified this search warrant and this dramatic drug bust was a plastic marijuana plant!!! Plastic! Some inhabitants of the drug culture find this amusing. Captain Elwell was not amused.
Angry and embarrassed, he ordered a complete tossing of the apartment. Imagine, if you will, the thoughts racing through his small mind. He could hear the laughter of the bar owners and every suspect he had collared; not to mention the ribbing he would have to endure from his troops. How could this have happened to him?
But wait! In a chest of drawers, hidden under the girl’s lingerie, was a Polaroid picture of her and her boyfriend posing with a clear plastic trash bag full of marijuana! The Captain felt excitement clutch his little black heart. Was this to be his salvation? Please let it be so. Now if he could only find the stash...
Again he was cruising in great good fortune as another deputy soon found the huge bag of marijuana hidden in the suspended ceiling. Good! What a relief! A righteous bust. Anyone could mistake a plastic marijuana plant for the real thing so the warrant was legal. Probable cause was established; no humiliation for the Captain there; so life is good. He was saved.
But wait! No tan de prisa, amigo. Captain Elwell would not totally escape without losing at least a few tail feathers. He was known then, now, and forever more as...“Plastic Man!”
Rooster Cogburn would be proud!
PB
Friday, March 26, 2010
Being There
This was a movie starring Peter Sellers as a simpleton whose entire communication with the outside world was based on his endless watching of insipid and vapid television programs. (see today's offerings on the Disney channel) He was much like a "community organizer" but, from piddling in his garden, Chauncey Gardner did know his weeds.
Obama surrounds himself with weeds also; foul mouthed Joe Biden who is guilty of plagiarism in law school, lying about finishing Syracuse Law School "somewhere around the middle of his class" (actually #76 out of 85), and participating in one of the most ill advised endeavors; foolish hair plug inserts without bothering to wear a hat!
This dishonorable, lying, foul mouthed swine is our nation’s Vice President. Is this really the best we can do? Probably the most valuable service he offers is excellent insurance against some loon attempting to remove the President.
What an embarrassment this Administration is to right thinking Americans. This is what happens when voters attempt to punish the Republicans for their shortcomings. This President was swept into office by a combination of a few angry conservatives, gullible Liberals, and the least intelligent, least productive, least socially responsible group of people in the nation; the uneducated welfare recipients!
This movement was ably assisted by Republicans who fielded a candidate who offered nothing but more of the same. They offered a worn out old political hack who simply was not electable and offered nothing new.
What a choice. A leader elected by parasites or a leader elected by those who have had their moment in the sun and are now overstaying their visit.
It is hard to understand the rationale behind the latest messes Obama has created with health care reform and Israel. Surrounded by enemies, Israel has been openly threatened with being wiped off the face of the earth. For years, America has been the strongest supporter of Israel and now, Obama, Biden, and other Neanderthals have publicly insulted and chastised Israel for continuing to build apartments on the West Bank.
Who does this benefit? The main beneficiary is Iran of course, along with Palestine, Syria, Libya, and other radical regimes that have vowed to destroy Israel. So why does Obama place Israel in this precarious position now?
I have a theory about that. It’s clear that Obama is not a stupid man. So why does he appear to constantly be on the wrong side of issues? I feel he has a deep seated anger and resentment toward the basic principles upon which America was founded.
Aligning himself with Marxists, (Karl or Harpo?) communists, thugs, hooligans, and the criminally insane, he consistently places himself on the wrong side of important issues. The country has overwhelmingly spoken loud and clear on the Health Care issue in three major elections; West Virginia, New Jersey, and Massachusetts. Yet he does not listen.
He rails against the Tea Party folks as a conspiracy group, small in number and not well organized. He’s right about not being organized in the way he may perceive, but they are not few in number! They are organized like the individuals who rebelled against the federally mandated 55 mph speed limit in the early 70’s.
Remember the grass roots CB radio revolution started by the truckers? Same thing here.
For Biden to deliberately be one hour late to a dinner with Prime Minister Netanyahu is disrespectful, humiliating, and childish. Biden, one step removed from being a toothless ectomorph, is too light weight to have come up with this insult on his own. This behavior has the greasy fingerprints of Emmanuel and Obama all over it.
No question this insult has caused serious damage to Israel and American relations. Israel is made to appear isolated and in a weakened state. Her enemies are sitting back biding their time while America is seen, once again, pulling out her support of an ally at just the wrong time. But Netanyahu is not a weak empty suit to be trifled with as the world shall soon see.
There can be no greater mistake than for America to distance herself from Israel. . Without the presence of America and her few remaining wise counselors who encourage peace through diplomacy, Israel will be freed of the artificial need to continue to turn the other cheek. We will awaken some morning to learn that a massive pre-emptive strike has wiped out Iran’s nuclear facility. Other enemies of Israel will experience similar shocks. How does this benefit America? How does this benefit Obama? Who knows?
Suffice it to say, there are parallels between the movie “Being There” and the current administration. As this is written, the Health Care reform bill has been signed and is going to be challenged and probably decided in the Supreme Court within the next 18 months.
Our best bet is to knock out the Democrat majorities in the House and Senate in the mid term elections in November 2010. You can bet that Obama will now push for undocumented alien amnesty to replace the voting base he lost from pushing the Health Care reform over the objections of 79% of the voters surveyed. This would add 13,000,000 grateful new "Americans" to make up for the ones he has driven away.
Somewhere along the way, he must generate money to pay for all this foolishness. This will come through a national sales tax, an added value tax, or both. And don't forget; he will unveil a gun control agenda item.
So...you and I will pay more for insurance and products while making less money because of the added taxes, unemployment, and a failing economy. Health care will be less efficient and more costly or even unavailable. National security and personal safety will be compromised. Over 50% of Americans are on welfare now with a mere 48% carrying the load for the entire nation. This can't last.
Meanwhile we must live with this combination of impotent Republicans or crooked Democrats. Democrats who allowed this health care bill to pass are being threatened by unruly crowds throwing rocks and showing great displeasure. Some feel unsafe in their world now. My advice to them? Listen to the voters next time; meanwhile...live with it!
Yep, it’s just like "Being There". Only...we're here too!
PB
Obama surrounds himself with weeds also; foul mouthed Joe Biden who is guilty of plagiarism in law school, lying about finishing Syracuse Law School "somewhere around the middle of his class" (actually #76 out of 85), and participating in one of the most ill advised endeavors; foolish hair plug inserts without bothering to wear a hat!
This dishonorable, lying, foul mouthed swine is our nation’s Vice President. Is this really the best we can do? Probably the most valuable service he offers is excellent insurance against some loon attempting to remove the President.
What an embarrassment this Administration is to right thinking Americans. This is what happens when voters attempt to punish the Republicans for their shortcomings. This President was swept into office by a combination of a few angry conservatives, gullible Liberals, and the least intelligent, least productive, least socially responsible group of people in the nation; the uneducated welfare recipients!
This movement was ably assisted by Republicans who fielded a candidate who offered nothing but more of the same. They offered a worn out old political hack who simply was not electable and offered nothing new.
What a choice. A leader elected by parasites or a leader elected by those who have had their moment in the sun and are now overstaying their visit.
It is hard to understand the rationale behind the latest messes Obama has created with health care reform and Israel. Surrounded by enemies, Israel has been openly threatened with being wiped off the face of the earth. For years, America has been the strongest supporter of Israel and now, Obama, Biden, and other Neanderthals have publicly insulted and chastised Israel for continuing to build apartments on the West Bank.
Who does this benefit? The main beneficiary is Iran of course, along with Palestine, Syria, Libya, and other radical regimes that have vowed to destroy Israel. So why does Obama place Israel in this precarious position now?
I have a theory about that. It’s clear that Obama is not a stupid man. So why does he appear to constantly be on the wrong side of issues? I feel he has a deep seated anger and resentment toward the basic principles upon which America was founded.
Aligning himself with Marxists, (Karl or Harpo?) communists, thugs, hooligans, and the criminally insane, he consistently places himself on the wrong side of important issues. The country has overwhelmingly spoken loud and clear on the Health Care issue in three major elections; West Virginia, New Jersey, and Massachusetts. Yet he does not listen.
He rails against the Tea Party folks as a conspiracy group, small in number and not well organized. He’s right about not being organized in the way he may perceive, but they are not few in number! They are organized like the individuals who rebelled against the federally mandated 55 mph speed limit in the early 70’s.
Remember the grass roots CB radio revolution started by the truckers? Same thing here.
For Biden to deliberately be one hour late to a dinner with Prime Minister Netanyahu is disrespectful, humiliating, and childish. Biden, one step removed from being a toothless ectomorph, is too light weight to have come up with this insult on his own. This behavior has the greasy fingerprints of Emmanuel and Obama all over it.
No question this insult has caused serious damage to Israel and American relations. Israel is made to appear isolated and in a weakened state. Her enemies are sitting back biding their time while America is seen, once again, pulling out her support of an ally at just the wrong time. But Netanyahu is not a weak empty suit to be trifled with as the world shall soon see.
There can be no greater mistake than for America to distance herself from Israel. . Without the presence of America and her few remaining wise counselors who encourage peace through diplomacy, Israel will be freed of the artificial need to continue to turn the other cheek. We will awaken some morning to learn that a massive pre-emptive strike has wiped out Iran’s nuclear facility. Other enemies of Israel will experience similar shocks. How does this benefit America? How does this benefit Obama? Who knows?
Suffice it to say, there are parallels between the movie “Being There” and the current administration. As this is written, the Health Care reform bill has been signed and is going to be challenged and probably decided in the Supreme Court within the next 18 months.
Our best bet is to knock out the Democrat majorities in the House and Senate in the mid term elections in November 2010. You can bet that Obama will now push for undocumented alien amnesty to replace the voting base he lost from pushing the Health Care reform over the objections of 79% of the voters surveyed. This would add 13,000,000 grateful new "Americans" to make up for the ones he has driven away.
Somewhere along the way, he must generate money to pay for all this foolishness. This will come through a national sales tax, an added value tax, or both. And don't forget; he will unveil a gun control agenda item.
So...you and I will pay more for insurance and products while making less money because of the added taxes, unemployment, and a failing economy. Health care will be less efficient and more costly or even unavailable. National security and personal safety will be compromised. Over 50% of Americans are on welfare now with a mere 48% carrying the load for the entire nation. This can't last.
Meanwhile we must live with this combination of impotent Republicans or crooked Democrats. Democrats who allowed this health care bill to pass are being threatened by unruly crowds throwing rocks and showing great displeasure. Some feel unsafe in their world now. My advice to them? Listen to the voters next time; meanwhile...live with it!
Yep, it’s just like "Being There". Only...we're here too!
PB
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The Old Settlers' Deer Camp
Our octogenarian heroes of this story are;
* Mr. Eugene
* Mr. Thetis
* Mr. Alonzo
* Mr. Lemuel
* The young minister is Ty or Mr. Tyrus
In Texas and, indeed, in most of the south, referring to a person as Mr. or Miz in front of the first name is an expression of great personal respect. To greet a person as Mr. Eugene or Miz Dorothy is a high compliment. There was no distinction for Miss, Mrs, or Ms; for example, just plain Miz Dorothy.
At that time, Ty, (Mr. Tyrus) was a young man who had just completed his education at the Seminary and was recently ordained a Southern Baptist Minister. Can I get an amen? His first mission was a small church in a rural community in northwest Texas.
The Texas deer season was set to open in a couple of weeks and since Ty was interested in getting to know some of the elders of his new church in order to form a men’s Bible study group, he saw this as a great opportunity for him to accompany an elderly group of hunters into the Texas Hill Country. He would get to know them, win them over, and get his mission started. He jumped at the chance.
The day before the season opener found Ty driving his huge International Travelall pulling a large box trailer behind. The four hunters were all in their 80’s and a little slow to move around but their minds were still sharp and they had voiced disapproval of Ty’s efforts to start a men’s group in his new ministry. Men’s groups were not catching on well in Texas in those days but Ty was young and inspired. He would get to know these guys on their level and start a wonderful program that would bind the men of his congregation to the church.
Ty picked up the guys one at a time and was surprised at how much gear each shooter had packed to bring along. The Travelall was packed to the roof line and the 14 foot box trailer could hold no more. Of course, Ty was officially volunteered to load all of each of the hunter’s gear. They drove deep into the Texas Hill Country with the vehicle creaking and groaning over the deeply rutted roads.
Eventually they arrived at an old but sturdy house that had been built adjoining a small cave that served as an extra room. It was always 56 degrees in this sealed off dugout; cool in the summer and warm enough in the winter. It was here that the old settlers slept and ate.
The Mexican caretaker and his wife had laid in a good supply of firewood for the old Warm Morning stove in the dugout and food for the pantry. The gas was turned on and the hot water heater had been lit; but the old fellows would not deign to use these modern conveniences. “Weren’t sportin." they said.
The elders went on into the dugout and started a fire to take the chill off. Ty was not cold; in fact, he was perspiring heavily from carrying all the supplies up the hill to the sleeping quarters. After the last load, he collapsed in a chair at the big table. Instantly there was a hush in the room and Mr. Eugene looked highly offended and walked out of the room. Most of the others followed him leaving only Mr. Thetis behind to counsel with Ty. He explained that this chair was a place of honor for Mr. Eugene and Ty's sitting in it was an affront to the rules of order.
Ty apologized and asked where these rules were written so he could avoid future mistakes of etiquette and was told curtly,”Not written no where; everyone knows these things!” Mr. Thetis went out and got the rest of the guys while Ty waited. After everyone was seated again, Ty sat in the left over chair.
Mr. Eugene called the meeting to order and began making assignments for the duration of the hunt. First order of business was to welcome Ty to the hunt and give him the honor of keeping firewood near the stove, carrying the rifles out to the truck, keeping the water bucket full, and taking care of the dishwashing, cooking, and general housekeeping.
Welcome to deer hunting, Mr. Tyrus...Texas style.
Next Mr. Eugene held up match sticks for the drawing to see who would choose first among the four deer stands. Now the reason became clear as to why each hunter brought along three rifles. One stand was in brushy terrain requiring a rifle with a big slow bullet like the Winchester 30/30. Another was overlooking a clearing with a deer trail some 250 yards out; this stand required a fast, flat shooting rifle like the 270 Winchester.
Another stand combined deer opportunities as well as offering shots at bobcats and coyotes for extra money in the form of furs. This required a rifle such as the 243 Winchester that would not destroy the pelt.
And finally, there was the 12 gauge shotgun slug that was ideal for close shots in the heavy brush. Add to this list a backpack for each hunter, extra water, a lunch sack, snacks, and one can readily see that Ty was going to work hard loading this stuff in the Travelall. Again.
The alarm sounded at 3:30 AM. Ty put on the coffee and started loading the rifles and ice chests in the Travelall. When the coffee was done, he began preparing breakfast which consisted of steak and eggs, fried potatoes, and home made biscuits. Ty had never made home made biscuits, but followed the instructions on the flour sack. They turned out a little heavy, but tasty. One of the old guys rudely pointed out that Ty had forgotten the red eye gravy.
After breakfast, everyone climbed in the big Travelall and Ty drove them to their respective stands. As he dropped off Mr. Alonzo, he was instructed to go back to the cabin and get ready for a hot supper as they would all be hungry. He was also instructed to make a round of the stands every couple of hours or so and if he saw a red ribbon tied on a fence post or a tree he should stop as that meant the hunter had a deer down and needed help with field dressing and transportation back to camp. Can you guess who would do the field dressing and drag the deer back to the truck?
So Ty’s day was accounted for and as he made his rounds, Mr. Lemuel’s stand had a bright red ribbon fluttering in the breeze. Ty always wanted to see how this deer hunting worked after the deer was down. Mr. Lemuel was only too happy to tell him each step of the field dressing procedure. They dragged the deer back to the Travelall and Ty wrestled it into the back. They took it back to camp and hung it under an overhead shelf that provided shade for an open mouthed cave. Here it would stay cool until it was time to take it to town.
No one else had a shot that day so Ty was not called on to show off his new found ability to field dress a deer. Supper was a huge success with more steaks, fried potatoes, red beans with onions, and biscuits with red eye gravy. For dessert, Ty had prepared toast and jelly. After Ty had cleaned up the table, washed the dishes, and put away everything, he finally had a chance to visit with the guys.
He started by asking how many years they had done this, how far were they from the nearest town, what happens when one of them gets sick, where was the nearest phone, and in general, asking question to get a feel for the nuances of a week in deer camp.
Mr. Eugene told him the nearest town was about forty miles from the deer camp and that also was the nearest phone location as well.
Mr. Alonzo told him they had hunted together for nearly 60 years and that old settlers hardly ever got sick. They just kept on hunting and once in a while one of them just…died. Ty found that hard to believe. One of the guys...just died? Out here?
“Oh, yeah, sure. Coupla years back, Mr. Jim was assigned to keep the fire goin’ in the stove. In the night it got real cold in here and I whispered at Jim to get up and put some wood in the stove. When I got no answer, I went over to shake him and found he was stiff as a board. Died in his sleep, he did.”
Ty asked what he did then and Mr. Alonzo said, “Well, I did not wish to awaken the others, so I put more wood in the stove, moved Mr. Jim outside on the porch where it was cold, and went back to bed.”
“Next morning, Jim’s absence was noted and Mr. Eugene asked me where he was. When I told him what happened, he just nodded, and had no comment.” Later that day, it was revealed that the others thought Mr. Alonzo had exercised rare good judgment for a youngster of only fifteen lustrum. (a lustrum is five years)
Ty asked what happened next and Mr. Eugene told him they all went out on the deer stands, those who got a deer field dressed it and headed back to the camp. They took all the deer and Mr. Jim into town. At the locker plant, they reverently placed Mr. Jim in a quiet corner of the cold room and went back to camp to finish the hunt. Problem was there was no place else to put him and everyone agreed that Jim would not have wanted the boys to miss out on the hunt. Oh, they did call the funeral home in the next town over, but the deer were waiting and tags needed to be filled.
Ty was aghast and could scarcely tell if the guys were puttin’ him on or not, but all doubt was removed when Mr. Thetis told him of the circumstances surrounding the demise of one Mr. Rufus. Seems one cold morning, Mr. Rufus did not return to camp. After a while, they decided they should maybe go check on him. They approached his stand from the blind side so as not to get shot if he were still hunting. The blind was empty, but there was no Mr. Rufus.
They spread out and begin making big circles to pick up his trail. They found him about 150 yards from his stand. He was gone; having died doing what he loved. One of the guys unloaded his rifle and observed one round was missing. Everyone hunted with four rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. Mr. Rufus only had three rounds in the magazine of his rifle and one in the chamber. You don’t suppose…
Again, they spread out and about a hundred yards further out, they found the last deer that Mr. Rufus would ever shoot. It was a big buck with a magnificent rack. Clearly he had made a great shot on a huge trophy buck and the excitement proved too much for the old fella. Quickly they field dressed the animal, then headed back to the road taking the deer and the deceased back to camp.
The hunt continued for two more days, then all the harvested deer, (and Mr. Rufus) were taken to the locker plant where Mr.Rufus was reverently placed in a quiet corner. The taxidermist in the next town over was contacted to preserve the deer shot by Mr. Rufus and the coroner was duly notified as well. Priorities, you know. Mr. Rufus would not have wanted the boys to miss out on the hunt.
At this point, Ty abandoned all hope of getting these old codgers involved in a men’s group at church. A lifetime of enjoying nature the way these old fellows did simply could not be improved upon. They had religious experiences every time they came to deer camp and this philosophy spilled over into their every day lives as well.
Want proof? Well, just look at the magnificent deer head on the wall of the cabin. It is the last deer shot by Mr. Rufus. By this display, Mr. Rufus and the deer were honored in perpetuity.
Mr. Alonzo was right. Old settlers don't get sick very often; they keep on hunting and then one day, they just...die. Loyalty within this group runs deep. Survivors keep on hunting til one day, their turn too will come; and it's not a bad way to go. Meanwhile life goes on. Pass the red eye gravy, please.
Mr. Rufus would not have wanted the boys to miss out on any of this.
PB
* Mr. Eugene
* Mr. Thetis
* Mr. Alonzo
* Mr. Lemuel
* The young minister is Ty or Mr. Tyrus
In Texas and, indeed, in most of the south, referring to a person as Mr. or Miz in front of the first name is an expression of great personal respect. To greet a person as Mr. Eugene or Miz Dorothy is a high compliment. There was no distinction for Miss, Mrs, or Ms; for example, just plain Miz Dorothy.
At that time, Ty, (Mr. Tyrus) was a young man who had just completed his education at the Seminary and was recently ordained a Southern Baptist Minister. Can I get an amen? His first mission was a small church in a rural community in northwest Texas.
The Texas deer season was set to open in a couple of weeks and since Ty was interested in getting to know some of the elders of his new church in order to form a men’s Bible study group, he saw this as a great opportunity for him to accompany an elderly group of hunters into the Texas Hill Country. He would get to know them, win them over, and get his mission started. He jumped at the chance.
The day before the season opener found Ty driving his huge International Travelall pulling a large box trailer behind. The four hunters were all in their 80’s and a little slow to move around but their minds were still sharp and they had voiced disapproval of Ty’s efforts to start a men’s group in his new ministry. Men’s groups were not catching on well in Texas in those days but Ty was young and inspired. He would get to know these guys on their level and start a wonderful program that would bind the men of his congregation to the church.
Ty picked up the guys one at a time and was surprised at how much gear each shooter had packed to bring along. The Travelall was packed to the roof line and the 14 foot box trailer could hold no more. Of course, Ty was officially volunteered to load all of each of the hunter’s gear. They drove deep into the Texas Hill Country with the vehicle creaking and groaning over the deeply rutted roads.
Eventually they arrived at an old but sturdy house that had been built adjoining a small cave that served as an extra room. It was always 56 degrees in this sealed off dugout; cool in the summer and warm enough in the winter. It was here that the old settlers slept and ate.
The Mexican caretaker and his wife had laid in a good supply of firewood for the old Warm Morning stove in the dugout and food for the pantry. The gas was turned on and the hot water heater had been lit; but the old fellows would not deign to use these modern conveniences. “Weren’t sportin." they said.
The elders went on into the dugout and started a fire to take the chill off. Ty was not cold; in fact, he was perspiring heavily from carrying all the supplies up the hill to the sleeping quarters. After the last load, he collapsed in a chair at the big table. Instantly there was a hush in the room and Mr. Eugene looked highly offended and walked out of the room. Most of the others followed him leaving only Mr. Thetis behind to counsel with Ty. He explained that this chair was a place of honor for Mr. Eugene and Ty's sitting in it was an affront to the rules of order.
Ty apologized and asked where these rules were written so he could avoid future mistakes of etiquette and was told curtly,”Not written no where; everyone knows these things!” Mr. Thetis went out and got the rest of the guys while Ty waited. After everyone was seated again, Ty sat in the left over chair.
Mr. Eugene called the meeting to order and began making assignments for the duration of the hunt. First order of business was to welcome Ty to the hunt and give him the honor of keeping firewood near the stove, carrying the rifles out to the truck, keeping the water bucket full, and taking care of the dishwashing, cooking, and general housekeeping.
Welcome to deer hunting, Mr. Tyrus...Texas style.
Next Mr. Eugene held up match sticks for the drawing to see who would choose first among the four deer stands. Now the reason became clear as to why each hunter brought along three rifles. One stand was in brushy terrain requiring a rifle with a big slow bullet like the Winchester 30/30. Another was overlooking a clearing with a deer trail some 250 yards out; this stand required a fast, flat shooting rifle like the 270 Winchester.
Another stand combined deer opportunities as well as offering shots at bobcats and coyotes for extra money in the form of furs. This required a rifle such as the 243 Winchester that would not destroy the pelt.
And finally, there was the 12 gauge shotgun slug that was ideal for close shots in the heavy brush. Add to this list a backpack for each hunter, extra water, a lunch sack, snacks, and one can readily see that Ty was going to work hard loading this stuff in the Travelall. Again.
The alarm sounded at 3:30 AM. Ty put on the coffee and started loading the rifles and ice chests in the Travelall. When the coffee was done, he began preparing breakfast which consisted of steak and eggs, fried potatoes, and home made biscuits. Ty had never made home made biscuits, but followed the instructions on the flour sack. They turned out a little heavy, but tasty. One of the old guys rudely pointed out that Ty had forgotten the red eye gravy.
After breakfast, everyone climbed in the big Travelall and Ty drove them to their respective stands. As he dropped off Mr. Alonzo, he was instructed to go back to the cabin and get ready for a hot supper as they would all be hungry. He was also instructed to make a round of the stands every couple of hours or so and if he saw a red ribbon tied on a fence post or a tree he should stop as that meant the hunter had a deer down and needed help with field dressing and transportation back to camp. Can you guess who would do the field dressing and drag the deer back to the truck?
So Ty’s day was accounted for and as he made his rounds, Mr. Lemuel’s stand had a bright red ribbon fluttering in the breeze. Ty always wanted to see how this deer hunting worked after the deer was down. Mr. Lemuel was only too happy to tell him each step of the field dressing procedure. They dragged the deer back to the Travelall and Ty wrestled it into the back. They took it back to camp and hung it under an overhead shelf that provided shade for an open mouthed cave. Here it would stay cool until it was time to take it to town.
No one else had a shot that day so Ty was not called on to show off his new found ability to field dress a deer. Supper was a huge success with more steaks, fried potatoes, red beans with onions, and biscuits with red eye gravy. For dessert, Ty had prepared toast and jelly. After Ty had cleaned up the table, washed the dishes, and put away everything, he finally had a chance to visit with the guys.
He started by asking how many years they had done this, how far were they from the nearest town, what happens when one of them gets sick, where was the nearest phone, and in general, asking question to get a feel for the nuances of a week in deer camp.
Mr. Eugene told him the nearest town was about forty miles from the deer camp and that also was the nearest phone location as well.
Mr. Alonzo told him they had hunted together for nearly 60 years and that old settlers hardly ever got sick. They just kept on hunting and once in a while one of them just…died. Ty found that hard to believe. One of the guys...just died? Out here?
“Oh, yeah, sure. Coupla years back, Mr. Jim was assigned to keep the fire goin’ in the stove. In the night it got real cold in here and I whispered at Jim to get up and put some wood in the stove. When I got no answer, I went over to shake him and found he was stiff as a board. Died in his sleep, he did.”
Ty asked what he did then and Mr. Alonzo said, “Well, I did not wish to awaken the others, so I put more wood in the stove, moved Mr. Jim outside on the porch where it was cold, and went back to bed.”
“Next morning, Jim’s absence was noted and Mr. Eugene asked me where he was. When I told him what happened, he just nodded, and had no comment.” Later that day, it was revealed that the others thought Mr. Alonzo had exercised rare good judgment for a youngster of only fifteen lustrum. (a lustrum is five years)
Ty asked what happened next and Mr. Eugene told him they all went out on the deer stands, those who got a deer field dressed it and headed back to the camp. They took all the deer and Mr. Jim into town. At the locker plant, they reverently placed Mr. Jim in a quiet corner of the cold room and went back to camp to finish the hunt. Problem was there was no place else to put him and everyone agreed that Jim would not have wanted the boys to miss out on the hunt. Oh, they did call the funeral home in the next town over, but the deer were waiting and tags needed to be filled.
Ty was aghast and could scarcely tell if the guys were puttin’ him on or not, but all doubt was removed when Mr. Thetis told him of the circumstances surrounding the demise of one Mr. Rufus. Seems one cold morning, Mr. Rufus did not return to camp. After a while, they decided they should maybe go check on him. They approached his stand from the blind side so as not to get shot if he were still hunting. The blind was empty, but there was no Mr. Rufus.
They spread out and begin making big circles to pick up his trail. They found him about 150 yards from his stand. He was gone; having died doing what he loved. One of the guys unloaded his rifle and observed one round was missing. Everyone hunted with four rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. Mr. Rufus only had three rounds in the magazine of his rifle and one in the chamber. You don’t suppose…
Again, they spread out and about a hundred yards further out, they found the last deer that Mr. Rufus would ever shoot. It was a big buck with a magnificent rack. Clearly he had made a great shot on a huge trophy buck and the excitement proved too much for the old fella. Quickly they field dressed the animal, then headed back to the road taking the deer and the deceased back to camp.
The hunt continued for two more days, then all the harvested deer, (and Mr. Rufus) were taken to the locker plant where Mr.Rufus was reverently placed in a quiet corner. The taxidermist in the next town over was contacted to preserve the deer shot by Mr. Rufus and the coroner was duly notified as well. Priorities, you know. Mr. Rufus would not have wanted the boys to miss out on the hunt.
At this point, Ty abandoned all hope of getting these old codgers involved in a men’s group at church. A lifetime of enjoying nature the way these old fellows did simply could not be improved upon. They had religious experiences every time they came to deer camp and this philosophy spilled over into their every day lives as well.
Want proof? Well, just look at the magnificent deer head on the wall of the cabin. It is the last deer shot by Mr. Rufus. By this display, Mr. Rufus and the deer were honored in perpetuity.
Mr. Alonzo was right. Old settlers don't get sick very often; they keep on hunting and then one day, they just...die. Loyalty within this group runs deep. Survivors keep on hunting til one day, their turn too will come; and it's not a bad way to go. Meanwhile life goes on. Pass the red eye gravy, please.
Mr. Rufus would not have wanted the boys to miss out on any of this.
PB
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Grizzled Veterans of the Plains
After a decade of being called the wheezers and the geezers, my good friend and almost brother, the famous Captain Elwell and I have changed our names to 'grizzled veterans of the plains'. It's a better fit.
The honorable Captain Elwell is a retired law enforcement officer from western Kansas. His retirement brought much joy to the local population of miscreants and ne'r do wells out there. The number of suspects who "fell while getting out of the prowl car" decreased drastically as did the number of visits to the local emergency room as well. Wait a minute, I'm getting away from the story line here.
This column is a hunting report of sorts, relating the first time I took the Captain along on a prairie dog shoot. This one trip was sufficient to cause him to spend lots money on different rifle/scope combinations that would reach out and touch a 'dog at 400 yards. Hey, don't disbelieve. On a still day, with no wind, knowing the distance to target, solid rest to shoot from, and a reliable rifle/scope combo, with handloaded ammo, connections can be made with astonishing frequency. Because of his excessive purchases, his wife thinks I am a bad influence on him, but that's okay; my wife thinks he is a bad influence on me!
On this historic day in early spring a few years ago, we met up at the Flying J Truck stop in Salina, Kansas, at the early hour of 0600. (for those who live in Topeka, this means six o'clock in the morning) Grabbing an Egg McMuffin and coffee, we headed for WaKeeney, Kansas, about 130 miles further west on I-70.
Arriving there at around 08:30, we checked in at a Mom 'n Pop motel, off loaded all the stuff we didn't need for the day long shoot, and headed south where a huge 'dog town existed in the shallow canyons along the Smoky Hill River. Our excitement began as soon as we left town when we spied a large group of pheasants in the bar ditch. It's always neat to see these colorful birds in the wild.
Then a few miles further on, we saw a coyote calmly watching us drive by.
Turning back to the west, we ran into a herd of mule deer and watched them bound away in that peculiar gait they have called 'stotting'. This is best described as an animal whose legs are like springs, bouncing up in the air as they jump/run away from us. The day is surely starting off in a grand fashion and we have yet to even see a prairie dog.
As we near the 'dog town, we spot what we think is a German Shorthair bird dog in the road ahead of us. But wait! This is not your average bird dog, it is a bobcat!!! A real wampus kitty! Damnation! What a morning.
But wait! There's more.
As we round the bend where the 'dogs are, I stop the truck and point out the dog town to the Captain. He sees nothing. I tell him to think small and watch for movement. After a minute or so, he spots one. Then another. Then ten or twelve more. Then hundreds more. This is going to be a great day.
As we sit there in the road, a huge bald eagle swoops over the hill, grabs a 'dog and begins to carry it away. Unfortunately he drops it and the dog dives for the nearest hole. You can bet the farm he will be more careful in the future if he didn't suffer a terminal puncture wound from the talons when the eagle grabbed him. Both bald eagles and golden eagles winter out here on the high plains and then return to Colorado in early summer.
By this time we've already had a super day, but the best is yet to come. We drive in past the barns and wave at the rancher who is feeding his stock. We set up the shooting bench, unload the sand bags, set up the Captain's rifle with bipod and get ready to start blasting. Since this is my partner's first 'dog shoot, I graciously allow him the first 10 shots and I will be the spotter. Later we'll trade places and thereafter we'll change every 10 shots.
The role of the spotter is not merely that of a casual spectator. He is a vital part of the two man team. Here's why. The spotter uses binoculars of 10 to 12 power to locate targets for the shooter. Then comes the tricky part; getting the shooter scoped in on the same 'dog.
This is done by describing visible landmarks something like this. He tells the shooter to look for the small evergreen tree in the middle of the field. From there come in to the fence line, count off three fence posts to the left, and there is the target.
Then when the shooter is on the 'dog, the spotter changes from binoculars to range finder and reads off the distance to target in yards. When the shooter is on the same target and has set the objective lens on the scope for the same distance, the spotter puts down the range finder and picks up the binoculars again. We discuss the range, plan for the bullet drop, estimate the wind, and decide where to hold. The shooter will then fire when ready.
All points of aim are geared to the size of the 'dog. If the range is 300 yards with a moderate wind blowing from right to left, the hold will be half a 'dog over to allow for 5 inches of bullet drop at that range and the hold for windage will be on the right edge of the 'dog to allow for the ever present wind. It gets pretty detailed but we have shot so much at known ranges that we know the trajectory of each of our rifles. Sometime we hold a full 'dog over and two 'dogs to the right. This would be a target 400 yards out with a stronger wind blowing from right to left.
An adult 'dog sitting upright is about 9-12 inches tall and about 3 inches wide across the chest. The belly, which is usually full of grass can be as big as a softball. These are the sizes we deal with on a sitting dog. But lots of times, all we can see is a head or a portion thereof. In May when the pups first come out the entire dog could hide in a coffee cup. The challenge of hitting these tiny targets at extreme ranges is hard to resist. This is why we are always looking for yet another rifle/scope/cartridge combination. This explains the necessity for us to seek new and different acquisitions from time to time.
But, you may ask, do our wives buy into this justification for expansion of our...collections? No.
Returning to the discussion above; the spotter's job now is to watch for the bullet strike. If there is a hit, all is well. If not, the miss is described as low and left or high and right, or high or low. The shooter can then correct his point of aim on the next shot at this target. We sometimes write down the location of the bullet strike for future reference.
So I put the grizzled old veteran on several 'dogs which he proceeds to miss by wide margins. Curses and muzzle blasts fill the air. We trade places after his allotted shot string and I hit 6 out of the next 10. The Captain now sees how it goes. He sits down again at the bench, gets lined up on the next target that is sitting upright about 220 yards away, takes in a deep breath, lets out half of it, and gently squeezes the trigger. Whop!! The 'dog flies in the air.
The Captain is pleased. His face is happy. After this he begins hitting pretty regularly.
His rifle today is the hot 222 Remington Magnum with a 6x24 BSA scope, shooting a 50 grain Hornaday V-Max at a screeching hot velocity. Gotta have light weight, high velocity bullets to reach out at these extreme ranges.
Off to our left is an annoying little pest, the self appointed neighborhood sentinel who chirps and yaps, warning the brethren that huge danger is in the area. He is hiding behind a big rock, peeking over the top from time to time. The Captain sends several rounds his way to no avail. I'm spotting for him and I see his shots going high. I employ the trusty Bushnell Range Finder again and determine the distance to target is 153 yards. This explains everything.
Our rifles are zeroed in at 200 yards, so at this distance of 153 yards, the point of impact will be at the peak of the mid range trajectory which means we need to hold about 2 inches below where we want to hit. Soon the sentinel raises his little head again to peek at us. The Captain takes this very seriously and carefully lines up the shot. Boom! Whop! The sentinel is no more.
We walk out to view the remains and there is the first headless prairie dog of the day. A surgically precise shot at a modest distance has the Captain dancing around on tiptoe, in tight little circles, emitting tiny squeaking noises of great joy! "Damnation, that's more fun than whacking a felon." he said. He does have a way with words.
On the way back to the bench, a rattler buzzes angrily off to our left. The Captain dispatches the snake with a neat head shot from his pistol. He is on a roll now. This is a real two'fer and he is totally addicted for life to this pursuit.
This place we're shooting is perfect for our type of long range shooting. In the mornings, we set up on the east side of the long shallow canyon and shoot to the west. The sun is at our backs.
Around noon, we load up and move up to the line of evergreen trees. We set up here to shoot north in the shade during the hottest part of the day. We enjoy a small repast consisting of cold fried chicken, bread, ham sandwiches, Gator Aide, Pecan Sandies, Strawberry Newton's, and all kinds of tasty treats.
After lunch, we cat nap a while, exchange a few lies about women, fast cars, and great things we have done, could have done, or shouldn't have done. And if some of the stories we tell about our misspent youth didn't happen just that way; well, they should have! These bullshit sessions are at least as enjoyable as the shooting; sometimes even more.
Today I brought along a brand new acquisition, a huge varmint rifle made by Savage and chambered for the powerful 25-06 cartridge, topped off with a 6x20 Bushnell Elite 3200 scope. The handload is a 75 grain Hornaday V-Max bullet loaded to a muzzle velocity of almost 3800 feet per second. Yeah, this has a heavier recoil than normal and is a trifle big for 'dogs, but it is an excellent windy day cartridge.
The Captain finds the very first victim for me to try out this fine rifle. He's sitting bolt upright, about 200 yards out. The sound of the bullet striking the target is especially loud and even after the recoil, I can still see pieces fly. The Captain said it was a spectacular hit. We have to take another walk.
We find pieces of this 'dog scattered over 40 feet in both directions. This was a solid hit and it is a mere prelude of what is to come from this excellent rifle during the next few years. I can only shoot it for a while and then must drop back to the 22-250 to get away from the recoil and muzzle blast.
As we walk back to the bench, we spot our bobcat buddy again as he has rushed in and grabbed one of the 'dogs we had shot earlier that morning. Late in the day, we have seen coyotes waiting patiently for us to leave so they can start the feast. Sometimes a really brave one will dash in and get a morsel a bit early. No matter how many 'dogs we hit, by morning the field will be barren of all 'dog bodies. Nothing is wasted; bigger varmints gotta eat too.
Around 1700 hours, we head for the west slope and shoot back to the east. Again the sun is at our backs. The 'dogs have been confined to their holes most of the day and now they are desperate to get out to eat some grass before dark. This is their only source of water in this arid country. We enjoy the best shooting of the day till it's too dark to see. Reluctantly, we pack up and head for the motel for a hot shower to get rid of all the sand and any ticks/fleas/chiggers we may have accumulated.
After showering, we head for the Wagon Wheel Bar and Grill in beautiful downtown WaKeeney for a steak of monumental proportions. We sleep the sleep of the righteous and the just because tomorrow is another shooting day.
Shooting prairie dogs is one way to control the expansion of these destructive pests. While the tender hearted will view this as cruel and unusual, the reality is getting taken out by a bullet is quick and merciful. The indisputable fact is, prairie dogs will die, one way or another. Getting shot is not the worst way to go. Here are some ways that are much worse, but one must remember that nature is violent. The following is not for the squeamish.
Prairie dogs die by being...
*eaten as pups by adult prairie dogs
*eaten by rattlesnakes
*bitten by rattlesnakes
*eaten by the blackfooted ferret
*eaten by eagles, hawks, coyotes, and bobcats
*poisoned, a long slow death
*fed bubble gum causing an intestinal blockage
*infected with the bubonic plague
Prairie dogs provide virtually every living carnivore on the plains with hor'derves and free meals. For rattlesnakes, burrowing owls, and blackfooted ferrets, this generosity includes free lodging.
Prairie dogs cause incredible damage to the land. The holes they dig ruin the land for the ranchers to grow crops. Cattle and horses are at risk of being bitten on the nose or face by rattlers that are attracted to the towns by the temptation of free meals. Rattlesnakes that are attracted to the 'dog towns close to houses create a special danger for children and pets.
In short, these animals are rodents (rats for our Topeka friends) and should be controlled by scientific methods, not by some emotionally charged special interest touchy/feely group. They are not cute, cuddly little dog like animals; they are nasty rats, with huge swollen bellies, sharp teeth, and long claws. One rancher offered to pay us a quarter for each target we hit. But he wanted us to pay him a dime for each one we missed! We could not afford to hunt there.
Hunters who shoot these vermin add to the town's economy by staying at Mom 'n Pop motels, eating at local restaurants, and buying supplies from the local vendors. We also provide support and entertainment for residents. The local Stop 'n Rob where we buy groceries and supplies had a couple of very refined, proper, and elegant, but somewhat older ladies working as clerks. Heck, we're all somewhat older these days. The Captain decided to yank some chains and asked one of them if she knew of a sportin' woman in town. Boy, what a reaction he got from her. Strong disapproval fairly exploded off her frown. Decent women are not treated this way, but the Captain delights in shocking people.
The next time we went in for supplies, all these former sweeties looked at him and could not help breaking into a smile. There is something inherently attractive about a rogue and a scoundrel. Captain Elwell fits this description to a tee! Like a moth to a flame, they were fatally attracted to him just because he was such a free spirit. He confided in me that he felt somewhat honored by their response.
Thus ended our perfect day; truly a magical day; the first of many, but always too few.
But now...spring is near again! Oh, happy day!
PB
The honorable Captain Elwell is a retired law enforcement officer from western Kansas. His retirement brought much joy to the local population of miscreants and ne'r do wells out there. The number of suspects who "fell while getting out of the prowl car" decreased drastically as did the number of visits to the local emergency room as well. Wait a minute, I'm getting away from the story line here.
This column is a hunting report of sorts, relating the first time I took the Captain along on a prairie dog shoot. This one trip was sufficient to cause him to spend lots money on different rifle/scope combinations that would reach out and touch a 'dog at 400 yards. Hey, don't disbelieve. On a still day, with no wind, knowing the distance to target, solid rest to shoot from, and a reliable rifle/scope combo, with handloaded ammo, connections can be made with astonishing frequency. Because of his excessive purchases, his wife thinks I am a bad influence on him, but that's okay; my wife thinks he is a bad influence on me!
On this historic day in early spring a few years ago, we met up at the Flying J Truck stop in Salina, Kansas, at the early hour of 0600. (for those who live in Topeka, this means six o'clock in the morning) Grabbing an Egg McMuffin and coffee, we headed for WaKeeney, Kansas, about 130 miles further west on I-70.
Arriving there at around 08:30, we checked in at a Mom 'n Pop motel, off loaded all the stuff we didn't need for the day long shoot, and headed south where a huge 'dog town existed in the shallow canyons along the Smoky Hill River. Our excitement began as soon as we left town when we spied a large group of pheasants in the bar ditch. It's always neat to see these colorful birds in the wild.
Then a few miles further on, we saw a coyote calmly watching us drive by.
Turning back to the west, we ran into a herd of mule deer and watched them bound away in that peculiar gait they have called 'stotting'. This is best described as an animal whose legs are like springs, bouncing up in the air as they jump/run away from us. The day is surely starting off in a grand fashion and we have yet to even see a prairie dog.
As we near the 'dog town, we spot what we think is a German Shorthair bird dog in the road ahead of us. But wait! This is not your average bird dog, it is a bobcat!!! A real wampus kitty! Damnation! What a morning.
But wait! There's more.
As we round the bend where the 'dogs are, I stop the truck and point out the dog town to the Captain. He sees nothing. I tell him to think small and watch for movement. After a minute or so, he spots one. Then another. Then ten or twelve more. Then hundreds more. This is going to be a great day.
As we sit there in the road, a huge bald eagle swoops over the hill, grabs a 'dog and begins to carry it away. Unfortunately he drops it and the dog dives for the nearest hole. You can bet the farm he will be more careful in the future if he didn't suffer a terminal puncture wound from the talons when the eagle grabbed him. Both bald eagles and golden eagles winter out here on the high plains and then return to Colorado in early summer.
By this time we've already had a super day, but the best is yet to come. We drive in past the barns and wave at the rancher who is feeding his stock. We set up the shooting bench, unload the sand bags, set up the Captain's rifle with bipod and get ready to start blasting. Since this is my partner's first 'dog shoot, I graciously allow him the first 10 shots and I will be the spotter. Later we'll trade places and thereafter we'll change every 10 shots.
The role of the spotter is not merely that of a casual spectator. He is a vital part of the two man team. Here's why. The spotter uses binoculars of 10 to 12 power to locate targets for the shooter. Then comes the tricky part; getting the shooter scoped in on the same 'dog.
This is done by describing visible landmarks something like this. He tells the shooter to look for the small evergreen tree in the middle of the field. From there come in to the fence line, count off three fence posts to the left, and there is the target.
Then when the shooter is on the 'dog, the spotter changes from binoculars to range finder and reads off the distance to target in yards. When the shooter is on the same target and has set the objective lens on the scope for the same distance, the spotter puts down the range finder and picks up the binoculars again. We discuss the range, plan for the bullet drop, estimate the wind, and decide where to hold. The shooter will then fire when ready.
All points of aim are geared to the size of the 'dog. If the range is 300 yards with a moderate wind blowing from right to left, the hold will be half a 'dog over to allow for 5 inches of bullet drop at that range and the hold for windage will be on the right edge of the 'dog to allow for the ever present wind. It gets pretty detailed but we have shot so much at known ranges that we know the trajectory of each of our rifles. Sometime we hold a full 'dog over and two 'dogs to the right. This would be a target 400 yards out with a stronger wind blowing from right to left.
An adult 'dog sitting upright is about 9-12 inches tall and about 3 inches wide across the chest. The belly, which is usually full of grass can be as big as a softball. These are the sizes we deal with on a sitting dog. But lots of times, all we can see is a head or a portion thereof. In May when the pups first come out the entire dog could hide in a coffee cup. The challenge of hitting these tiny targets at extreme ranges is hard to resist. This is why we are always looking for yet another rifle/scope/cartridge combination. This explains the necessity for us to seek new and different acquisitions from time to time.
But, you may ask, do our wives buy into this justification for expansion of our...collections? No.
Returning to the discussion above; the spotter's job now is to watch for the bullet strike. If there is a hit, all is well. If not, the miss is described as low and left or high and right, or high or low. The shooter can then correct his point of aim on the next shot at this target. We sometimes write down the location of the bullet strike for future reference.
So I put the grizzled old veteran on several 'dogs which he proceeds to miss by wide margins. Curses and muzzle blasts fill the air. We trade places after his allotted shot string and I hit 6 out of the next 10. The Captain now sees how it goes. He sits down again at the bench, gets lined up on the next target that is sitting upright about 220 yards away, takes in a deep breath, lets out half of it, and gently squeezes the trigger. Whop!! The 'dog flies in the air.
The Captain is pleased. His face is happy. After this he begins hitting pretty regularly.
His rifle today is the hot 222 Remington Magnum with a 6x24 BSA scope, shooting a 50 grain Hornaday V-Max at a screeching hot velocity. Gotta have light weight, high velocity bullets to reach out at these extreme ranges.
Off to our left is an annoying little pest, the self appointed neighborhood sentinel who chirps and yaps, warning the brethren that huge danger is in the area. He is hiding behind a big rock, peeking over the top from time to time. The Captain sends several rounds his way to no avail. I'm spotting for him and I see his shots going high. I employ the trusty Bushnell Range Finder again and determine the distance to target is 153 yards. This explains everything.
Our rifles are zeroed in at 200 yards, so at this distance of 153 yards, the point of impact will be at the peak of the mid range trajectory which means we need to hold about 2 inches below where we want to hit. Soon the sentinel raises his little head again to peek at us. The Captain takes this very seriously and carefully lines up the shot. Boom! Whop! The sentinel is no more.
We walk out to view the remains and there is the first headless prairie dog of the day. A surgically precise shot at a modest distance has the Captain dancing around on tiptoe, in tight little circles, emitting tiny squeaking noises of great joy! "Damnation, that's more fun than whacking a felon." he said. He does have a way with words.
On the way back to the bench, a rattler buzzes angrily off to our left. The Captain dispatches the snake with a neat head shot from his pistol. He is on a roll now. This is a real two'fer and he is totally addicted for life to this pursuit.
This place we're shooting is perfect for our type of long range shooting. In the mornings, we set up on the east side of the long shallow canyon and shoot to the west. The sun is at our backs.
Around noon, we load up and move up to the line of evergreen trees. We set up here to shoot north in the shade during the hottest part of the day. We enjoy a small repast consisting of cold fried chicken, bread, ham sandwiches, Gator Aide, Pecan Sandies, Strawberry Newton's, and all kinds of tasty treats.
After lunch, we cat nap a while, exchange a few lies about women, fast cars, and great things we have done, could have done, or shouldn't have done. And if some of the stories we tell about our misspent youth didn't happen just that way; well, they should have! These bullshit sessions are at least as enjoyable as the shooting; sometimes even more.
Today I brought along a brand new acquisition, a huge varmint rifle made by Savage and chambered for the powerful 25-06 cartridge, topped off with a 6x20 Bushnell Elite 3200 scope. The handload is a 75 grain Hornaday V-Max bullet loaded to a muzzle velocity of almost 3800 feet per second. Yeah, this has a heavier recoil than normal and is a trifle big for 'dogs, but it is an excellent windy day cartridge.
The Captain finds the very first victim for me to try out this fine rifle. He's sitting bolt upright, about 200 yards out. The sound of the bullet striking the target is especially loud and even after the recoil, I can still see pieces fly. The Captain said it was a spectacular hit. We have to take another walk.
We find pieces of this 'dog scattered over 40 feet in both directions. This was a solid hit and it is a mere prelude of what is to come from this excellent rifle during the next few years. I can only shoot it for a while and then must drop back to the 22-250 to get away from the recoil and muzzle blast.
As we walk back to the bench, we spot our bobcat buddy again as he has rushed in and grabbed one of the 'dogs we had shot earlier that morning. Late in the day, we have seen coyotes waiting patiently for us to leave so they can start the feast. Sometimes a really brave one will dash in and get a morsel a bit early. No matter how many 'dogs we hit, by morning the field will be barren of all 'dog bodies. Nothing is wasted; bigger varmints gotta eat too.
Around 1700 hours, we head for the west slope and shoot back to the east. Again the sun is at our backs. The 'dogs have been confined to their holes most of the day and now they are desperate to get out to eat some grass before dark. This is their only source of water in this arid country. We enjoy the best shooting of the day till it's too dark to see. Reluctantly, we pack up and head for the motel for a hot shower to get rid of all the sand and any ticks/fleas/chiggers we may have accumulated.
After showering, we head for the Wagon Wheel Bar and Grill in beautiful downtown WaKeeney for a steak of monumental proportions. We sleep the sleep of the righteous and the just because tomorrow is another shooting day.
Shooting prairie dogs is one way to control the expansion of these destructive pests. While the tender hearted will view this as cruel and unusual, the reality is getting taken out by a bullet is quick and merciful. The indisputable fact is, prairie dogs will die, one way or another. Getting shot is not the worst way to go. Here are some ways that are much worse, but one must remember that nature is violent. The following is not for the squeamish.
Prairie dogs die by being...
*eaten as pups by adult prairie dogs
*eaten by rattlesnakes
*bitten by rattlesnakes
*eaten by the blackfooted ferret
*eaten by eagles, hawks, coyotes, and bobcats
*poisoned, a long slow death
*fed bubble gum causing an intestinal blockage
*infected with the bubonic plague
Prairie dogs provide virtually every living carnivore on the plains with hor'derves and free meals. For rattlesnakes, burrowing owls, and blackfooted ferrets, this generosity includes free lodging.
Prairie dogs cause incredible damage to the land. The holes they dig ruin the land for the ranchers to grow crops. Cattle and horses are at risk of being bitten on the nose or face by rattlers that are attracted to the towns by the temptation of free meals. Rattlesnakes that are attracted to the 'dog towns close to houses create a special danger for children and pets.
In short, these animals are rodents (rats for our Topeka friends) and should be controlled by scientific methods, not by some emotionally charged special interest touchy/feely group. They are not cute, cuddly little dog like animals; they are nasty rats, with huge swollen bellies, sharp teeth, and long claws. One rancher offered to pay us a quarter for each target we hit. But he wanted us to pay him a dime for each one we missed! We could not afford to hunt there.
Hunters who shoot these vermin add to the town's economy by staying at Mom 'n Pop motels, eating at local restaurants, and buying supplies from the local vendors. We also provide support and entertainment for residents. The local Stop 'n Rob where we buy groceries and supplies had a couple of very refined, proper, and elegant, but somewhat older ladies working as clerks. Heck, we're all somewhat older these days. The Captain decided to yank some chains and asked one of them if she knew of a sportin' woman in town. Boy, what a reaction he got from her. Strong disapproval fairly exploded off her frown. Decent women are not treated this way, but the Captain delights in shocking people.
The next time we went in for supplies, all these former sweeties looked at him and could not help breaking into a smile. There is something inherently attractive about a rogue and a scoundrel. Captain Elwell fits this description to a tee! Like a moth to a flame, they were fatally attracted to him just because he was such a free spirit. He confided in me that he felt somewhat honored by their response.
Thus ended our perfect day; truly a magical day; the first of many, but always too few.
But now...spring is near again! Oh, happy day!
PB
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