Understand that from the time I could put together a
rational thought, I've been fascinated by guns. My mother
used to prop me in front of the little round picture box as a
baby so I could watch men on horseback shooting at each
other with guns...The first "real" shooter I owned was a Mattel
Fanner 50... It shot Mattel Shootin' Shells and used Greenie
Stick 'Em caps. I was greased-lightning fast and Grim Reaper
deadly with it... For my punishment of erroneous deeds my
mom would take the gun away for a few days... Dad, on the
other hand, used the gun belt for a more heartily applied
punishment to the South end of this Northbound cowpoke. It
seems like that gun belt got as much [applied] use as that
Fanner 50. Who knew old people would jump that high when
you shot them in the butt? Sorry, Nana... But the bone china
tea set dad bought to replace the one you were carrying was
much prettier and newer than that 150 year old set you were
always bragging to Aunt Gladys about... And Cousin Peter?
Sorry about the eye, buddy. But at least it kept you out of the
army...When I was twelve I was shipped off for the summer to
church camp, where I was introduced to the joys of the .22
Long Rifle cartridge. There were six shooters in my squad and
we could choose from the six semi-auto and two bolt action
rifles available. Even then it was evident I'd be a purist: I was
the only one to choose a bolt action. While the other kids
were busy shooting hundreds of rounds of ammo downrange
as quickly as they could, I carefully aimed my bolt action in
the general direction of the targets... While actually shooting
birds over by the pond like Gary Cooper taught George Tobias
to shoot turkeys in Sgt. York- "sorta from back to front...” and
imagining each of those evil birds was wearing a German
helmet. I still say the counselors should have told us on
Orientation Day. I mean, who even knew there WERE swans,
huh? They looked like big ducks wearing holdup masks, if you
really want to know the truth. Dad didn't see it that way,
though... Especially since he had to pay for the swans- and
they didn't refund the seven weeks' unused camp tuition when
they expelled me, either. Did I mention what dad used my
Fanner 50 gun belt for?After my exposure to the real thing at
camp- albeit for only a brief period- I wasn't too interested in
playing with the Daisy BB guns my friends had. I was above
owning one of those childish things... But not above borrowing
one to play with every once in awhile. And Ritchie?
rational thought, I've been fascinated by guns. My mother
used to prop me in front of the little round picture box as a
baby so I could watch men on horseback shooting at each
other with guns...The first "real" shooter I owned was a Mattel
Fanner 50... It shot Mattel Shootin' Shells and used Greenie
Stick 'Em caps. I was greased-lightning fast and Grim Reaper
deadly with it... For my punishment of erroneous deeds my
mom would take the gun away for a few days... Dad, on the
other hand, used the gun belt for a more heartily applied
punishment to the South end of this Northbound cowpoke. It
seems like that gun belt got as much [applied] use as that
Fanner 50. Who knew old people would jump that high when
you shot them in the butt? Sorry, Nana... But the bone china
tea set dad bought to replace the one you were carrying was
much prettier and newer than that 150 year old set you were
always bragging to Aunt Gladys about... And Cousin Peter?
Sorry about the eye, buddy. But at least it kept you out of the
army...When I was twelve I was shipped off for the summer to
church camp, where I was introduced to the joys of the .22
Long Rifle cartridge. There were six shooters in my squad and
we could choose from the six semi-auto and two bolt action
rifles available. Even then it was evident I'd be a purist: I was
the only one to choose a bolt action. While the other kids
were busy shooting hundreds of rounds of ammo downrange
as quickly as they could, I carefully aimed my bolt action in
the general direction of the targets... While actually shooting
birds over by the pond like Gary Cooper taught George Tobias
to shoot turkeys in Sgt. York- "sorta from back to front...” and
imagining each of those evil birds was wearing a German
helmet. I still say the counselors should have told us on
Orientation Day. I mean, who even knew there WERE swans,
huh? They looked like big ducks wearing holdup masks, if you
really want to know the truth. Dad didn't see it that way,
though... Especially since he had to pay for the swans- and
they didn't refund the seven weeks' unused camp tuition when
they expelled me, either. Did I mention what dad used my
Fanner 50 gun belt for?After my exposure to the real thing at
camp- albeit for only a brief period- I wasn't too interested in
playing with the Daisy BB guns my friends had. I was above
owning one of those childish things... But not above borrowing
one to play with every once in awhile. And Ritchie?
John Van Zant
Guns and Ammo Specialist
Guns and Ammo Specialist
The spoon was perfect for what I needed! Very carefully (thank
heaven there wasn't any wind blowing) I poured a spoonful of powder
from the can into the spoon, when tipped the spoon up and tapped
the powder into the cylinder. Sure, I spilled a bunch over because
the spoon held so much more, but what the heck! Powder was
cheap, back then... And I had plenty to spare... Being a methodical
kind of kid, I filled all six chambers with the powder, managing to
spill as much around my feet, I suppose, as I was getting into the
cylinder. I can laugh now, but when I bent over to get the bullets all
the powder fell out of the cylinders onto my boots... So I had to fill
them all over again! I managed to get all the chambers filled with
powder and then stuck a bullet into the first cylinder... I had to really
tap it in with my knife to get it started... Then shoved it in as far as
it would go with the rammer thing. I lost a little powder in the
process, but eventually I had all six chambers loaded and ready to
go. Then I put percussion caps over the things sticking out the ends
of the cylinders...Oops! I forgot a couple of things!Now, I'll admit my
ignorance about a lot of things... But why I was supposed to smear
Crisco on my balls is still a mystery to me. But I figured Old Man
Shattuck knew what he was about, so I looked around to make sure
I was alone, then dropped my pants to my knees, opened the can
of Crisco and began to smear it over Lefty and Righty. Standing
there in the hot summer sun, slowly massaging soft, silky grease
into my scrotum... Gee WHIZ! I guess the old man knew what he
was talking about after all! Welcome to the joys of shooting!I had to
force myself out of my reverie...One last thing and then I'd be ready
to shoot... I took my baseball cap off and stuffed it inside my shirt
over my left nipple. Okay... I guessed I was ready (except, of
course, that in my haste I'd forgotten to pull up my pants...)
heaven there wasn't any wind blowing) I poured a spoonful of powder
from the can into the spoon, when tipped the spoon up and tapped
the powder into the cylinder. Sure, I spilled a bunch over because
the spoon held so much more, but what the heck! Powder was
cheap, back then... And I had plenty to spare... Being a methodical
kind of kid, I filled all six chambers with the powder, managing to
spill as much around my feet, I suppose, as I was getting into the
cylinder. I can laugh now, but when I bent over to get the bullets all
the powder fell out of the cylinders onto my boots... So I had to fill
them all over again! I managed to get all the chambers filled with
powder and then stuck a bullet into the first cylinder... I had to really
tap it in with my knife to get it started... Then shoved it in as far as
it would go with the rammer thing. I lost a little powder in the
process, but eventually I had all six chambers loaded and ready to
go. Then I put percussion caps over the things sticking out the ends
of the cylinders...Oops! I forgot a couple of things!Now, I'll admit my
ignorance about a lot of things... But why I was supposed to smear
Crisco on my balls is still a mystery to me. But I figured Old Man
Shattuck knew what he was about, so I looked around to make sure
I was alone, then dropped my pants to my knees, opened the can
of Crisco and began to smear it over Lefty and Righty. Standing
there in the hot summer sun, slowly massaging soft, silky grease
into my scrotum... Gee WHIZ! I guess the old man knew what he
was talking about after all! Welcome to the joys of shooting!I had to
force myself out of my reverie...One last thing and then I'd be ready
to shoot... I took my baseball cap off and stuffed it inside my shirt
over my left nipple. Okay... I guessed I was ready (except, of
course, that in my haste I'd forgotten to pull up my pants...)
He even threw in a box of pure lead balls with the pistol and
percussion caps when I bought the pound of black powder.I told
Mr. Shattuck that I was anxious to shoot it and was heading
straight for the dump, and asked him to show me how to load
the gun. "It's pretty simple," I recall his telling me. "You
measure your powder into the cylinder chamber, put a bullet
over it, ram it down in with the hinged thing under the barrel, put
your cap over a nipple, and you're set to shoot." I thanked him
for his help and headed for the door."One last thing!" he called
to me as I was running out the door, "Don't forget to put grease
over your balls! Crisco works fine!" I didn't understand the need
for the last part, but I stopped at Tony's Grocery and bought a
little blue can of Crisco grease. And now... To the dump! Where
bottles and cans, rats and crows were just waiting for this ole'
cowboy to do 'em in!I replayed Mr. Shattuck's instructions in my
head as I laid out all my gear on the smoothed-out, brown paper
bag at my feet. The first thing I realized was that I didn't have
anything to measure the powder with... UNTIL I remembered my
knife! I carried one of those folding stag handled camper's
knives- you know, the ones with a fork on one side and a spoon
on the other?
percussion caps when I bought the pound of black powder.I told
Mr. Shattuck that I was anxious to shoot it and was heading
straight for the dump, and asked him to show me how to load
the gun. "It's pretty simple," I recall his telling me. "You
measure your powder into the cylinder chamber, put a bullet
over it, ram it down in with the hinged thing under the barrel, put
your cap over a nipple, and you're set to shoot." I thanked him
for his help and headed for the door."One last thing!" he called
to me as I was running out the door, "Don't forget to put grease
over your balls! Crisco works fine!" I didn't understand the need
for the last part, but I stopped at Tony's Grocery and bought a
little blue can of Crisco grease. And now... To the dump! Where
bottles and cans, rats and crows were just waiting for this ole'
cowboy to do 'em in!I replayed Mr. Shattuck's instructions in my
head as I laid out all my gear on the smoothed-out, brown paper
bag at my feet. The first thing I realized was that I didn't have
anything to measure the powder with... UNTIL I remembered my
knife! I carried one of those folding stag handled camper's
knives- you know, the ones with a fork on one side and a spoon
on the other?
Well sir, I crooked my left am out in front of my face, rested
the trigger guard of the pistol in my right hand on it, drew a tight
bead on an old Four Roses bottle, and squeezed the trigger. I
remember a bright flash, a burning sensation on my arm and face,
then something hit me square in the forehead and the lights went
out. It must have been quite sometime later when I awoke. I was
laid out across the back seat of Sheriff Miller's car (I knew this from
the Plexi-glass partition and a previous ride when I'd been sixteen),
the rider's side door was open and my feet and lower legs were
hanging out. As I raised my head to look for the source of the
voices I heard I felt like someone had hit me in the head with a
sledgehammer. I could see two men in the dim, evening light, just
outside the door and within my range of vision. At least, I thought
they were two men... I could hear two speaking but they were sorta
spinning around and they looked like six. From the voices I knew
they were Sheriff Miller and my Dad...
"... Busy on another call so the volunteer fire department was the
first out here," I heard the Sheriff explaining to my dad. "Mabel
Krutchner called it incoming she saw smoke coming' from the dump
and had heard an awful explosion over this way.""Near as I can tell
from what the firemen say, when they got here they found your boy
lying over there. At first they thought he was dead. The dump was
on fire all around him, his left arm and face were all black, his boots
were scorched pretty badly, he had a HUGE knot on his forehead
where somebody’s cold-cocked him... And... Well, we think the
boy's been... Well, taken advantage of.""What do you mean 'Taken
advantage of?'" I heard my dad ask. "Well, Al, it's like this," the
Sheriff said. "The first men to get to your boy said he was
unconscious; they found part of a gun by his body; his pants were
down around his ankles, his crotch was smeared with KY Jelly and
he was sportin' a big boner..."Then I heard Mr. Shattuck's voice. "I
always knew there was something wrong with that boy...This will
probably keep him out of the army..." And THAT'S why I don't
shoot black powder...
the trigger guard of the pistol in my right hand on it, drew a tight
bead on an old Four Roses bottle, and squeezed the trigger. I
remember a bright flash, a burning sensation on my arm and face,
then something hit me square in the forehead and the lights went
out. It must have been quite sometime later when I awoke. I was
laid out across the back seat of Sheriff Miller's car (I knew this from
the Plexi-glass partition and a previous ride when I'd been sixteen),
the rider's side door was open and my feet and lower legs were
hanging out. As I raised my head to look for the source of the
voices I heard I felt like someone had hit me in the head with a
sledgehammer. I could see two men in the dim, evening light, just
outside the door and within my range of vision. At least, I thought
they were two men... I could hear two speaking but they were sorta
spinning around and they looked like six. From the voices I knew
they were Sheriff Miller and my Dad...
"... Busy on another call so the volunteer fire department was the
first out here," I heard the Sheriff explaining to my dad. "Mabel
Krutchner called it incoming she saw smoke coming' from the dump
and had heard an awful explosion over this way.""Near as I can tell
from what the firemen say, when they got here they found your boy
lying over there. At first they thought he was dead. The dump was
on fire all around him, his left arm and face were all black, his boots
were scorched pretty badly, he had a HUGE knot on his forehead
where somebody’s cold-cocked him... And... Well, we think the
boy's been... Well, taken advantage of.""What do you mean 'Taken
advantage of?'" I heard my dad ask. "Well, Al, it's like this," the
Sheriff said. "The first men to get to your boy said he was
unconscious; they found part of a gun by his body; his pants were
down around his ankles, his crotch was smeared with KY Jelly and
he was sportin' a big boner..."Then I heard Mr. Shattuck's voice. "I
always knew there was something wrong with that boy...This will
probably keep him out of the army..." And THAT'S why I don't
shoot black powder...
Sorry about the eye, buddy. But at least it kept you out of the
army...I finally turned eighteen and could [legally] own my own
black powder revolver, but I was just a bit short in the savings
department. Not being the patient sort, I chose the most
expedient means to get the money. As I look back now, I
suppose I am sorry those junior high kids couldn't turn in their
paper route money that week...I'd been looking at a pretty,
brass-framed BP revolver in the case at Shattuck's Hardware for
a couple of months, and boy! Was I ever proud the day I went in
and plunked down the money for it! Eleven dollars in one-dollar
bills... And eighteen dollars in quarter and dimes. Old Man
Shattuck was a great old guy, whose eyesight, thankfully, had
gotten really bad over the years...> otherwise he'd have chased
me out of the store like he used to after he caught me stealing
that Barlow when I was thirteen... But he didn't recognize me as
he sold me the .36 caliber pistol...
army...I finally turned eighteen and could [legally] own my own
black powder revolver, but I was just a bit short in the savings
department. Not being the patient sort, I chose the most
expedient means to get the money. As I look back now, I
suppose I am sorry those junior high kids couldn't turn in their
paper route money that week...I'd been looking at a pretty,
brass-framed BP revolver in the case at Shattuck's Hardware for
a couple of months, and boy! Was I ever proud the day I went in
and plunked down the money for it! Eleven dollars in one-dollar
bills... And eighteen dollars in quarter and dimes. Old Man
Shattuck was a great old guy, whose eyesight, thankfully, had
gotten really bad over the years...> otherwise he'd have chased
me out of the store like he used to after he caught me stealing
that Barlow when I was thirteen... But he didn't recognize me as
he sold me the .36 caliber pistol...
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| Why I Don't Shoot Black Powder! |
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