12-07-05 This story is dedicated to Rich "deadeyedick" Bartman. Thanks for the Laughs Bro, save me a spot I'll be there before you know it.
There are Good Ol' Boys and There are Good Old Boys....
Ol' Junior was a good old boy, that is if they still made good old boys like the good old boys we used to know. Not as old as some of the good old boys, he still got along with everyone pretty much the same.
If he liked you? Well you'd know it 'cause you'd have an open invitation to his kitchen table any day of the week. And, if he was planning on a trip to the range you'd know two days in advance so you could plan on it. If you needed some ammo? All you had to do was ask and you'd have it, or, if you wanted to make your own, his shop was open. If he liked you that is. If not, well that was pretty much the same too, you might meet him once but then you'd never see him again. See, the way he thought, if he didn't like you he avoided you. That way he wouldn't be forced to tell you exactly what he thought of you in the first place, thus saving you a very uncomfortable moment and, saving him the high blood pressure that would come from telling you what he thought of you in the first place. So, actually he was doing everyone involved a favor, not unlike the favors he'd do for those he liked.
Ol' Junior, yep he was a good ol' boy. Born a little late to live the way he would of liked, he was born into guns, and hunting, and fishing, and he took advantage of all that was offered him in those early years. He learned quick about the woods and how things worked out there. Learned the respect required to handle and own the guns he packed around and just generally took to nature like, well, second nature. He never was brilliant in school, spent most the time day dreaming, skipping it completely when he got older and some thought it a miracle when he graduated with his original class instead of the class two or three years back.
No, Ol' Junior was not the sharpest tack in the drawer and he'd be the first to admit it, I mean he was smart enough to know that he'd never live up to his full potential and really had no desire to do so either. His main goal in life was to be left alone and it is a goal I think he's probably still pursuing to this day. If you really knew him though, if he let you get to know him, you'd know that he was actually a pretty bright fellow, on the subjects he was interested in. Cars and motors -n such? Hell NO! “Don't like getting my hands dirty” he'd say. “That's why I try to make enough money to hire a mechanic to work on my truck when it needs it”.
Oh he knew a little something about his old truck you can bet on it. I know for a fact he just hated working on old trucks and played it dumb for the most part. I remember when he found an old lawn mower in the dump and nursed it back to life, then nursed it for 10 more years 'cause he was to tight to buy a decent one. Finally, one day when he'd busted his knuckle a pretty good one on that old mower, he got up and said. “I don't like working on these damn mowers no more”, got in his old truck, drove down to the store and bought a new one. Never worked on another one since. If someone asked today if he could look at their mower he'd say, sorry I don't know nothing about those things.
No, Junior liked guns. And hand loading the ammunition for them, tho maybe not in that order. Later in life when the computers came along he liked those a lot too. In fact he taught himself more about a computer and how they work than most folk could learn going to school. Be interesting to see what he'd of done if computers had come around 10-15 years earlier than they did, yep be mighty interesting indeed.
But, anyway, back to the guns. Don't get me wrong here, Junior wasn't a gun nut or fanatic. He was a responsible gun owner, he respected them.
Maybe he owned a few more than most people but, as he was quick to point out, some of those guns didn't count. Three of those guns his daddy had bought him as a young lad and they didn't get shot much anymore but hey, they were gifts, can't sell them, need to hand them down to the sons. And that one is a pretty one indeed but, the barrels shot out so it don't count until it gets re barreled. Those are just 22s and you don't count 22s. That one there I got a hell of a deal on and it ain't going anywhere.
And all that stuff you see in the shop? Those are just Contender Barrels, not guns at all so you can't count those. Yep, if you listened to Junior long enough he would convince you that he didn't own but 2 guns and make you feel like you should go out and buy him one.
Before he met his beautiful wife his house was one big shop, seemed like each room was a different project, one set up for prepping brass, one for the actual loading, one for working on stocks and actions, etc. etc. But, things change, he loved his wife and was willing to consolidated all his stuff to the garage for her. AFTER, he had completely remodeled it and turned it into a shop that was envied by most who visited. Many are the days I spent in that shop loading ammo and B.Sing about this and that, seems like he always had something new to work on in the line of ammunition, if not? Then he was cleaning and prepping brass, always getting ready to load something. The guy had brass and dies for guns he didn't even own!! His theory was, “Well, I got this brass and dies, bullets and such. Seems a shame to let them just sit here and waste away. Better get a gun/Bbl. to shoot them thru.”
Yeah, life was pretty good to ol' Junior and his later years were pretty well devoted to those Contender Bbls. I mentioned earlier. He always had about 1/2 doz. on hand and was constantly buying, selling or trading for different calibers. He still shot the long guns once in awhile but the range would usually find him with a couple of Contenders happily plinking and tinkering away. He once made the comment, “I want to be buried with a couple of my frames and favorite bbls. Just in case there IS a range in heaven”
GOOD GROUPS BUT AN OTHER WISE BAD DAY AT THE RANGE....
Well, much to our dismay and with great sadness Juniors demise did come one day. The details are vague to say the least and the cause of his death was listed as simple heart failure.
One day we found him at the range, slumped over his favorite shooting station at the 200 yd. marker, hand still gripped around his beloved contender. I remember helping to pry it out of his cold, stiff hand and for some funny reason I remember the caliber he was shooting. It was a 17K Hornet, a wildcat cartridge chambered in a bbl. he had received from a friend of his. Ol' Junior had been waiting for a nice day to test it for some time and, I guess this was the day his time had come. Picking up his gear to take back to his now beautiful widow I noticed there were 9 empty cases in the ammo box and one empty slot. Realizing the gun he had his hand on still carried a live round I removed the cartridge and returned it to it's place in the ammo box.
Once all the details were taken care of , we were just standing around in one of those uncomfortable silences. Nobody really knew what to do next and, nobody wanted to be 1st to leave. I glanced down range and noticed the target still hanging out at the end there. For no reason other than to break out of the dead silence of the moment, I wandered down to shag the target. This was Juniors last group and I figured I'd keep that piece of paper as a memento to my great friend.
At the other end of the range, out where the 200 yd. gongs hang, I said to myself, “Well lets see how the old boy was doing.” I looked at the target, took it down and looked real close again. On the target was one little itty bitty hole, later I actually measured it and it was .177, a perfect 17 cal. hole at 200 yds. In its self that's insignificant, its a hole in a piece of paper.
However, having been one of the first persons on the scene I knew there was 9 empty cases in that ammo box, the 10th still in the chamber. Had Junior been about ready to shoot a perfect ten shot, one hole group? At 200 yds.? My mind whirled at the realization of this and the fact that, under the circumstances, HE HAD SHOT A PERFECT 9 SHOT ONE HOLE GROUP AT 200 YDS!! When ol' Junior looked thru that spotting scope at his target and then turned back to his gun the realization must of hit him too, the results of this I know all too well. His heart couldn't handle it. Perhaps if he hadn't smoked so much or if he had watched his pottasium levels a little closer he would have been alright. But, this day had just been too much and Junior was on his way to that range in the sky. if in fact there is one.
I had to break the news to his beautiful widow later that day and, after she had finished rolling around the floor in a fit of raging laughter, she came to her senses and helped me unload all his gear. She had told me to just go ahead and toss it in the can rather than bring it in but I felt better taking it back into the shop and putting it away.
I stuck around a few days to help with the arrangements after she found out we couldn't just bury him out in the back yard, “I don't know why.” she said, “I'm going to dig a hole big enough to bury all this crap of his, why can't we just throw him in there too?”
I tried to explain the legalities of it but she kept breaking down into fits of hysterical giggling every time she thought about how he died.
After a time she remembered that Junior had written up a will and reckoned that perhaps we should read it to see what he may have wanted.
Well true to his word Junior had requested to be buried with two of his Contender frames and 2 of his favorite bbls. He listed the worth of all his other guns and explained how his wife could best deal with them so as not to get ripped off. I remember her eyes bulging slightly when I asked her if she still wanted me to help her dig that hole. The rest of the contents in his shop? Well I'm proud to say that he left all that to me and I'm using it all to this day. The funeral was uneventful, few people showed up because few people knew ol' Junior. We sent him away with two of his Contenders, I put in the one he was shooting that day and a 38-55 Win. I knew he was fond of. His wife, wealthy widow that she became never remarried and to this day will start giggling for no apparent reason at all. And that would seem to be the end of this story, on earth that is.
FROM THE GOOD OL' BOY WHO WAS ACTUALLY THERE......
“Oh Damn! Oh Damn oh damn.” Junior thought as he peered through the spotting scope. Down at the 200yd marker his target hung, perfectly still in the perfectly still air, not a hint of a breeze that morning. The range was quiet, he'd gotten out there early to get a good position and wring out this bbl. he'd been waiting to shoot for months. Seems like since he had received it, from a very good friend of his that he'd never met, everything had worked against him. EVERY single day he had made plans to shoot the fog had rolled in so thick you couldn't see 25 yds. Then it was rain and wind so hard there was no way one could shoot with any accuracy. But today. Today had dawned perfect and looking through the spotter again it was looking better and better. Firing up another cigerrette and pouring another cup o coffee, Junior sat and grinned while the Contender in front of him cooled a bit. The little 12” 17K Hornet from OTT looked sweet sitting on its rest. The 2x7x Weaver mounted on it wasn't the best but it was the best he could afford at the moment.
Better scopes had come up for sale on the internet but, some mole over in Pennsylvania, went by the handle MSSMagnum, was scooping them up minutes after they were posted for sale. Bum, didn't have anything better to do than surf the sites sniping scopes. Bastid probably didn't even use them, just let them lie around in the boxes.
Oh well thought Junior, this is my day and, looking thru the spotter one last time, he settled down to put a few more down range.
The little gun popped 3 more times and stopped. Junior looked thru the scope again. “Damn oh damn” he thought again, “It is hard to see those little holes down there, looks like there is only one.” Looking in the ammo box Junior counted the empties. Nine. One more for ten? Or, should I go check that up close?? Curiosity got the best of him, getting up and lighting another smoke, he wandered down to where the target hung at the 200 yd. marker. No one was on the range yet and he wasn't in no big hurry, hadn't been in a hurry since about 1965, when he was five and had cut his foot on the neighbors sprinkler and had to run home. Not 'cause he was bleeding but because he had to pee so bad and was afraid he'd pee his pants in front of his friends if he didn't hurry.
So walking out to his target, Junior was thinking about the next round of loads he was going to work up for this little sweety, and arriving at the target he looked...and stared for a minute, eyes adjusting to the shadow that was cast on the target hanging there. One hole. That's one hole in that paper. His mind whirled and he got a little dizzy. Whoa, he thought, must of smoked that cigarette to fast.
One hole, GOD DAMN I”M ABOUT TO SHOOT A 10 SHOT ONE HOLE GROUP, AT 200 YDS.!!!!
Shaking just a little, Junior fired up another cigarette and headed back to the bench. Carefully, he opened the Contender and inserted the 10th round. Oh jeez, he thought, please let this shot be true, pleeeeeeze. Junior thumbed back the hammer, his heart started racing faster. Steady boy, take some breaths, don't blow this last shot. Hunkering down and finding the cross hairs, Junior took one more breath and slumped forward. He'd never know if his 10th round would've been true or not.
A DAY IN HEAVEN WITH A GOOD Ol' BOY.......
The fog whirled around his face. “Figures” he thought. “I'm about to shoot the group of a life time and the fog rolls in on my last shot.” Reaching for a smoke he felt like he was moving thru molasses, feeling his pockets he realized he didn't have his cigarettes. “Damn!” he thought, Should have picked up another pack at the store. Oh well, I'll get some on the way home.”
Looking around him Junior started to become aware of his surroundings, or, rather, the lack of his surroundings. “What the hell? Where am I? Or, better yet, what happened to where I was?”
Getting to his feet he realized that he had TWO Contenders. I know I only brought but ONE to the range with me, where ever THAT went. Looking at his guns he was a little relieved to see one WAS the 17K Hornet, how he came by the 38-55 Win. was beyond him at the moment. And right at THAT moment he was more concerned about where he was.
The fog was lifting abit now, or was it smoke? Had the clubhouse exploded? Looking around him he noticed a group of people standing off in the distance and decided to head that way, see if he could find out what was going on. Walking over he saw there were about 20 people, both male and female, standing in a line. Some of the men had rifles and shotguns, none had Contenders. Not that he expected such, after 25 years at the range he had yet to see ONE other member with a Contender. Most of the other people just stood around empty handed a look of great anticipation on their faces.
Walking up to a guy holding a fairly nice looking shotgun he asked, “What happened to the clubhouse? And, just where the hell are we?” There was an audible gasp from the crowd and then silence. A silence so silent Ol' Junior thought his head was going to explode.
The man he had spoken to looked all around then back at Junior. In a very quiet whisper he said, “You don't know where we are?” Junior shook his head No figuring it safer to keep his mouth shut at the moment as something was starting to feel very, very wrong here.
“Your standing at the pearly gates” the man continued, “You're about to meet your maker”
“OH LORD, YOU MEAN I'M DEAD?” Juniors head exploded, or felt like it exploded. A voice boomed in his head. “JUNIOR!” it boomed, “YES, YOUR DEAD. NOW GET IN BACK OF THE LINE AND SHUT UP, I'LL BE WITH YOU IN A BIT.” Having heard the voice of God, for it couldn't of been anybody else, Junior paled a bit, shut his mouth, and walked to the back of the line. Taking his place, he felt surprisingly calm. His mind was whirling with thoughts but, he wasn't shaking and didn't even feel like he needed a smoke, something he hadn't felt in years. As he stood in line he took a brief inventory of his life. He believed in God, had no doubts about Him. Didn't go to church as he figured his God was everywhere. And besides, church just wasn't what it was cracked up to be in his mind. Yeah, he smoked and cussed but the cussing was all good natured, just an expression in his way of thinking. Didn't drink anymore, tho there had been the days, he hadn't had a drink in oh so many years. And the drugs of the 70s and 80s seemed like a vague dream now. Of course, they seemed like a vague dream back then too, but still....
He loved his wife, paid his taxes and tried to treat everyone the same. All in all not a bad good ol' boy.
While Junior was going thru this short inventory of his life, the line moved rapidly and he soon found himself walking thru... ' The Gates'. A few others had joined the line behind him, he hadn't even noticed them.
Through the gates, on the other side, the air became pure and Junior felt a rush of euphoria with each breath he took. In front of him sat God, big as life itself and yet, somehow, humanly, if one could describe God as human.
“Come forward my son and be ye judged in the light of ME.”
Junior stepped forward as if he had no will of his own and stood in front of his God.
“Well now Junior, looks like you screwed up down there. Otherwise I wouldn't have to be looking at you today. Now, what are those things you want to bring into heaven?”
Junior, looking flabbergasted, moved his jaws, no sound emerging for several seconds.
“I...I...I thought you had decided my time had come, I..I thought that's why I was here.”
“No”, spoke The Lord, “Contrary to what you humans believe I don't decide those things. The way you humans are killing one another down there I don't have too. Good Me man can't you see I'm busy enough, why would I want to decide to bring MORE of you up here?”
“I..I just thought.”
“Well see, that's just one of the many misconcepts you humans have. No. Junior if you had just watched your pottasium levels and quit smoking, like your Dr. told you to, you probably would have lived another 50 or 60 years. Your Fathers still alive right? and your Mother?”
“Yes, yes they are, I guess.” Junior said.
“Well there you have it. See I never intended parents to out live their children, just goes against nature.”
“Uh, Ok. I...I'm sorry to cause you any trouble God.”
“Oh, don't apologize to me.'' God said with a quick wink. “you screwed up, wasn't my fault. you should be sorry tho for all the grief you've caused those you left back on earth. But nothing you can do about it now, your dead. Can't go back, nope. No Way.”
“Well, if I could I'd...”
God raised his hand demanding silence. “Your dead, you can't go back. No such thing as ghosts. No. You humans are screwing up enough ALIVE, just try to imagine what it would be like if I let a bunch of ignorant ghosts run loose down there too.”
Junior was starting to relax a little in spite of the fact that he was standing in the light of God, he seemed pretty cool for a God. Not like that old testament God he had chosen to believe when he was alive on earth.
“Well then.” Junior asked finally raising his head to look God in the eye. ”What do I do now?”
“Well, first thing is, you quit asking me questions. Then, tell me what you got there that your trying to bring into heaven. Don't believe I've ever seen anything like those and I've seen alot.”
“Actually God, is it OK if I call you God?”
God shook his head yes a look of impatience crossing his face.
“There Contenders God, singleshot handguns, hand cannons some call them. Thompson Center Contenders, I really enjoyed them when I was..uh, alive. Lots of fun. And, actually, I'm really surprised I have these here, knowing I'm dead and in heaven and all.”
“Another misconception of humans.” God said. “You CAN bring it with you. That is if you have somebody you can trust down there who will actually bury it with you. Most humans will promise anything when your alive but as soon as your dead? In the ground you go, possessions you might have liked to take with you sold. And then? Your forgotten. You had someone who loved you down there, that's good. We have a few guys who were real fortunate on earth. Their loved ones dug a BIG hole, usually in their own backyards, put the deceased in it and then threw all their possessions on top of them. Yep, their up here now with all their possessions happily living in heaven.
“Now, we allow guns up here. In fact, just over there is our range. You can shoot from here to eternity.” God chuckled at his little God humor and Junior smiled, not at the joke, but at the range he saw out there now that God had pointed it out to him.
There was any number of shooting stations. Junior watched as a guy walked up with his rifle and a station seemed to appear before him. The man snuggled into his bench and proceeded to adjust his rest to fit his rifle. Others were shooting, Junior could see smoke rising out of muzzles and shoulders being popped back from the heavy recoilers.
“I don't hear any noise, there aren't any reports from the guns, how far away are they?”
God turned and watched the shooters for a moment then letting out a heavy sigh he turned back to Junior.
“Son.” he said. Those guys are just right there, do you really think I want to listen to that noise for all eternity?” Each individual hears his own gun going off but nobody else will, do you know why?
Junior shook his head No.
“Because, I wont allow it. Pretty simple up here ain't it?”
Junior shook his head Yes.
“Yes it is, because I'm your maker. So, I make the rules too. Now you can shoot your guns all you want. You never ask to shoot another souls gun, Period. I've come to the conclusion that asking to shoot another mans gun is the cause for wars. Can't have that up here, I don't have any place to send people who die in heaven so just stick to your guns.” God chuckled again. Junior did to this time as he picked up the pun. That, and the fact that he was in heaven. AND, he had 2 of his favorite guns with him. He was looking forward to trying that perfect ten shot 1 hole group again. Looks like he had all of eternity to get it right. Junior chuckled again, this time at his own pun.
“Well.” God was saying, shaking Junior from his day dream of one hole groups. “Looks like you were a good ol' boy down on earth, didn't get into too much trouble, tho you did cuss a bit too much and I never saw you in church. Kept your nose pretty clean towards the end there. I guess I'll let you in. Your free to do as you please here as long as you abide by the rules.
“Yes Sir!” Junior exclaimed with a joy he hadn't felt in years. “You wont have any problems with me!”
“No. No, we wont.” said God. “Now go forth into the kingdom of heaven for all of eternity.”
Junior stepped forward, past God, and into the Kingdom of heaven for all of eternity. Making a beeline for the shooting range in front of him, Junior heard God over his shoulder.
“Say, My Son?” God called.
Junior turned, and looked into the devilish glint he now saw in his Gods eyes. “YES GOD?” He called back.
“Son, have you got any ammo for those things?”
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!