Shooting Sprees

At least 47 people have been killed in mass shootings in the US in the past month. Why? What is this obsession for violence in our country? Does this happen in other countries? My hunting friends tell me that "guns don't kill people, people kill people." I'm sure that is right, but perhaps we should somehow keep guns out of the hands of killers and just in the hands of true hunters.

When I was 16, some of my friends invited me to go "coon hunting" with them. I didn't have a gun of any kind, so I declined. However, I did think that I might buy one so that I could hunt with my friends. Unfortunately, during that same hunt, one of my friends accidently shot and killed another of my 16 year old friends, a young man with great potential. That changed my mind, and I didn't want to have anything to do with guns.

When I was in the service, I visited the firing range one time. Even though I couldn't even see the targets, I was awarded the "sharpshooter" disignation. I think they must have mixed my scores up with someone elses. But what did it matter? After all, I was in the Air Force. Why would I need to use a gun. Boy, was I wrong.

For a year and a half, I was stationed near Nuernberg Germany, in a small place called Mausdorf (Mouse Village). I was more or less in charge of a Cryptography van, in which I had to have access to a "burp gun." This was a kind of machine gun that fired large '45 bullets. I was instructed to "shoot to kill" any of the "commies" that tried to break into the van. Luckily for me (and I guess for them also) the "commies" were over two hundred miles away, in the East Zone.

However, I did have a strange experience one day while I was in the van. (I usually worked alone in the van.) It was located next to the site entrance where an Air Policeman was always stationed. On this day, the cop was a guy who I had beaten in Black Jack the day before, when I discovered how he was cheating, and used it against him during the play. I took all his money and in desperation, he put up his elegant, very expensive sunglasses, and when I won them as well, he got very angry. (The sunglass story is much more detailed and worth a blog all by itself.)

My Airpoliceman friend was still stewing the next day when he was on duty. He knew I was alone in the van and decided to show his disdain for my card-playing prowess by firing his burp gun at the van. At first I thought that those commies had attacked, but when I peeped out an eyehole, I saw him firing dead-on at the sides of the van. The '45 size slugs were powerful, but no match for the armor on the van. In fact, you could hardly see any dents later. But, as the van got hit, it rocked back and forth violently. Finally, either he got tired of it, or ran out of ammunition, or somebody showed up to watch him. He quit firing, and when I got up enough courage to walk out, he came over, shook my hand and we became friends (kind of). He was the first person that I had ever met who came from Baltimore, and I wondered if all Baltimoreans were like him. I found out later that this was not the case.... thank God.

There were a few other times when I had encounters with guns and bullets. They took place when I was stationed on top of a mountain in the Schnee Eifel area of Germany. I was there for 18 months and had made a friendship with a very large Indian from Oklahoma. He was, of course, called Chief, and I saw him busted (very unfairly) from Master Sargeant to Airman Basic by a new 2nd Lieutenant. (Subject of another blog.) Oh.. Chief had been a Code-Talker in WWII.

Depressed by being busted, Chief decided to become a drunk.. every night. But, about once every month, Chief drank much more than usual and went on a "warpath".

We were billeted in a long quanset hut type of barracks and we slept in double-decker metal bunks. On these monthly adventures, Chief would burst into the quarters yelling and whooping and firing a '45, putting holes in walls and ceilings. We would quickly climb under the bottom bunks and hide until Chief got it all out of his system, usually in 5 or 10 minutes. And nobody ever got wounded. The next day, Chief would go around making apologies and swearing never to do it again.

One night, a new 2nd lieutenant (I did not like them, can't you tell), was in charge of the barracks. He didn't know about Chief's peccadilloes and came running into the quarters just after Chief had run out of ammunition. When he came in, he yelled "attention!" and we all came out of hiding and stood next to our bunks, including Chief. The Lt. asked who was firing a gun.. nobody replied, so he started an inspection.. he went from bunk to bunk, lifting up the bed clothes as he walked along, looking for the gun. When he came to Chief's bed, he lifted up the pillow and there was Chief's gun, still hot from firing. He got red in the face, then he looked up at the 6 foot 5 inch 300 pound wild-looking Indian standing before him, reached down, covered up the gun, and continued on with his inspection.

Last year, President Bush awarded a medal to one of the last WWII Code Talkers. I think it was given to Chief.

Some of my friends in Carroll County, and some of my relatives in Massachusetts are hunters. I know that the deer population is out of control and needs to be culled, but I also hope that the meat is put to good use and not just thrown away.

One of my relatives goes bear hunting in Maine. He baits an area under a big tree in which he has built a "blind" from which to shoot bears. The bears get used to coming to the bottom of the tree to get a treat and when my relative senses the time is right, he climbs the tree and shoots the bears as they come to eat. I told him that I read that bears are great tree climbers.. so isn't it dangerous? He said: YES.. so you have to get a perfect shot right away... or the bear will get you. ... Recently, I heard that my relative is suffering the early effects of Alzheimers. And, he is still hunting bears!!

More on this later.