This article was originally published in the February 1986 Issue of Muzzle Blasts Magazine. Max Vickery’s writing is some of our memberships’ all-time favorite, we thought it appropriate to share during the COVID-19 situation.
If it wasn't for memories I don't know just how I'd get through Feb ruary. It's a cold, dead month for me with the seasons gone and 30 to 45 days of waiting until you can get the van in on a local range without getting stuck. All guns have been cleaned, some of them twice, you've run the corn and feed out to three different snow-drifted, squirrel woods, and are happy with the snowshoes you got for Christmas.
But those details have been used up and so, you sit and remember some of the happy times at Friend ship. How far back do you go? - Oh, could go to the Fall of '49, but you just sorta' let it drift and relive the event and not worry so much about when it happened. Moris Van Way and his bunch camped in the first tipi I ever saw, big old thing, had a lot of miles on it, and in it a lot of stories were told. And like every other greenhorn that came byand stopped, I asked him what this ar rowhead lookin' thing was on the chain and ring, and was told, "that's a deer-check." And like every other greenhorn that got caught up in it, I then asked, "what's a deer-check?" There may bea couple of clusters of guys talk ing around the camp, but when old Van started the buildup on his story, they all stopped and waited until he dropped it on the beginner. Those things come in different sizes, and about ten years later I watched a young lad get his with a "Rabbit Check.'' Ralph and Mandy Dunn always setup to shoot on station #1 on the 50 yd. line with an old, pale green, painted bench the same color as his house in Fort Wayne. He had a horrible lookin' bench gun, shot good though and he won some pretty im portant matches back then . Herman Fox was Van's right hand man and the two of them along with Trotter and a few others kept the grass mowed and the little stone john and the pump-house working. Foxy was a good ole boy, drove a Terraplane pickup, cut fire wood for everyone, pulled traps back when you pushed a big lever forward to cock it, and pulled it to just a mite to trip the bird, and the puller stood back with the shooters. Walt Muething was active then, shot an old original flintlock. Vaughn's family was all young, camped with him, and Helen moth ered the whole bunch. Don Schuer man and his family was always there, and I suppose he always will be. God he shot good, and still can on occasion.
Don Coble, out of Hellersburg, Penn. shot the rest matches from prone and shot his offhand from the X-ring out, but not very far out. They camped in a little, green, tent where the water faucet is now on the stone john. His wife would sit there all day on a camp stooland read - quiet little lady. Doc and Sue Hirtle shot excellent bench back then. She wore a red, floppy brimmed hat and one time up in Pennsylvania an old dutch lady thought Sue had put a hex on her with it and jerked it off her head and cut it up with a patch-knife. The Hirtles had a monthly column in the "Blasts" for a long time.
Claude and Bertie Tuner, daughter and son-in-law shot good bench. The mother-daughter side of the family was sure something to stand next to when you were working your 50 yd. offhand. The men did the loading and the two women would sit there and talk about a dress pat tern, pass along a new cake recipe, snuggle down into the guns, and print a couple of X's, while you were trying your damndest not to "rabbit-ear" and get five in the black on your Simon Kenton .I remember once the ladies 50 yd. bench went with three 50's and dim inishing X's from three to one. A Mrs. Freeze was 1st., Bertie came in 2nd. and Mrs. Weichold, whose husband made the fine bench bar rels, one turn in 48, 48-inches long in the same caliber, came in 3rd. Earl Black, Merrill Deer, Joe Ev ans, Bill Reece and I had the off hand for a while. Earl died, the other three got busy with the asso ciation and I got better. And then along came Jim Henderson, Al Leaf, Danny Schlegal and a long, tall, lanky kid named
Cooley, and I started my downhill slide. Jim and Dorothy Coon have been oldtimers for many years now and their gatherings at campside are part of our history, really. Charlotte, of Red and Charlotte Roberts is still with us fixin' cut fingers and burns with our nurse, Liz. Met AJ Hill, past President type person, one night in the rain in the patch of low ground across the road from Jim and Dots. I helped him, by sticking the spike on his center pole out through the roof of his tent. It leaked slightly at that point, but not near as bad as the flow of water coming in through the bottom of his door-flap in the morning. That's before we laid the 1,743 feet of field tile. He has another way of remembering me as he has a Levi, blanket lined rancher's coat full of "Choyia" (spelled wrong probably) cactus needles that says, "This coat belongs to Al Hill, take it off, and make Vickery wear it.'' You see, I'll remember some things and you will remember oth ers. The people of Commercial Row are still missing Ted Cole, perhaps not all of them, but those who didn't need sleep always had fun in his booth. Those who camp up at the Skeet and Quail-Walk have memories from around their fires, late night talks in the old Pistol Shack, Trap House, or a guy with one wet leg up to his knee and the other dry when he stepped through the cooler. Or don't ever set up your tent one stake short and tie the line to the bumper on your car and then head for town, and not untie the line. And it's best not to press your clean khaki under a tent-mates sleep ing bag if he don't get up at night and go outside when he has to.
You may have noticed that I have tactfully left out some of the names to protect the guilty.
But these are memories, fun times, and a thousand laughs. And boy, in February, you'd
better be able to laugh a little, 'cause it's tough inside and out around here.
See ya in March if I make it through this one.
Max Vickery
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