The Shootist…
48 years, 3.5 months. That’s how long I lasted without shooting off a gun. Most of you will simply say ’so what’. But that is not my story.
I grew up in England in the 1960’s in a household that never bought its children toy weapons, in a country where even the policemen only carried truncheons (a police officer’s billy club apparently in American). Some of my friends had toy guns and from time to time we managed to get our hands on a cap firing gun as we played ‘cowboys and indians’ around the house. I actually had a nice little indian headdress and called myself ‘big chief tomahawk’ as I rampaged around the house, but that is another story. In my teens a few friends had air pistols and I fired a few from time to time, but I firmly considered them toys that would not do any serious damage.
My first encounter with a gun was in about 1981 when I went on a vacation to Europe and we were driving through Europe and stopped at a bus stop in Germany. Two German policemen were there too, both carrying guns. Most people on the bus commented on this. As I say you never saw guns in England. It was a very surreal experience. Later I remember being at Heathrow airport one time and seeing army personnel carrying automatic guns, dressed in combat gear. That was also a sobering experience. As I got older and also traveled more of the world I saw more and more guns in more and more serious situations and the association grew. Eventually I came to live in America where guns are routinely carried by police officers and I knew just why they were carrying them.
So all in all I associate guns with death and murder and killing. I don’t think I have the same view about rifles and hunting, but I guess that’s another experience for another day.
I’ve always wanted to fire a gun, just to see what it was like and to be truthful I have always been a little excited about the thought of it. Here in Washington I have made a couple of friends who for two very different reasons see guns as a part of life. One is an ex-policeman who was trained by the American taxpayer to routinely carry a weapon and to shoot with ‘deadly and accurate’ force. The other is someone who grew up in rural America in an age when everyone had a gun and used it on an almost daily basis to shoot anything from tin cans to deer. After much lobbying I finally convinced them to take me to the shooting range so that I could get a taste of that experience.
As the day approached a little trepidation kicked in. After all as I said, guns kill people. There’s no other way to put it. I imagined a shooting range where everyone had their own area and you safely went about your job of ‘loosing a few shots’ at the target. Reality is more sobering.
First off I had to read and sign a two page form about all the rules and regulations I had to obey. This was strict and sobering in itself. Then I had to wear my ear defenders and glasses before I could actually enter the range. Once inside the range, reality hit me like the fresh odor of a dead skunk. There were probably about 20 people just firing away with real guns and real bullets in a totally confined area at uncovered targets in uncovered lanes. All it would take at that point was one unintentional or deliberate mistake and there would be serious casualties and consequences for a lot of people. Yes, just as I had learned over my previous 48 years, guns are indeed very very dangerous things.
My two friends don’t see it this way at all. The ex-policeman repeatedly reminded me that it is people who are dangerous, not guns. That’s easy for him to say. I didn’t know any of these people at all. Anyway, next up on the agenda was the actual shooting.
I was given a plethora of instructions as a .38 revolver was placed in front of me and the bullets were eventually loaded. Don’t do this, do this, point this way, never do that, remember this and above all this is what should happen. You know what I mean. My concentration level was working like my life depended on it as I struggled internally to break down 48 years of conditioning and shoot a gun at a target just like it was a normal day out. After what seemed like an eternity I was ready for that first shot.
Ten yards out was a piece of paper covered with rings of white and gray, leading to a bull in the middle that was inviting me to hit it. I gripped the gun like I meant to strangle it, raised it to point at the target, and squeezed the trigger. As it was supposed to do, the bullet left the gun. I heard and felt the explosion and I very nervously lowered my gun to face downwards, remembering not to turn around to face the others with a loaded gun in my hand. The bullet had grazed the bottom of the paper. Mission accomplished. This was not going to be a walk in the park though, I still had four shots in the chamber that needed to be expelled. I slowly went through the whole experience four more times, with each shot remaining on the paper and one or two making decent ‘kills’. When I knew the gun was empty I gratefully put the gun back down on the counter and walked away backwards. To be honest I was in a bit of a blur at this point. I was very confused. I had broken something that had been conditioned into me. I had been told and had thought that it would be a pleasurable thing. But it wasn’t. Not really. I was still amongst people who were firing live bullets into targets in a confined area. That was still bloody scary.
Anyway, my target was retrieved, people congratulated me, others shot and soon my time came around to shoot again. I did a little better and had three rounds in all with the revolver. A good percentage of the bullets hit the kill area and at least I wasn’t too embarrassed about my aim.
It was about this time that I noticed the gunshot residue that covered my hands. Of course all this did was to remind me of watching CSI and thinking of someone taking a swab from me and I would be guilty of some murder or other. Reality took its grip once more.
No time to stop however. Next up was the 9mm police issue pistol. Five more bullets to shoot off into a new hole free target. At least the edge was now off my trepidation. Although I have to say there was never a moment in my whole shooting experience that I truly relaxed. Bullets made holes just as they were supposed to do and I didn’t feel completely inadequate as I pressed the trigger like I was supposed to, over and over again. I reloaded and repeated the experience.
The .44 pistol was next up and looking at the bullets as they were loaded into the cartridge made me come completely back to reality. These things are not little. They will do very serious damage. Anyway I shot off my five and hit the target, thankful when the experience was over.
Last up for me was the Dirty Harry gun. A long barreled .44 Magnum that weighed far more than I wanted to hold. Not to worry, just take the weight of it on my other hand and shoot I was told. The day had obviously been a little too long for me at that point as I forgot one of the other rules about gripping the gun in the good hand securely. I slowly squeezed the trigger after raising the gun towards my target until the boom of the exploding bullet cried out. The pistol I had been previously using had lulled me into a false sense of security regarding recoil and this huge revolver I was now holding suddenly tried to escape my grip in a totally unexpected way. I managed the situation but not without drawing some notice from the passing gun range warden. I knew I was in a delicate situation when he called me ’sir’. Of course it is always best to call anyone ’sir’ if they have a loaded .44 Magnum in their hands, but that is besides the point. He decided to show me how to stand and hold the gun in a way that would better control it and I thanked him for his sage advice. I raised the gun one more time, pressed the trigger and let rip another deafening explosion, trying to control the recoil a little better than the time before. At this point I was done. It was obvious to me that I was now holding something that was simply ‘too much gun for me’. I put the gun down on the counter and let the others take their turn. Next up was a .500 monster but I left that for the men to have their fun. I was done for the day.
I am glad I got to shoot some guns. It was a different experience than I honestly thought it would be. I have not changed my view of the respect I have for guns. I do not think I will ever buy one, nor use one in anger. But never say never. I am looking forward now to shooting some clays with a rifle. I think I will approach that very differently as I do not have the same associations with rifles that I seem to have with hand guns. It’s tough to break the habits and associations of a lifetime, but it’s also good to try out new experiences. As I was constantly reminded as I watched others in the gun range, life is a very fragile thing that can be taken at any time. We should all live out each day like it could be our last, not guaranteed another tomorrow.
Oh, and by the way as you can see from the attached picture, I hope the bad guys are all watching. I may have only had two shots with that bad boy .44 Magnum, but both hit the target spot on. Very scary 
December 14th, 2008 at 1:51 pm
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