Resurrection

Bout 1963, the ole ranch hand paid Papuh $15 for a Harrington and Richards Topper.

That old single shot 12 gauge shotgun didn't look like much to the casual observer. It had electrical tape holding the forearm to the barrel and a metal screw for a front sight. The shell ejector didn't work so the erudite shootist needed to carry a Barlow knife to pry loose spent hulls. Add a bit of rust, the scratches of long years of hard use, and you have a picture of a 13 year old boy's dream.

Lester Sala's Drug Store was "walking" distance down the road in Turnertown. Mr. Sala would sell ammunition by the round. Never mind cabbagin' together enough moolah for a whole box. Just show how much "change" you had left from hauling hay, and you could buy that number of individual bullets.

Needless to say, economics caused one to be a judicious shooter. Spraying lead around the landscape was not an option if ya wished to put meat on the family table.

In those days, the ole fat boy carefully planned each shot and often accounted for a "kill" (squirrel, dove, or other game) per shell expended.

Then relative prosperity came along?

September 1 opened this year's dove season. The "mighty hunter" eased down to the ranch pond with enough 20 gauge shells to start a war. His weapon of choice was an ornately engraved twice barrel over/under with expert craftsmanship in the sharply checkered select walnut stock and forearm.

The weapon was tuned, the birds were in fighting condition, but sadly..... the hunter was not.

That's right sports fans, the Wright City Flash blasted holes in the air (and cursed) till hell wouldn't have it as the "miracle" unfolded. Yep, one after another "dead" bird continue to fly to the horizon in spite of my perfectly selected shots.

(I wonder if that old "Topper" needs to come out of the gun safe for a resurrection?)