Berg
Member
http://www.greenbaypressgazette.com/sports/archive/sports_21572093.shtml
NEENAH — The M-1 Garand, an infantry rifle, felt heavy in my hands, but on this blistering hot Sunday, I was grateful for the old, restored wooden stock.
I was aiming for the gong, a painted metal plate, hanging from a crossbeam 200 yards down range at the Twin City Rod & Gun Club.
I knew if I hit it, I’d hear a faint “clink.”
I don’t know if was the glaring brightness or the sweat running into my eyes, but I could barely make out the target. I had squeezed off a few rounds but hadn’t hit anything solid.
“You’re way low,” said the gun’s owner, Bret Ploeckelmann. He added that as far as he could make out, I was punching holes in the turf 20 yards short of the gong.
No problem, I figured. I liked the rifle, liked the solid feel of it, liked the way it fired a .30-caliber bullet without kicking me in the shoulder, liked the way the gas from the exploding cartridge ejected the spent shell and chambered another round.
The M1 is the rifle American soldiers carried into battle during World War II, the Korean War and the early stages of the Vietnam War, eventually replaced by the M-14 and M-16. It’s the rifle Gen. George Patton called “the greatest battle implement ever devised.”
Its claim to fame, Ploeckelmann said, was its rugged reliability.
“It’s a gas-operated action that just wouldn’t jam,” Ploeckelmann said. “It just kept on firing.”
We were just goofing around at this point, trying out different guns, punching holes in paper targets or going for the distant gong. Earlier, I had taken part in a 50-round service rifle match, using a borrowed AR-15, the civilian version of military’s M-16.
There’s a group of rifle enthusiasts here that hosts informal matches at 1 p.m. on the third Sunday of the month, from January through October.
Anyone who is interested can just show up on one of these Sundays, and club members will provide a service rifle, ammunition and some expert guidance. They might ask for $5 for the cartridges and a $5 match fee.
Ploeckelmann found his way to the sport in a different way. His father was a gun collector, and he developed a fascination for the antique rifles behind the glass in the locked cases. He became a collector.
Then he heard about a program in which military veterans could purchase an M-1 Garand from military surplus for $300. These are old, used weapons, packed in grease and often in rough shape. It is up to the purchaser to learn how to restore them.
He asked his grandmother’s boyfriend, James Bruce of Three Lakes, to order one for him. He just wanted it for his collection. He had no interest in actually firing it. He was a collector who didn’t shoot, which apparently annoyed Bruce.
“He said he would get one for me on the condition that I learn how to shoot it,” Ploeckelmann said.
When the rifle arrived, it had a strange effect on Bruce. He had been in the thick of the battle in Europe, had served as an expert marksman, as a sniper. He was a decorated soldier, twice wounded in battle and awarded the Purple Heart.
He asked Ploeckelmann to leave the gun with him for a couple of weeks. Seeing the M-1 Garand sparked a flood of memories, some of them hard. He needed time.
They restored it together and went to the range. For the first time in a half century, Bruce had fun shooting, remembering the skills that made him a gifted marksman.
That day changed Ploeckelmann’s life. He fell in love with the art of shooting. He learned about breath control, about calming the mind, about the dynamics of body position, about adjusting for the wind, about placing the finger on the trigger so that the pull is straight and comfortable.
Now, he owns three M-1 Garands and loves meeting others who share an affection for this piece of American history. After the matches, if someone expresses an interest, as I did, he’ll point to his open gun cases and say, “Grab a Garand.”
Out on the range, I was feeling relaxed. No one was keeping score. Ploeckelmann’s box of clips was well-stocked. He adjusted the rear sight for me.
I pulled the trigger and then smiled when I heard the soft “clink” and saw light flash off the gong as it twisted in the sun.
Ed Culhane writes for The Post-Crescent of Appleton. E-mail him at [email protected]
NEENAH — The M-1 Garand, an infantry rifle, felt heavy in my hands, but on this blistering hot Sunday, I was grateful for the old, restored wooden stock.
I was aiming for the gong, a painted metal plate, hanging from a crossbeam 200 yards down range at the Twin City Rod & Gun Club.
I knew if I hit it, I’d hear a faint “clink.”
I don’t know if was the glaring brightness or the sweat running into my eyes, but I could barely make out the target. I had squeezed off a few rounds but hadn’t hit anything solid.
“You’re way low,” said the gun’s owner, Bret Ploeckelmann. He added that as far as he could make out, I was punching holes in the turf 20 yards short of the gong.
No problem, I figured. I liked the rifle, liked the solid feel of it, liked the way it fired a .30-caliber bullet without kicking me in the shoulder, liked the way the gas from the exploding cartridge ejected the spent shell and chambered another round.
The M1 is the rifle American soldiers carried into battle during World War II, the Korean War and the early stages of the Vietnam War, eventually replaced by the M-14 and M-16. It’s the rifle Gen. George Patton called “the greatest battle implement ever devised.”
Its claim to fame, Ploeckelmann said, was its rugged reliability.
“It’s a gas-operated action that just wouldn’t jam,” Ploeckelmann said. “It just kept on firing.”
We were just goofing around at this point, trying out different guns, punching holes in paper targets or going for the distant gong. Earlier, I had taken part in a 50-round service rifle match, using a borrowed AR-15, the civilian version of military’s M-16.
There’s a group of rifle enthusiasts here that hosts informal matches at 1 p.m. on the third Sunday of the month, from January through October.
Anyone who is interested can just show up on one of these Sundays, and club members will provide a service rifle, ammunition and some expert guidance. They might ask for $5 for the cartridges and a $5 match fee.
Ploeckelmann found his way to the sport in a different way. His father was a gun collector, and he developed a fascination for the antique rifles behind the glass in the locked cases. He became a collector.
Then he heard about a program in which military veterans could purchase an M-1 Garand from military surplus for $300. These are old, used weapons, packed in grease and often in rough shape. It is up to the purchaser to learn how to restore them.
He asked his grandmother’s boyfriend, James Bruce of Three Lakes, to order one for him. He just wanted it for his collection. He had no interest in actually firing it. He was a collector who didn’t shoot, which apparently annoyed Bruce.
“He said he would get one for me on the condition that I learn how to shoot it,” Ploeckelmann said.
When the rifle arrived, it had a strange effect on Bruce. He had been in the thick of the battle in Europe, had served as an expert marksman, as a sniper. He was a decorated soldier, twice wounded in battle and awarded the Purple Heart.
He asked Ploeckelmann to leave the gun with him for a couple of weeks. Seeing the M-1 Garand sparked a flood of memories, some of them hard. He needed time.
They restored it together and went to the range. For the first time in a half century, Bruce had fun shooting, remembering the skills that made him a gifted marksman.
That day changed Ploeckelmann’s life. He fell in love with the art of shooting. He learned about breath control, about calming the mind, about the dynamics of body position, about adjusting for the wind, about placing the finger on the trigger so that the pull is straight and comfortable.
Now, he owns three M-1 Garands and loves meeting others who share an affection for this piece of American history. After the matches, if someone expresses an interest, as I did, he’ll point to his open gun cases and say, “Grab a Garand.”
Out on the range, I was feeling relaxed. No one was keeping score. Ploeckelmann’s box of clips was well-stocked. He adjusted the rear sight for me.
I pulled the trigger and then smiled when I heard the soft “clink” and saw light flash off the gong as it twisted in the sun.
Ed Culhane writes for The Post-Crescent of Appleton. E-mail him at [email protected]
