You nailed it.
Do range officers ENJOY finding something to yell about, or is the public now so damned stupid that MOST of em NEED a good yellin-at?
If only one could compile a list of the stupid and dangerous things that were narrowly averted by an alert Range Officer.
Let me give an example or two of what I witnessed as an RO:
Patron swigs a beer before getting out of truck, with rifle in other hand, to get a bench from me. I tell him he needs to get rid of the beer. He guzzles the remainder down, right in front of me. I tell him he needs to leave the property. He calls me every dirty name he knew, threatened myself and my progeny, reminded me of my canine ancestry, and basically screamed at me the entire time until he and his pickup were off the range grounds. I suppose I could've called Sacramento County or Roseville PD and let them know there was a drunk driver on Highway 65.
Patron brings family members to range. It was during a cease-fire, so I told them about eye and ear protection for the upcoming firing session. One guy just nods and smiles. We'll call him Uncle Jose'. They read the range rules, sign in the visitor log, pay their range fees, set up their targets, and wait for the range to go hot. At the end of the 15 minute shooting session, I hit the buzzer and lights, and call Cease Fire. Everybody stops, clears their weapons, and waits for the RO walk-thru before I call the range cold. As I'm walking the line for the safety check, Uncle Jose' starts ripping more rounds off in the direction of his target. Again, I yell "Cease Fire", but only when I'm yelling in his ear does he get a clue. Turns out Uncle Jose' didn't speak, or understand, a word of English. The state of California would probably rule that any accident that happened there was my fault because I didn't run a bilingual range. I would beg to differ.
Wild turkeys often make guest appearances around the berms from 100 to 300 yards downrange. The range office doesn't put them there for patrons to shoot at, honest - they showed up on their own accord. So I called a Cease Fire, and another club member volunteers to drive down the access road towards the berms and shoo the gobblers off-range. That's all well and good, save for one good old boy, with a new Colt Single Action Army variant, who decides that he wants to anchor a turkey with a .45 Long Colt before the range volunteer can shoo them away. And also chooses to ignore my repeated "Cease Fire" shouting until, once again, I am on his position. In a clear, calm voice, eerily reminiscent of the drill sergeant in my basic training flight 18+ years ago, I reminded him that any wild turkey he popped out of season and without a license would be clearly identified as his responsibility to the local game warden, who was about to get a call with information about a certain poacher's description, vehicle make, and license plate number. If he didn't want that phone call made, it would be in his best interest to unload his revolver, case it, pick up his stuff, and depart the facility right now.
Did I mention this range was privately owned, on private property? Adjacent to the range property was a pasture, with cattle grazing every now and then right up against the fence line, which stretched all the way past the 300 meter berm on the right. It always unnerved me that somebody would want to take shots at those cows. One day, they did. It was a group of patrons who refused to fess up to which individual was cross-firing across several lanes and kicking up the dirt around the livestock's feet out there at 300 yards. So they all got to go home early. A couple weeks later, I got a phone call from the club president, who told me one of the farmer's cows had been shot, did I know anybody who was trying to do that on the weekend I had duty?
How about the guy, high-and-tight haircut, stepping out of his ex-police Caprice, wearing a full LE belt rig, complete with a brace of Sig's and mag pouches up the wazoo. Bypasses my greeting, and walks straight to an open bench and starts sending rounds into the 50-yard berm, thank you very much. Buzzer, "Cease Fire", adjutant's walk, etc. Remind him that this is not his private range, we have safety rules, would you be so kind as to sign in, then observe and abide by them? Since we seem to have an understanding, the next session, I'm surprised by him cussing and yelling at nobody in particular, and then focusing his outrage at one of his Sigs. I'm almost afraid to ask, but I do anyway. "Damn gun feels funny when it fires, and won't group for crap on the target" I pick up some of his brass. It's really easy to identify- 9mm Luger takes on a totally different shape when fired from a .40 S&W Sig. I send him down Highway 65.
Then I move to Florida, and get asked to help a nice range at Kennedy Space Center. Sure, I'd be happy to volunteer my time to keep a facility like that operational and safe.
A young patron arrives with his new Maadi AK variant, and several full mags. Ok, no problem, he reads the rules, signs in, and so forth, has eye and ear protection, doesn't touch guns during cease fire, and so forth. Except when the range goes hot, and I'm walking down the line on the far side of the range, I hear some pretty rapid fire. I turn around and see our hero standing up and sending rounds into the sky, the dirt in front of his 50-yard target stand, his target frame, his neighbor's target frame, and everywhere except where they're supposed to go. We have a little discussion about aimed and controlled fire, safety and all, don't ya know?
Except that during the next firing session, as I'm walking the line again, I hear more of the rapid fire, albeit more staccato, with a curious reverb. Looking towards our hero, he is now standing up, bump-firing the AK from the hip, and walking backwards from his shooting bench towards the parking lot, firing between the benches of other patrons, who are making themselves really small. Ok, this time, buzzer, "Cease Fire", and my Officer's ACP drawn and leveled. Partner RO's Glock is also drawn and leveled, when the guy actually notices us and says, "Whoa, dudes, whazzup?".
No discussions here, NASA/KSC armed guards escorted him off the property.
I have more, but my fingers tire.
I don't think of any of the above situations as a Range Officer power trip, or exercise in Mall Ninja tactics. If you're hired to run a safe facility, then by gawd you should run a safe facility and do your best to keep patrons from getting ventilated and leaking all over aforementioned facility. If you screw up and become a hazard to yourself and those around you, the Range Officer is doing what he's supposed to be doing, by removing the danger from the situation. If he hurts your feelings in the process, that's a by-product of him trying to keep you and others alive. And after what I've had people call me and threaten me with, I'm not too worried that I won't get a Christmas card from folks like the ones in the above examples.
On any given day I can show visitors the myriad holes in the covered shooting area's roof. None have happened on my watch, but they still happen, they didn't appear by themselves. A hole in the roof is something you can talk about afterwards without much regret. A hole in a patron is a different story.
Topgun, I like to believe everybody's got a 2nd Amendment right to keep and bear firearms. But if they're shooting at a facility and repeatedly demonstrate poor gun safety, or a exhibit a dangerous mindset, then they're welcome to take their constitutionally-guaranteed guns elsewhere, because they're nothing more than a serious liability at that point.
I couldn't do anything right,so I thought.He hardly ever let me shoot more than 1 round at a time.And man if I even as much as thought about breaking the rules I was banned from the range for a week.
I admit I was only about 10 or 11 and not a real mature 10 or 11 either.But I guess it all worked out for the best though,I still enjoy shooting and especially with that crotchity old RO.