DonP
Member
We always talk about taking people shooting, especially members of the media.
I've offered more than a few times to take media and political types folks that have never handled a gun tot he range. Once ina w hile someone take sme up on it.
Here's an article from todays Chicago Sun Times, from a non-shooter columnist, Neal Steinberg (sp?).
He may not turn into a full time shooter, but at least he'll know a little more about what he's talking about.
You can find the entire column here: http://www.suntimes.com/news/steinberg/360465,CST-NWS-stein27.article
Adventures in weaponry
'How do you know he won't shoot you?" Spoken by my wife, standing in the kitchen as I grab the car keys.
I am hurrying to meet a reader, one of many who offered to go shooting with me after I was turned away from Maxon Shooters Supplies in Des Plaines. (No FOID Card)
The thought never crossed my mind; I'm not significant enough to shoot. It isn't as if I'm unearthing atrocities in Chechnya.
The reader, Chuck is waiting at the gun range when I arrive: black leather jacket, about my age and height, apparently sane. An insurance adjuster.
He has a small arsenal of weaponry in locked cases -- a matte black Browning 9 mm, a Colt .45 automatic, a nickel-plated Smith & Wesson .357 magnum, a .22 Harrington & Richardson revolver and a .22 rifle.
We sit at a table and go over the guns, only a portion of his collection, the size of which he doesn't specify beyond "quite a few."
Why so many? I ask, explaining my theory that men assemble big armories as part of elaborate, if unspoken, end-of-the world fantasies.
No, he says, it's a matter of collecting, of appreciation.
"They're a work of art," Chuck says. "My wife is into Beanie Babies, and I do this."
Fair enough. They are sleek.
He hands me material on gun safety. It takes 30 seconds to read -- treat all guns as if they're loaded, don't point them at something you don't want to shoot, etc. -- but I shudder to think of how many people buy the ranch ignoring them.
Then to the range,
Shooting guns is fun. I could lard that thought with all kinds of caveats and expressions of regret about mass killings. But save politics for another day. I learned a lot -- a .22 caliber bullet is tiny next to a .45 slug, a pencil eraser compared to a pinkie. The .357 magnum does not have a kick like in the movies.
At least not in my hands. A lifetime of video games serves me well -- I plant all 16 shots from the .22 in the innermost target ring, and do well even with the large caliber guns. The first shot from a new clip with the .45 is a dead-center bull's-eye.
"*******," mutters Chuck, massaging the word into a compliment.
I save a pair of human-shaped targets for the boys, figuring they can decorate their rooms with them. Boys love that kind of thing.
I've offered more than a few times to take media and political types folks that have never handled a gun tot he range. Once ina w hile someone take sme up on it.
Here's an article from todays Chicago Sun Times, from a non-shooter columnist, Neal Steinberg (sp?).
He may not turn into a full time shooter, but at least he'll know a little more about what he's talking about.
You can find the entire column here: http://www.suntimes.com/news/steinberg/360465,CST-NWS-stein27.article
Adventures in weaponry
'How do you know he won't shoot you?" Spoken by my wife, standing in the kitchen as I grab the car keys.
I am hurrying to meet a reader, one of many who offered to go shooting with me after I was turned away from Maxon Shooters Supplies in Des Plaines. (No FOID Card)
The thought never crossed my mind; I'm not significant enough to shoot. It isn't as if I'm unearthing atrocities in Chechnya.
The reader, Chuck is waiting at the gun range when I arrive: black leather jacket, about my age and height, apparently sane. An insurance adjuster.
He has a small arsenal of weaponry in locked cases -- a matte black Browning 9 mm, a Colt .45 automatic, a nickel-plated Smith & Wesson .357 magnum, a .22 Harrington & Richardson revolver and a .22 rifle.
We sit at a table and go over the guns, only a portion of his collection, the size of which he doesn't specify beyond "quite a few."
Why so many? I ask, explaining my theory that men assemble big armories as part of elaborate, if unspoken, end-of-the world fantasies.
No, he says, it's a matter of collecting, of appreciation.
"They're a work of art," Chuck says. "My wife is into Beanie Babies, and I do this."
Fair enough. They are sleek.
He hands me material on gun safety. It takes 30 seconds to read -- treat all guns as if they're loaded, don't point them at something you don't want to shoot, etc. -- but I shudder to think of how many people buy the ranch ignoring them.
Then to the range,
Shooting guns is fun. I could lard that thought with all kinds of caveats and expressions of regret about mass killings. But save politics for another day. I learned a lot -- a .22 caliber bullet is tiny next to a .45 slug, a pencil eraser compared to a pinkie. The .357 magnum does not have a kick like in the movies.
At least not in my hands. A lifetime of video games serves me well -- I plant all 16 shots from the .22 in the innermost target ring, and do well even with the large caliber guns. The first shot from a new clip with the .45 is a dead-center bull's-eye.
"*******," mutters Chuck, massaging the word into a compliment.
I save a pair of human-shaped targets for the boys, figuring they can decorate their rooms with them. Boys love that kind of thing.
