Years ago, I took firearms training as part of a job I had just taken - that is another story entirely and I won't go into it right now. But the training was to familiarize the new employees with the firearms we might be called on to use one day. It wasn't military training, but it was taught by a former Army drill instructor who had been a member of the Olympic pistol team. (He was an incredible shot with a pistol).
We trained on three basic firearms, revolver, shotgun and mini-14. The revolvers were actually US Air Force surplus Smith & Wesson model 10s with 5-inch barrels. These guns had been through the wringer. They were old, worn out, shot loose, badly maintained - pretty much the works in beat to hell. The mini-14s were brand new out of the box and a real joy to play with. But the shotguns were Smith & Wesson 3000 pump shotguns in 12 gauge, long since discontinued.
We suffered through the revolver part of the course with guns that on a really good day might hit a barn at six paces two shots out of six. The mini-14 part of the course went far too quickly. It was really easy to go right through the whole magazine in a very short time. They didn't let us shoot all that many magazines. Then came those shotguns.
One of the trainees was a guy named Al. But I'll call him Al. He was a funny guy with a great sense of humor and a ready joke always at hand, very well liked, but also quite small. He was of Italian descent, which has not a bit of bearing on the story. But he was about 5 foot 4 inches tall and could not have weighed any more than 100 pounds wringing wet. He was funny, but he was also little. That shotgun was darn near as long as he was tall, or at least it looked that way when he held it.
So, the day came when we were to start firing shotguns. We did it five at a time (I think there were twenty of us or so). My group of five happened to be next after the group that Al got assigned to. All of us were actually a bit concerned about Al and that big 12-gauge shotgun. When Al's turn came, he stepped right up to the firing line. Instructions were given to fire five rounds as fast as possible. Al braced himself and fired.
And went back three steps. (I told you he was little.) But he literally ran back three steps to the line, pumping the action as he went and fired again. And went back those same three steps. This little dance repeated for five shots. Al never gave up. He ran right back up to the line and fired again until the magazine was empty. He did the exact same thing every time we shot the shotguns and fired every, single round he was instructed to. (He had massive bruising on his shoulder afterward, too. It was painful for him to do that, but he did it.) Al was funny, little and had heart.
Al became "Shotgun" Al that day. Everyone called him that. He answered to it, in fact. And while it was humorous in tone, it also had a note of respect in it. Al never gave up and did exactly as he was asked.
I thought about Al today when I took my little girl to try out her Christmas present. We gave her a Charles Daly over and under 12-gauge shotgun this year. Not really all that expensive, but a nice gun to get her into trap and skeet - which she loves to do. Up until now she has used a 20-gauge pump. This is her first 12-gauge and first O/U. As I watched her walk up to the line and brace herself, I was thinking of watching Al all those years ago do the same thing. She pulled the trigger and I winced.
But she only shifted back in her stance, didn't fall back even one step. And she turned to me with her face lit up with a grin so wide you could see her braces and her tonsils all at the same time. And she said, "I LIKE it".
Al would really appreciate her, I think.