Sometime in the spring of '75, I became acquainted with an old man I'll call Joe. Joe had come to live with his daughter in my parents' neighborhood following the death of her husband to an accidental fall off their roof while cleaning gutters. I started off playing chess with Joe, and heard his story.
Joe was born in 1895 near Amarillo, Texas and took a job as a sheriff's deputy in a neighboring county when he was 22 years old, and served until 1938, when he turned in his time and took a job in Oklahoma as a railroad detective. He'd lost his wife to cancer a year earlier, and both his daughters were married with their own lives to tend to.
During his tenure as a deputy, he shot and killed five men in the line of duty and two with the railroad. There were no "glory" stories or tales of derring do associated with it. Just simple statements of fact. Neither was there any remorse on his part. "I had a job to do, and they made bad choices. If they'd complied, they might've lived to see their great-grandchildren. Just a bad decision made in a split second." In those times, there was no administrative leave after an officer involved shooting. You made your report and you went back to work...often during the same shift...though most bosses would give you the rest of the night off to let your nerves settle down.
He held a man at gunpoint one time...his first...and it nearly got him killed. "I was so focused on him that I didn't see what his buddy got up to. I was lucky that he was a bad shot. From that point on, if I had to pull my gun, pulling the trigger was a foregone conclusion."
Joe didn't shoot for recreation or practice. He shot to kill, and all his skill at arms were centered around that end. He considered recreational shooting wasteful and boring. What little time and ammunition he spent "practicing" was really more for verification than honing his marksmanship. He did practice his draw in front of a mirror daily.
Once a year, he fired 50 rounds for this exercise. He used the sights for just two rounds fired at Starkist tuna cans from 25 paces. All the rest were fired in point shooting, evenly split between firing from the hip at 15 feet, and from between hip and shoulder level at around twice that distance. He could draw and fire six rounds into a space the size of a playing card in about three seconds...firing with one hand.
He had a peculiar habit. He maintained three revolvers at all times. One for "business" and one for practice, with a spare. He never fired his business gun beyond a few rounds when it was new to make sure everything was in working order.
When he left his first job, he traded in his .44 Hand Ejectors for 38s because...being plainclothes, and carrying concealed...he wanted something a little lighter. On retiring from the railroad, he in turn traded those for the then new Model 10s, citing the short action design better suited to his encroaching arthritis. Anyone who has had the pleasure of firing an older, long action Smith & Wesson will know what he meant.
He bought his ammunition in thousand round case lots, switching from the old standard 158 grain lead round nose to the 158 grain lead semi-wadcutter around the same time that he acquired the model 10s.
On live fire practice: "I can only shoot so well. Standin' there banging away at a paper target ain't likely to improve things, and it ain't got a damn thing to do with the real world."
Joe didn't have much use for Frank Hamer. "Hamer was a damn good lawman, but he was arrogant and he was a mean son of a bitch when he got likkered up. We all held our breath when he was in town."
That was Joe. We will never see his like again.
Joe was born in 1895 near Amarillo, Texas and took a job as a sheriff's deputy in a neighboring county when he was 22 years old, and served until 1938, when he turned in his time and took a job in Oklahoma as a railroad detective. He'd lost his wife to cancer a year earlier, and both his daughters were married with their own lives to tend to.
During his tenure as a deputy, he shot and killed five men in the line of duty and two with the railroad. There were no "glory" stories or tales of derring do associated with it. Just simple statements of fact. Neither was there any remorse on his part. "I had a job to do, and they made bad choices. If they'd complied, they might've lived to see their great-grandchildren. Just a bad decision made in a split second." In those times, there was no administrative leave after an officer involved shooting. You made your report and you went back to work...often during the same shift...though most bosses would give you the rest of the night off to let your nerves settle down.
He held a man at gunpoint one time...his first...and it nearly got him killed. "I was so focused on him that I didn't see what his buddy got up to. I was lucky that he was a bad shot. From that point on, if I had to pull my gun, pulling the trigger was a foregone conclusion."
Joe didn't shoot for recreation or practice. He shot to kill, and all his skill at arms were centered around that end. He considered recreational shooting wasteful and boring. What little time and ammunition he spent "practicing" was really more for verification than honing his marksmanship. He did practice his draw in front of a mirror daily.
Once a year, he fired 50 rounds for this exercise. He used the sights for just two rounds fired at Starkist tuna cans from 25 paces. All the rest were fired in point shooting, evenly split between firing from the hip at 15 feet, and from between hip and shoulder level at around twice that distance. He could draw and fire six rounds into a space the size of a playing card in about three seconds...firing with one hand.
He had a peculiar habit. He maintained three revolvers at all times. One for "business" and one for practice, with a spare. He never fired his business gun beyond a few rounds when it was new to make sure everything was in working order.
When he left his first job, he traded in his .44 Hand Ejectors for 38s because...being plainclothes, and carrying concealed...he wanted something a little lighter. On retiring from the railroad, he in turn traded those for the then new Model 10s, citing the short action design better suited to his encroaching arthritis. Anyone who has had the pleasure of firing an older, long action Smith & Wesson will know what he meant.
He bought his ammunition in thousand round case lots, switching from the old standard 158 grain lead round nose to the 158 grain lead semi-wadcutter around the same time that he acquired the model 10s.
On live fire practice: "I can only shoot so well. Standin' there banging away at a paper target ain't likely to improve things, and it ain't got a damn thing to do with the real world."
Joe didn't have much use for Frank Hamer. "Hamer was a damn good lawman, but he was arrogant and he was a mean son of a bitch when he got likkered up. We all held our breath when he was in town."
That was Joe. We will never see his like again.
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