The Story of the Shotgun

This story is a unique one. This story took 10 years before all the facts were told, but it took another 10 years before the final piece was revealed. This story started so innocently and it proofs that one small meeting can really change lives.

First there must be told some background facts, so that the reader can understand how all the little parts do come into place. This story is a long one but I hope it will keep the reader interested.

It starts with my father. He was one of 6 boys. When he married my mom, he told us that he would like his children to be girls. The only problem was that was all he had- girls. Between two marriages, he sired seven girls. After a while he wished that he had at least one boy.

Dad was a motorcyclist. He loved to ride his Indian and later his Harley-Davidson. When I was young, he rode his motorcycle in the winter: during snow storms, ice storms, hail, and rain storms. I never thought it was unusual when I was young but of course it was. He had to ride in winter because my parents could only afford one car and Mom needed it in case of emergency. Dad loved to ride. He raced motorcycle, amateur status, and in his life time he won over 250 trophies. We had at one time over 10 motorcycles in the garage. Dad even held a dealership but he was never good at business. He was such a sucker for a hard luck story.

By the time I was eight years old, my dad taught my sister and I to ride motorcycles. This was his way of dealing with no sons. We started by riding a 125cc Adler around the parameter of the family garden. We lived in the country so that was nobody to complain about the running of motorcycles all day long. By the time I was a teenager, I was quite an accomplished rider and there was nothing I could not ride, except for dad’s Indian.

When the local police decided to add motorcycles to the department, they realized that none of their officers knew how to ride the 2-wheel vehicles. Since the police chief knew my father and his riding abilities, the chief asked dad to instruct his police officers, which he did.

From this contact, dad got involved with the department as a part-time officer. It was really cool to see dad leave for work in his uniform and a gun strapped around the waist along with the hand cuffs and all the other equipment required. The local amusement park was his beat. His job was to keep the young boys in line and to make sure that there was no damage to property and injuries to people. His primary duty was to keep the amusement park safe for families. Whenever he witnessed young boys starting to “go down the wrong path”, he took them under his wing. Once under his wing, he found ways to boost their self-esteem. He did this by bringing them out to the house. Dad was so successful in his way of helping young America, that when my father died, among the visitors to the funeral home were approximately 35 adult men. All came to give their respects to my father. These men were unknown to the family but not to dad. These young men had become pillars of their community and all were these boys that dad had taken under his wing. One man said to me that he would not have had the life he was living, nor his wife or his children if it was not for my dad. One boy even became an unofficial member of the family and still is to this day. But that was the kind of Marine that my father was.

These boys also made my sister’s and my day brighter too. We loved showing off in front of these boys, which was exactly what my father intended. When those boys saw my sister and me riding motorcycles, and they couldn’t, their male egos got a jolt. Thus dad would teach them how to ride.

My mother was a waitress by trade. It was though her job that dad was able to race. Her pay went directed to replacing broken parts on the motorcycles. Mom kept a small wooden box in the desk which would hold her loose change from her tips. It seemed like that box was always full. Mom was also a firm believer in not wasting anything. Since she had grown up during the WWII years she had learned the lesson of conservation of energy and money. She hated to waste electricity. But each time the family left for a night outing, wasting of electricity was bound to happen in the shape of the bathroom light. Due to sheer size of the family and not knowing who would be the last to use the only bathroom, the light was always forgotten to be turned off. This was much to my mother’s dismay. Whenever we turned into the driveway, mom would look up and see the light on. Mom would say in a semi-angry manner, “Why can’t you girls ever turn off the bathroom light!” My mother had a second rule when it came to lights in the house; “If you are not using the room, the lights should be off.”

Also part of this story included our pets. Our family dog was the protector of me and my sisters. He would even attach my father if he thought that any one of us was in danger. We also had many cats when I was growing up. I can’t remember a time when there were no kittens or cats around. Out of all the cats, they too were all female. Out of all the liters of kittens, only one male cat was born but my father gave it away not realizing it was a male. This is important since there is a cat included in this story. The name of this cat is long is forgotten, but the name given to the cat after this night will always be remembered as “Lucky”.

Also, another factor in this story is the era of the 1950’s. It is important to understand the times were much different that they are now. A young girl could go for 5 mile walks on a country road at night without any fear and people left their homes unlocked at all times. My parents never had any locks on any of their door until the 80’s. It was a safe time, an innocent time, but there were also troubled kids, who were given the labels of “JD’s”, (juvenile delinquent). The boys of that time perios were either jocks, brain kids or JD’s. You will get an idea of the types of boys by watching movies such as “West Side Story”, “The Lords of Flatbush”, or “Grease” or even the hit television show “Happy Days”.

Without any of these factors, this story would not have happened. All the pieces had to be there or the story would never have happened.

It was an autumn night and there was a party at the motorcycle club that my parents belonged to. The members were from several counties and even my father’s brother was a member of the club. That night my parents and all of us girls climbed into the family car. A friend of my parents was also invited to the party as a guest of my parents. I was at an age when a young girl feels that she doesn’t belong anywhere, so I did not want to go, but of course I did. To me the party was boring. When parent’s friend said he was leaving, I asked my parents if he could take me home. Since my parents were leaving within the hour, they said yes. I was very excited with the idea of having the house to myself. I would be home, with no sisters to bother me, and I could take a long hot bubble bath. I got home and headed straight for the up stairs bathroom, to prepare for my much anticipated bubble bath. I ran the water, poured the bubble bath and got into the tub.

As I was relaxing in the tub, the dog started barking in a very strange way. I had never heard him bark like that and never did again after that night. I ignored it and thought that he was barking at the moon since I could not figure out any other reason. He stopped barking for a little while and then started barking again. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps on the floor below. Now that was different. Since I was home alone, I had no idea who it could have been. Even though I was scared, I was not scared enough not to be curious.

I got out of the tub as quietly as possible, put on some clothes and proceed to go downstairs, turning on the lights as I went. There was no one I could see, but the dog was still barking. Since my father went deer hunting every November, I knew where he kept the shotgun. I also knew where the shotgun shells were kept, since I had seen him put them away for many years. The gun was kept behind the kitchen door and he shells in a high cupboard, away from little hands. I also thought that I knew how to handle guns. I was taught by the best teachers in the world: “Gene Autry”, “Lone Ranger”, and “Roy Rogers”. You got it; I got the shotgun and loaded it.

Now in doing this brave thing, I forgot why I was getting the gun in the first place. I only remembered that I needed it. As I tried to figure out what to do next, I sat down on the living room chair. Since the gun was heavy and cold, the gun was placed a sofa pillow and the pillow was on my lap. As I sat holding the gun on my lap, still trying to figure out what to do, a sound came from the front door that made me jump out of my skin. The front door was to my left so I turned my head to see the cat, later known as Lucky, though the front door window. Lucky had the habit of jumping on the screen door and climbing up the screen until someone saw him though the front door window. This was his way of letting us know that he wanted to come into the house. The window was located about 4 – 5 feet from the floor so the cat had to climb a bit. The cat jumping onto the screen was the sound that had startled me.

Just as I was calming down, I saw a face in the living room window that was located in front on me. The face was that of a young boy, about my age. I think that I scared him as much as he scared me. Then the face was gone, I didn’t hear anything but I wasn’t going to open the door to let the cat in either. Instead I sat on the chair, holding the loaded shot gun, with the barrel pointing at the door. Then I started thinking, which is a dangerous sign as my family is always telling me. I began to wonder it the gun would work with the “safety” on. I remember dad always saying that the safety should always be on, unless you are going to shoot. I started looking for the safety. Why would I look for the safety? I really can’t tell you, but I just got curious. I found the little lever and then thought, “I wonder if the safety really works?”

You guessed it, I took off the safety. Now what should I do. Test it out of course. As the shot gun lain on the pillow, on my lap, I gently squeezed the trigger. The gun went off, and the cat yelled, and the glass on the front door shattered. Now I was scared. How in the world would I explain this one? Then the phone rang. It was the neighbor that lived up the hill, about a 5 min walk from the house. He had heard the dog barking, the lights off in the house, (except for the bathroom), and then a gun shot. I told him, quite nervously, that someone had shot into the house. (Big mistake) He said he would be right down. I realized very soon that before he left his house, he had called the police.

The neighbor got to the house and came in by way of the side door as was usual. The front door was only used on very special occasions. He inspected the front door and noted that the glass was on the porch and not in the house. He said, “Barbara, are you sure someone shot into the house, because it looks like the shot came from inside the house.” Of course he saw the gun on the floor where I had dropped it when I jumped out of my seat. I tried to explain, but nothing came out of my mouth. Just as I thought it couldn’t get any worse, a whole group of red lights showed up. The police had come in full force. I later learned that there were eight police cars parked outside of the house, all with the red lights running. The sheriff came in and started to ask me what had happened.

I told him, very nervously, that I was home alone, the dog was barking, I heard footsteps downstairs, got scared, got the gun. Then while sitting on the chair, I saw the face in the window. I scared me so much that I jumped up and the gun went off when it hit the floor. I did not mention about my curiosity and that I had taken the safety off. The part was not told for over 20 years. Now I thought I would go to jail. What to do? Run away was my only solution. I asked in my crying voice, if I could go into the other room. From there I would write a hasty note to my parents and run. I have no idea what I would have written because I never got the chance. Just about then, my parents with my sisters came home. Now I was going to get it. Jail was better than a spanking. I asked the sheriff if I could go to my bedroom up stairs and off I went, crying all the way. I got into my bed and hid under the covers.

Now, try to imagine what my parents thought. They come over the hill and look down at their house, (the house was located in a valley), saw police cars lining both sides of the road, red lights circling, and flashlight moving in the fields. They couldn’t have imagined what had happened since they were only 15 – 30 minutes behind me. When they got closer to the house and saw the front door smashed, glass broken and blood on the porch.

My father was greeted by the sheriff. I could hear my father calling for me and in the same breath asking what had happened. The sheriff explained the situation and dad headed for the stairs ready to give me a ‘talking to, both verbally and physically’. The sheriff stopped him and told him to leave me alone for while. I had taken a big shock and I had been punished enough. I fell in love with that sheriff for saving me like that.

The next few days, the front door got fixed, but the shot gun hole remained as a reminder as what can happen when children play with guns. In fact, 50 years after this incidence, a portion of that hole caused by the gun shot can still be seen. The shot was perfectly centered between the door and the door casing, approximately 8 inches off the floor. The blood on the porch was from Lucky. The shattering glass of the front door window had cut off half of the cat’s right ear. We learned this when the cat came home after 5 days in hiding. Lucky really earned that name when the following summer; my youngest sister dropped the cat out the upstairs window. She wanted to know if the cat would land on his feet. The cat was in hiding for 4 days after that one.

The story could have ended there, but it didn’t. The missing parts of the story took 10 years to come to light. At every family affair, such as Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, my father would offer a little more information on what really happened that night. He would add that for one year after the shooting, my father’s friends, including the friend that brought me home that night, would march around the house at midnight stating that they don’t dare go to the door or they would get shot.

What I didn’t know and what dad supplied was that one of the boys that dad had taken under his wing that summer was the boy in the window that night. At the time he had escaped from jail and was trying to get away. This was the real reason for the heavy police presence at my house that night. This fact was supported by my mother who had been stopped at a road block earlier that very same day. The police were searching all vehicles looking for the young fugitive. She had forgotten about that traffic stop until she was told that I had seen a face in the window. Since that boy had been to the house on several occasions, he knew the lay out of the house, where the money was kept, and that the bathroom light was usually on when the family was away. It was his footsteps that I had heard in the downstairs. He had heard me get out of the tub and left the house. He was waiting around; thinking that the lights would go out and he would get another chance to get the money.

When the cat jumped onto the front door screen, the boy jumped also. When he looked in the window and saw me with the gun on my lap, that had made him more frightened. About the time he had decided to leave, he heard the gun go off. He thought I was shooting at him and left fast. He ran to an uncle’s house and had decided to stop running from the police. He surrendered to the police within a few days. Now this explains how this story happened and of the little pieces except the final one.

Years later, as I was at home with my 3 year old daughter and 6 month old son, a group of men came to my home. My husband and I had joined a couple’s only motorcycle club many years before. As the months went by, the club changed from couples to singles. The club also changed in such a way that my husband and I decided it was not the type of association that we wanted and thus we discontinued our membership. The “colors”, which had the club emblem, was to be transfer back to the club and the men had come to get the “colors”. As one of the men were removing the stitching from the back of the jacket, I noticed a fellow that looked familiar. We didn’t say a word, but just stared at each other. Then, just before they left, we both was hit with a sudden realization. He was the boy that was in the window that October night many years ago.

There are two lessons in this story.
One – don’t keep any firearms in eye sight of children. Don’t let them see where you keep the guns or keep the ammunition. When they are old enough and they want to learn about guns, that they go to an instructor so they can learn the correct measures on gun safety.

Two – One simple, unrelated thing can bring about the most amazing situations. One small act can change a life forever. Therefore, everyone should realize that a simple act of kindness that lead to great things but the reverse can also happen. Therefore, let all of your actions come from an act of kindness.