Legacies - On a Positive Note

Guns Magazine, Oct, 2002 by Jim Gardner

From time to time I take great pleasure in retrieving the tiny rifle from its resting place in the gun safe. A Stevens No. 141/2 "Little Scout," it's just one of the myriad of different model boy's rifles produced at Chicopee Falls. However, this one is special. It was a gift from "Grandpa Bill" to a little squirt of a boy who at the time of this gift was many years from being able to use it.

I was less than one year old when Grandpa Bill placed the tiny Stevens in my Father's hands with strict instructions to give it to me when the time was right.

Bill was not a wealthy man, and the rifle is certainly not a fancy one. As it happened, I never really had the opportunity to know him. I was four years old, living many states away from Bill's home in Cullison, Kansas when he was called to his reward.

Even without the rifle, I would have been fascinated to hear the tales my Mother shared of Bill Greenstreet. He was a big hulk of a man. Every photo but one shows him in his usual attire of bib-overalls and a rough shirt. His passion was for the woods and for hunting.

Raccoon was the "big-game" of his part of Kansas in the '30s. He pursued the little masked bandits with a couple of much loved hunting hounds. I suspect that his goal was as much to enjoy the warmth of a cheery campfire with his cronies rather than to bring home another raccoon for skinning and stretching.

One recurring tale is of Grandpa Bill and a lost hound. On several occasions, a hound would follow trail so enthusiastically that he was soon far from the following hunters. Bill would wait as long as he could on the trail, and then, with the sun far risen and chores waiting, he would reluctantly head for home. But not before spreading his old hunting coat on the ground by the side of the path.

At first opportunity, Bill would drive back to where he had last seen the hound. There on the tattered coat would be the old dog. Foot-sore, hoarse from sounding all night, but thumping his tail in delight to see his master's return. That's my favorite image of Grandpa Bill.

Even before my father had signed off on my privilege to handle firearms in his absence, I would be allowed to investigate the little Stevens. You see, it was absent firing pin and a couple of other small parts. Nevertheless, I was intoxicated with the rifle, and enjoyed vivid imaginings of stalking the wild places with my mighty Stevens .22.

The Little Scout was actually my first gunsmithing project. I found an ad for the needed parts, and put together enough cash gleaned from mowing lawns in the neighborhood to place an order.

If you haven't given up reading this yet, you may wonder why I'm boring you. The lesson to be learned here is that this modest gift from a man I never had the opportunity to know was one of the sparks that kindled my interest in shooting.

Our kids today are the targets of a dedicated effort on the part of many in the teaching profession and elsewhere to turn them against firearms and the shooting sports. After a few years in this system, it's no wonder that little Johnny doesn't want a .22 rifle. He wants a video game instead.

So what are we going to do to reverse this trend? I may ruffle some feathers here, but sending more money to the NRA is not the answer. What is needed is personal interaction.

Certainly, if you are a parent or grand parent, you've tried to engage your youngsters in shooting or hunting. Some of us aren't parents, but that does not remove from us the onus to counteract whenever possible the anti-gun propaganda these kids are bombarded with.

Do your best to find a youngster who you might be able to take shooting. If you don't have friends with children who are amenable to this, there are other alternatives. The Boy Scouts have long been a great avenue to reach young men with the straight story of the important role of firearms in this country.

As a Scout, I was fortunate to attend a demonstration by a local sportsman who did a splendid job of teaching us the history of the rifle, from flint longrifles to the MI Garand. It was such a tremendous experience that I remember it to this day.

That trim little Stevens, the generous gift of a man I never knew, set me on the path to become a shooter and outdoorsman. I have made similar gifts to several deserving young men, and I'm always on the lookout for another such opportunity.

We Americans are the recipients of a legacy of freedom. Freedom won and preserved at great cost by men with rifles. If we fail to pass on this legacy, if we fail to spark that lifelong interest in a young and fertile mind, we will have held in scant regard the gifts of our birth.