Paul Einerhand
One of my parents’ cardinal rules when I was growing up was that no loaded guns were allowed in the house. I’d like to say there were never any accidents, but that wasn’t the case.
When I was about eight, my oldest brother, Danny, was showing his new .22 pump rifle to a friend. The friend stupidly racked it and pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through the wall of our trailer. It was a classic example of an “unloaded” weapon going off.
Another memorable moment occurred a few years later when my cousin Jackie Wayne Driskill, older brothers Danny and Larry, and I were teenagers. On the opening day of deer season, my Uncle Rodger Jones piled us boys into his car and took us to an area of Winn Parish where he had been logging and seeing some deer tracks.
The hunt was fruitless, and we arrived back at my grandmother’s place about noon. I stepped out of the car and double checked to make sure my shotgun was unloaded before putting it in our vehicle.
Suddenly, there was a loud “bang” and the gravel under Uncle Rodger’s car exploded in all directions. Jackie Wayne sat in the backseat with a shocked look on his face.
He had removed the cartridge from the chamber of his bolt action rifle before we got into the car but left the magazine loaded. Sitting in the back seat, he ejected the shells from the rifle but apparently miscounted the number of times he worked the bolt. Thinking he had ejected the last .308 cartridge, he absentmindedly pulled the trigger on a round that was still in the chamber. Fortunately, the only damage was the neat little hole in Uncle Rodger’s back floorboard.
To be honest, I went on to have my own mishaps with firearms, although none resulted in damages or injuries.
When I was about sixteen, I was squirrel hunting on my grandparents’ property in Mississippi. A year or so earlier, Danny came home from his summer pipelining job with brand new .22 rifles for Larry and me. I loved that Winchester 190, and it still sits in my gun safe.
One morning when I was stalking a cat squirrel, I flipped off the safety and took aim, but the squirrel scurried away. I finally gave up and walked on. A few minutes later, the rifle suddenly fired and nearly scared me to death. I had forgotten to put the safety back on and didn’t realize I had my finger on the trigger. It was a lesson that I never forgot.
I had two accidents with my trusty Remington 700 that Carol bought for my wedding present in 1976. That 30-06 is still my deer rifle of choice.
On one occasion I was sitting in a leaning stand next to a dry creek bed. After a while, I shifted my weight, the stand twisted, and I fell about fifteen feet to the bottom of the creek. An instant later, my rifle landed next to me with the muzzle pointed at my face. Luckily, the safety on the Remington 700 was quite good.
A couple of decades later I returned to the truck after a hunt and laid the same rifle on the top of the cab, intending to unload it after I put my gear away. I completely forgot about it until I tapped the brakes and my rifle came sliding down the windshield and shot across the hood into the road. The safety worked that time, as well.
I am thankful that my parents were so safety conscious when it came to guns (even though I obviously forgot those lessons sometimes). Unfortunately, not all parents are like that.
One of my most unsettling hunting moments was when I encountered a father and son while walking down a dirt road back to my truck. The boy looked to be about ten but was carrying a Winchester Model 94.
After some small talk, I noticed that the boy was carrying his 30-30 fully cocked and had his finger on the trigger.
I pointed at the rifle and said, “I hope that thing’s not loaded!”
When the father snapped at the boy to lower the hammer, the lad turned it back and forth in his hands trying to figure out how to do that. Dad then took the rifle to make it safe and I quickly left the area.
It only takes one lapse in judgment to ruin your day, so y’all be careful out there this hunting season.
Dr. Terry L. Jones is a professor emeritus of history at the University of Louisiana at Monroe. For an autographed copy of “Louisiana Pastimes,” a collection of the author’s stories, send $25 to Terry L. Jones, P.O Box 1581, West Monroe, LA 71294.
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