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On paper, he was the male
version of Annie Oakley
of TheColumnists.com
As an Army rifleman,
I was one helluva typist. I once hit 92 words per minute in a
one-minute timing on a manual typewriter while in clerk-typist
school at Fort Ord, Calif. On the rifle range during basic training
there, I was shooting more Maggie’s drawers than bull’s
eyes.
Nevertheless, I was awarded a Sharpshooter’s Medal for my
prowess in firing an M-1.
I remember well the day C Company--some 200 of us--were trucked
out to the firing range overlooking Monterey Bay to qualify with
our weapons. Half the company was ensconced in bunkers pulling
targets and scoring hits and misses while the other half fired.
Everyone had to qualify, or they’d keep you out there until
you did.
At 100 yards I was totaling mostly Maggie’s Drawers, the
red flag that was waved from the pits that showed one had missed
the target completely. At 200 yards, I started scoring really
well and, at 300 yards, I was hitting nothing but bull’s
eyes.
Finally, I thought, I had learned to sight this thing properly
and was actually feeling really proud of myself after weeks of
failing miserably.
As we switched roles and were trudging by the other half of the
company to take our turn in the pits, a voice rang out from the
passing target-pullers, “Who was firing at Target #24.”
“I was,” I replied cockily.
“You didn’t hit the target more than a couple of times,
even at 100 yards,” came the reply. “If I hadn’t
scored some bull’s eyes for you, you would have been out
here until next week.”
I don’t remember his name but I’ll never forget his
act of kindness. There were others like me, who had never shot
a gun before being drafted and who qualified in the same manner.
Draftees comprised most of our company, and each did his best
to get himself and his buddies through basic as smoothly and
painlessly as possible.
My benefactor had cheated me past the lowest rating, Marksman,
and up to Sharpshooter. I just missed Expert. Later, I was worried
that the Army might send me to Advanced Infantry Training because
of my “fine” display of marksmanship on the rifle range.
But somebody up there liked me. Or else somebody knew that I
would be a much more productive solder bearing an Underwood than
bearing an M-1.
In case my benefactor might ever read this, it was C-1-1, Fort
Ord, Calif., December 1958-January 1959.
©2006 by Len Klempnauer. The illustration is from IMSI's
Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. East, San Rafael,
CA, 94901-5506,
USA.
This column first posted March 20, 2006.
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