BETTER THAN HEARSAY - What a Difference a Letter Makes

CORNWALLVILLE - A piece of my life was lost forever, waiting to procure some ammo, the other day, going through a background check.

I’m not what anybody would call a gun guy, not an NRA member or the like, though I do have a Mossberg 410 that I don’t know is properly called a shotgun or rifle or whatever.

There is a reason I’m sensitive about the nomenclature. Some years ago I wrote a pretty little story about a neighbor, Eric Sutton, and how his family migrated down from the hills of Ashland to the town of Durham.

The family farm lay fallow for a while after Eric passed before a relative breathed fresh life into what is now End of the Lane Farm.

Anyway, in the story I mentioned some firearms Eric possessed and valued and a reader penned a Letter to the Editor, chiding me for writing that a shotgun was a rifle or the other way around.

All I know is I can shoot my 410 if a rabid critter wanders into the yard which is why I bought it from a character named Maurice Mudge.

Mudgie, as he is affectionately known, had a gun shop just up the hill and around a few bends in the road from the hamlet of Hensonville, in the mountaintop township of Windham.

The man is well known for giving it to you straight. The morning I walked in that is precisely what he did as I browsed the racks, spotting a sleek looking Remington and taking it up to the counter.

“You don’t want that one,” Mudgie said, which raised my manly defenses but I asked “why not?” and I still laugh, remembering what he told me.

“You’ll probably miss what you’re shootin’ at, it’ll ricochet off a rock and you’ll kill yourself or worse,” Mudgie said, pointing me toward the 410.

I fussed a bit until it became obvious Mudge wasn’t going to budge, that he couldn’t stop me, if I was dead set on securing that Remington, but it wouldn’t be from him.

He has a way of asking a couple of questions, listening to how you answer and sizing a person up. I couldn’t argue he was wrong. Either way, my corpse wasn’t going to be on his conscience. 

I did it his way. I still have the 410 which is plenty trusty. I’d recently run out of ammunition, heading to a local gun establishment for a restock.

The clerk grabbed me a box of 25 High Overall bullets or shells or whatever at a buck apiece, which made a sign on the wall suddenly make sense.

“Due to the high cost of ammunition, I will not be firing a warning shot,” the sign said, bringing to mind one of my favorite such warnings.

I always try to find the humor in a thing, figuring “why not” In this world? I’m guessing the person who made up this particular threat did too.

“Is there life after death? Trespass here and find out,” the warning says. In my head, I always hear Elmer Fudd stuttering it.

I got no problem, going through a background check, but I believe even ‘ol Elmer would have been flabbergasted, the other day, if he was me.

A friend advised me the process would take a few minutes, so I was ready to not just stroll in and out. Sixty minutes later, the deal still wasn’t done.

The store clerk was apologetic, saying the State-based system was bogged down and that it wasn’t an unusual occurrence.

“How do they expect us to make any money when this happens? I think they do it on purpose so we can’t stay in business,” the clerk said.

I have no idea about any of that. I asked if I could just come another day and the clerk said, no, a do-over would muck up the works. 

My choice was to go home without the ammo and maybe go through the whole thing again and maybe get red flagged and have the FBI swoop down on my house. Or suck it up.

So I stayed, starting a chat with the clerk who told how they grew to love guns, learning to hunt with mom and dad, and how they got the job.

Somehow the subject turned to a routine audit of the place and the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco & Firearms, or ATF as the agency is known.

My brain left the building. As I said, I think it’s great, making sure I’m not a maniac, and I made the best of that hour I’ll never get back.

But somebody needs to change a letter in the ATF and, with all due delicacy, I am not open to suggestion which one.