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HOF Stories by Dick Baldwin In 1890, Idaho and Wyoming became
states; Dwight D. Eisenhower was born; Civil War general William T. Sherman lay
close to death, few in Georgia were upset; and the clay target had finally
replaced the live pigeon and glass ball as the standard target for trapshooting.
Here, at last, was a target that again sailed like a bird,
and many of the old time pigeon shooters began to compete after an absence of
years. Targets were sold and slipped into wooden barrels. They were relatively
inexpensive, averaging about a penny apiece. Most everyone could afford to shoot
"the elusive clay," a term used by manufacturers. Gun clubs literally appeared overnight. Traps were set up on
fairgrounds, ball fields, amusement parks and racetracks. Tournaments were
sometimes held on the roofs of tall buildings, with a screen catching the
targets, and shot dropping to who-knows-where. Everything was in place except for a minor
detail—organization. There was none. The rules at one club were different from
the ones on the other side of town. Guns weighing over 8 lbs. were barred from
some clubs and allowed at others. Ten-bore shotguns could be used as long as
shells contained no more than1 1/2 oz. of shot. Other clubs wouldn’t allow
10-gauges at all. Target flights varied as much as 20 yards from club to club.
Great arguments often arose. Finally, a group of interested individuals got together to
form an organization and comprise formal rules. They called themselves the American
Shooting Association and began operations in New York in January 1890. The first governing body was composed of those employed by
companies who produced trapshooting-related The American Shooting Association promptly produced a 24-page
rule book that, for the first time, outlined what was and wasn’t legal.
Disputes were settled by referring to the rule book. Arguments sub-sided
(somewhat). These were days of great change in the wildlife populations
of America. The passenger pigeon, once so numerous in the sky that their
multitudes would hide the sun, became totally extinct. The heath hen was gone,
as were most of the buffalo, antelope and Whitetail deer. The gun, ammunition,
powder and shot companies were justifiably concerned. To make matters even
worse, there were people in Washington who talked about setting daily limits on
waterfowl and game birds. It didn’t take the gun-related companies long to read the
writing on the wall. The future looked bleak. Survival might just depend on this
new clay target game called trapshooting. By 1892, other companies recognized the potential profits in
this new sport and j Elmer E. Shaner, a former
schoolteacher from Pittsburgh, Pa., was managing tournaments for the As far as anyone knows, Shaner never pointed a gun at a target, but he was the driving force in trapshooting for the next 21 years. His honesty and integrity were known nationwide. Once Shaner disqualified the president of the association for being late for his squad. When asked if this might have been politically incorrect, Shaner responded by saying, "Hell, I could have fined him too!" He managed the first 19 Grand Americans and devised a system for keeping averages, which resulted in the first official average book published in 1913. Shaner was inducted into the Trapshooting Hall of Fame in 1969. By the early 1900s, the Interstate Association had added many new industry members, including DuPont, Marlin Firearms Co., Western Cartridge Co., Peters Cartridge Co., and Laffin and Rand Powder Co. Under Shaner’s guidance, trapshooting rules were revised in 1902. Some of the more interesting ones deserve mentioning.
During 100-target events, shooters shot 20 targets over five fields (25-bird events became popular in the early 1920s). The term "inning" denoted a contestant’s time on the firing line, commencing with his first call of "pull" and ending when he had completed his last shot. Thus, what we now call a round of 25 was an "inning" to our forefathers. Two shooters in conversation some 90 years ago could have sounded something like this: "I say, old man, how did you handle the elusive clays today?" "A pity it was," came the reply, "I gave up two early in the fourth inning." There were no formal plans for traphouse construction. Traps could either be set on level ground or below ground and hidden by whatever means club management decided. The formal rule didn’t do much to protect the poor trapper. It said, "Pitts and screens shall be used to properly protect the trapper. The screens shall not be higher than necessary. Generally, three traps were in
each house set four feet apart. The far left trap threw a left angle, the center
trap a straightaway, and the right trap a right angle. A rope was attached to
the release of each trap. Some of the old-timers told horror stories about a few questionably honest pullers. If they were "entertained" the night before with a sip of the grape and/or a few bucks, it seemed the donor often drew a high percentage of straight-aways during the next day’s contest. During the early years, the shooter was at the mercy of the puller. He still is, but for a different reason.
The close of the target year in 1918 marked the passing of the name Interstate Trapshooting Association and the birth of a new name, the American Trapshooting Association. The continued development of new gun clubs in Canada made the name American more logical and significant. Headquarters were moved from Pittsburgh to New York City. Elmer Shaner, the man mainly responsible for trapshooting’s successful gains and increased popularity, resigned, as he did not wish to move from his lifetime Pittsburgh home. The American Trapshooting Association was still under the thumb of the manufacturers, even though amateur shooters were named figurehead presidents. By the early I 920s, there were many who thought the association should be run solely by amateurs. The end for manufacturers rule came in 1923 when the Amateur Trapshooting Association, as we know it today, came into existence and permanent homegrounds were established in Vandalia, Ohio. I have wondered many times where our game would be today if the manufacturers hadn’t passed the sword on to amateur rule in 1923. Was it a mistake? Could not the corporate brains of executives responsible for the bottom line at companies like DuPont, Winchester, Federal, Remington, Beretta, Perazzi, Krieghoff and others, done a better job? That’s a question that will never be answered. But there are those with pretty strong opinions. Reproduced by Permission of Trap & Field Magazine,
May 2003 issue,
© Copyright 2003 to Curtis Magazine Group, Inc. All rights reserved.
The trip from Connecticut with Dad in his 1948 Chevy took three days. His Remington company car had no radio, so there was plenty of time to talk. Dad did most of the talking, and I did most of the listening. They say one can't remember conversations of over 50 years ago. I can. What I learned on that trip, and on other long car rides with him to shoots, wasn't taught in the schools I attended. I learned, among other things, about humility, politeness, shaking hands with a firm grip, looking people straight in the eye, respecting others, and family dedication.
Each morning, we traveled from Dayton to the Grand American grounds down a two-lane road (now 1-75), north to Route 40 , then west through the little village of Vandalia. Shooters who took a train or flew to the shoot were always looking for a ride to the grounds since car rentals, I guess, didn't exist. We were always carting out-of-town people to and from the Grand. Just past a four-corner intersection in Vandalia hung a large "Welcome ATA " canvas banner that stretched from one side of the road to the other. A road sign on Route 40 just past the banner read, "Vandalia, the Crossroads of America. On this road the Conestoga wagons passed during the Westward expansion." I used to envision those oxen-drawn prairie schooners of 100 years ago passing by the ATA grounds. What a sight they must have been. Many shooters ate breakfast and lunch in Vandalia at a fine little family-owned establishment called The Cafeteria. It was owned and operated by the Brusman family-mother and father of Dave Brusman, captain of the 2003 veteran All-American team. Dave's brother currently runs the Original Rib House, not far from where his parents served many a meal to hungry trapshooters more than 50 years ago. The pop-pop sound signaled we were near the astern end of the 40-trap firing line. Rows of trailer lined Route 40 where the family wash was displayed aily for all to see. Many tents and lean-to's also served as hunting and fishing shelters during the rest of the year. The clubhouse, which now houses the ATA offices and Hall of Fame and Museum, was located in the center of the firing line. Twenty traps stretched east and 20 west. This was a hub of activity. Trophies were displayed, entries were taken, and thousands of shooters and their families passed daily, always hurrying somewhere. A locker room was located on the second floor on the west end of the clubhouse. I enjoyed going there as someone always seemed to be playing a musical instrument. H. T. Bullock of New Jersey played a violin as sweetly as he broke doubles targets, and he was a great storyteller. Poker games were numerous and cigar smoke thick. Spittoons were present, but the aim of tobacco chewers wasn't always as good as their prowess with the scattergun, and the stained floors bore testament to this. In that old upstairs locker room,
Dad introduced me to a man with a couple of gold front teeth. He wore Below his suspenders hung the most magnificent gold watch fob I have ever seen. Centered in the middle was a diamond that seemed to be the size of an ice hockey rink. At 13, I appreciated such things and remarked how beautiful it was. He unbuckled it and handed it to me to further admire. The back was engraved, "1926 Grand American Champion, won by Charles 'Sparrow' Young, 100xI00." Years later I realized what a great shooter and colorful character he was. Less than a year later, he died. Not many are left who can say they shook hands with that great Hall of Faller. Sadly, his splendid Grand American Champion watch fob never surfaced. How I would like to display it in our museum. A symbolic Grand American landmark was a silver- colored water tower that stood some 70 feet high, with the ATA logo painted on two sides. It stood at the eastern end of the clubhouse, directly behind the Ithaca Gun Co. tent. A ladder extended to a small circular platform 10 feet or so from the top. This was a great place for fearless youngsters like me to watch shoot-offs. In the late 1960s, the airport administrators asked the ATA to take it down because of the danger it posed to low-flying airplanes. A memorable bit of nostalgia disappeared with the old water tower. On each side of the clubhouse stretched rows of tents for trade representatives, refreshment stands, a clothing manufacturer (Bob Allen), gunsmiths and used-gun dealers. Nestled among those displaying their wares was a young man from Buffalo, N .Y., selling shooting glasses. He called his year-old company Clear Site, a rather appropriate name considering the product he sold. He later moved to Arizona and changed the name to Decot Hy-Wyd. Bud Decot is still serving shooters' needs, and other than the ammunition companies, he's the only one left that was there in 1950.
I spent most of the time at the shoot in the Remington tent with my dad. Here the recently introduced Model 870 "Wingmaster" trapguns were prominently featured. Dad had given me one for my l3th birthday, and I still hunt with it every fall. For the first time, I met Remington people who I was destined to work with in the years to come. On a Saturday during a preliminary doubles event, Father suggested I watch a Remington pro named Rudy Etchen shoot his Model 870 pump gun. It wasn't uncommon then for doubles shooters to use a pump, but it certainly is now. That afternoon Rudy broke 100 shucking that 870. It was the first 100 in doubles ever at Vandalia, and I watched him break every pair. From that day to his death a few years ago, Rudy remained one of my all-time shooting idols. I entered the sub-junior race and tied for fourth. It was part of the first 100 of a 200-bird 16-yard event on Monday, Aug. 21. This was the only sub-junior event during the entire Grand American. The rest of the events, we had to compete against juniors. Many years later, sub-junior trophies became a part of every Grand American race. On Tuesday, Aug. 22, I represented Connecticut in the Junior Champion of Champions and broke 95xl00. A boy of 16 named Ronald Gaude of Natchez, Miss., ran the hundred. Gaude became a career military officer, and I heard years later that he was killed in Vietnam. Earlier in the week, I met the prettiest girl I had ever seen. Her name was Lois Powell, and she was the stepdaughter of the great future Hall of Famer Julius Petty of Arkansas. She captivated me from the minute I laid eyes on her, as she did every other young boy at the Grand. Trying to spend time alone with Lois was indeed a battle. A dozen other fellows had the same thought, including Gaude from Mississippi, who was three years older, better looking, and a better shooter. I thought this was important to Lois because of how good her stepfather was. Before the shootoff for the Clay Target Championship, Dad told me I had better find a good spot to watch as it was going to be a long time deciding a winner. Defending champion Arnold Riegger, a 19-year old, formerly of Ohio, and a doctor had the only 2OOs. As the shootoff crowds gathered, I spotted Lois standing alone. A wonderful thought came to mind, and before long we were sitting together near the top of the ATA water tower. It was truly a wonderful situation for me-no one could see us, and we were going to be there awhile watching the long shootoff . But there was no long shootoff. Joe Devers, the 19-year-old Dayton native and Jimmy Dean look-alike, broke 25. Riegger missed one and Dr. G. A. Roose two. My quality time alone with Lois high on that old water tower lasted less than 15 minutes. What a shame. That night, driving back to Dayton, Dad said we were lucky the shootoff hadn't lasted longer, as we could have been there until dusk. I didn't think we had been so lucky. The happy memories of my first Grand American and many more at Vandalia linger in this aging mind as clearly as if they had occurred since this morning's breakfast. But on cold Connecticut winter nights, when I look forward to the warmth of summer, the thought of not going to Vandalia saddens me. And I can only associate this feeling with an old boyhood friend who has been diagnosed with a terminal illness. We all hope for a miracle, but if it doesn't happen, perhaps he will be going to a better place. Maybe, just maybe, the Grand will, too. * * * These few pages about my first Grand American 53 years ago mark my last Road to Yesterday column. My pen is dry. After 32 TRAP & FIELD articles, it's time to call it quits. Over the months, I've endeavored to bring you closer to the great shooters and events of those who came before us, those who history has long forgotten. Along the way, I've thrown in a few things that have happened to me during some 56 years in the old game. It wouldn't be fitting or proper if I didn't end all of this by thanking the many who e-mailed, wrote, called, or personally expressed their appreciation for what I've written. My heartfelt thanks to those who took the time to say thanks. If you are interested in trapshooting history, try to stop by the Trapshooting Hall of Fame and Museum located at the ATA headquarters in Vandalia. The museum houses one of the largest collections of trapshooting memorabilia in the world and is open to the public free of charge Monday through Friday, 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. Should you have a trapshooting artifact that you would like information about, contact me at the Trapshooting Hall of Fame and Museum, 601 National Rd., Vandalia, OH 45377. The museum is always looking for select items to add to our collection of shooting memorabilia. Visit us on our web site at www.traphof.org |
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products. Among them was L. C. Smith, founder of the famous gun company; Charles
Tatham, owner of the largest lead shot processing plant in the country; and
Capt. A. W. DuBray of the Parker Gun Co.
DuBray
was a retired career army officer and decorated Civil war veteran. He ended up
out west with General George Armstrong Custer in the 7th Calvary. A week or so
before Custer started on his infamous Little Big Horn excursion, DuBray was
transferred to another outfit. He, along with the rest of America, read in the
paper what Sitting Bull did to his former compatriots. Shortly thereafter,
DuBray resigned his commission and began more peaceable employment as Parker’s
head sales representative. He was once quoted as saying, "Irate customers
are a lot easier to work with than irate Indians."
Pennsylvania State Sportsman Association when the new Interstate Association
asked him to serve as secretary-treasurer of their group. He accepted, and
offices were set up in Pittsburgh.
As
the Grand American gained popularity and moved from city to city each year,
Shaner and the Interstate Association made changes and additions. Grand entries
had to be made two weeks in advance of the
tournament, making the work of the handicap committee considerably easier. The
Doubles Target Championship was established in 1911. Three years later, the
state champions were brought together to compete against each other for the
National Amateur Championship. We now call it the Champion of Champions. The
same year, a former Winchester representative from Pittsburgh named Jimmy Lewis
came up with a new and fairer money distribution system. We know it today as the
Lewis class.
Vandalia
had only one motel, with less than 20 rooms, so our home away from home was the
Dayton- Biltmore Hotel in downtown Dayton.
The Van Cleve Hotel, the older of the two, housed as many shooters.
round eyeglasses and a playful smile, and he was well into his 80s. I just knew
I'd like him before a word was spoken. Dad introduced him as Mr. Young.
There
were no buildings for vendors. Canvas protected them from the frequent, violent
thunderstorms that were as bad as I had ever seen. Large, oscillating fans made
a feeble attempt to cool the air but to
little avail. It was terribly hot and extremely uncomfortable for a New England
boy not used to scorching Midwestern heat. Winchester, Remington and Federal
tents offered water, comfortable chairs and reading material. Every company that
made trapguns had them on display, and if you wanted to try one at the practice
traps or shoot one in an event, all you had to do was ask a representative.
There was no paperwork to sign and no ATA cards or driver's licenses to leave
when borrowing a gun. The guns need only be returned before the shooting ended
for the day. As far as I know, no company ever lost one.
