The Ancient One

 Old Mickey lived 88 years.   

He counted them, holding back tears...

     For what good is living,

     When no gal will give in

To no man what's 88 years?

With apologies to George and Ira Gershwin

Readiness

 There was a time when I frequently traveled from my residence in Texas to destinations in Ohio, Colorado, Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, or California.  I enjoyed the journey along the open highways, flying in complete freedom, nearly airborne. Comfortable and secure in my almost new truck.

I would leave home with a full tank of gas, having checked all the fluids under the hood — and smug with assurance that I had a properly inflated spare tire.

I had learned a lesson the hard way — having once set out with a spare tire that was under-inflated.

Flat.

And wouldn't you know it, that was the only trip of all that I made, from 1956 through 2002, when I had a flat tire.

Now I check the spare before departure.

Like they taught me in the Boy Scouts, “Be Prepared.”

That routine was followed — in principle — when set up my fishing boat. I made certain that I had on board an adequate number of PFD's. I never had to avail myself of their presence but . . . they were there.  Like a flashlight.    Ever-ready.

I went deer hunting in the Rocky Mountains.

I carried a rifle while scouting afoot — but on occasion I would lay my rifle aside, to tend to necessities.

I knew there were mountain lion and bear in the area — so I always had on my hip a holster with a fully loaded large caliber revolver.

I wonder at the mentality of those who frequent those remote hills with no more personal protection than a bicycle.

Sam McKone

 My name is Mickey Basden. I moved to Victoria Texas in 1969.

In about 1974 I was attending and participating in a pistol shoot at the Victoria Gun Club.  During a lull in the proceedings I was approached by a gentleman who introduced himself — Sam McKone.  I learned that he had been an active competitor in pistol shooting — he won the pistol National Match Gold medal at Camp Perry —  but he had retired his competition guns.  He attended our monthly shoots as a spectator. 

Sam and I became friends. He invited me to his home on Rhodes Road in Victoria. He introduced me to his wife, Nita.  And he proudly showed me the Gold Medal that he won in competition at the Camp Perry National Matches.

He showed me a copy of LIFE magazine with him on the cover, a border patrolman running across the River, revolver in hand, in pursuit of an alien.

In 1975 I went to work as a deputy at the Victoria County Sheriff's Department.

Sam's background in law enforcement enabled him to give me valuable advice as I entered this phase of my life in a new profession.  He taught me the “Sam McKone fast draw.”1

Bill Jordan, another retired Border Patrolman who had achieved a degree of fame visited Sam.  I was privileged to view a slide show, in Sam's home, of photographs of Bill's recent African hunting trip. A projector bulb needed to be placed, and in my truck I drove Bill to town to buy one.  

Could I say that I rode with Bill Jordan ???

I was humbly honored to visit with these two famous BP retirees. 

Sam followed the newspaper coverage of my participation in the monthly pistol shoots at the Victoria Gun Club, and congratulated me for my frequent first place trophies. He said to me

“Mickey, your publicity for winning those pistol shoots is for you as a Deputy Sheriff the best life insurance you can get.”

I remember a letter that he wrote, published in the Victoria newspaper, commenting on local politics:  “Nitty gritty sand and gravel company” — Addressing some questionable dealings involving a city official and a paving contract.

In 1979 I was hired by a company involved in manufacture of equipment for the petroleum industry. My employment as a consulting engineer took me to various out of state locations, and I lost contact with Sam. I regret that.  

I returned to Victoria in 2014. I was unsuccessful in locating Sam.

I remember Sam with fondness and respect. A rare gentleman.

1   Sam's fast draw: About a minute before the shooting starts, put down your coffee cup and carefully remove your gun from the holster...

Scary Similarity

 

Much in the news is the tragedy of the death of a member of the crew involved in making the move “Rust.” A news headline today announced that the person who served as the armorer on the set of the movie has been found guilty of a felony, based on the assertion that she was responsible for bringing live ammo onto the set.

Details are vague — but has she admitted bringing live ammo?? Or is there proof that she did? Both irrelevant.

I don't believe that there is a law against ”bringing live ammo ...”

Any legal culpability rests with the person who fired the gun.

I am reminded of an in-service training course I attended in the 1970's while I was a Deputy Sheriff in Victoria. The course was conducted by a reputable agency, and presented at the training facility at Foster Field, where many law enforcement activities were conducted.

In the presentation we were showed some specially prepared “blanks” made by replacing the primer in some empty pistol cartridge cases with shotshell primers. Our instructor demonstrated by firing one of these blanks in a Smith and Wesson revolver. It was loud.

Then we were instructed in the drill that each of the class members was to follow:

“When the carload of drug dealers comes flying by, you are to fire the six blanks in the revolver at the occupants of the car”

I was first in line. The instructor positioned me, and told me that the car would come into sight from my right, driving past me … and I was to shoot at the “drug dealers” in the car.

I accepted the fully functional revolver, loaded with blanks, and swung the cylinder open to confirm that each of the six rounds was a blank, displaying the oversize shot-shell primers — then, while I stood ready, I was thinking …

Even in this make-believe play acting scenario there was no Probable Cause to justify shooting at the “criminals”

And I was definitely NOT gonna shoot at them …

I had to play along with the game to get a passing grade on this training course … but when the car came past at a distance of about twenty feet I quickly “fired” all six blanks, aiming about five feet over, and equally far in front of the passing car. If somehow a live round were to be discharged, it would fly harmlessly into the open range-land beyond the road the car would traverse.

Afterwards I stood nearby while the other members of the class each took their turn.

I had to wonder at the motivations of the “experts” who designed and presented this segment of the course.

The recent tragedy on the “Rust” movie set caused me to remember that long ago segment of my training