The duration and curriculum of the class were mandated by the great State of Tennessee, with a required 8 hours of instruction, a written test and a shooting test. The written test was to be 50 questions with 85% correct a passing score. The shooting portion involved shooting 48 rounds at a stationary target at various distances. To pass, the shooter had to hit the target 36 times, or 75% of the time. One more ironic moment, picturing state licensed handgun carriers spraying 25% of their rounds into the public at large, of which I and my family are members. That thought kept me awake that evening.
Bruce stressed that there are two causes of gun accidents: Ignorance and Carelessness. Bruce described the three types of ammunition malfunction: Misfire, where the firing pin strikes the cap and the powder fails to ignite. If this happens, remain in the firing position, count to 15 and then eject the round. Hang fire, a misfire that ignites before the 15 seconds is up. Squib load, a round that is for whatever reason, underpowered. The bullet will only travel partway down the barrel. If the shooter pulls the trigger and fires another round, the results can be catastrophic failure of the weapon, and possible injury to the shooter. Bruce continued with the four safety rules, which form an acronym: BANK.
- Be sure of your target and backstop.
- All guns are always loaded.
- Never point your weapon at something you are not willing to destroy.
- Keep you finger off of the trigger until you are ready to fire.
In between cigarette breaks, Bruce taught us how to squeeze the trigger. "Think of it as pushing a button, the moment the gun fires, it should come as a surprise, don't anticipate the moment, you will flinch and throw off you accuracy". "Your trigger finger should touch the trigger only when you are ready to fire". Bruce continued. "To reduce the amount of side-to-side motion when pulling the trigger, you should have a little space between your trigger finger and the side of your Ha-weapon." Bruce showed us how to sight the gun on the target.
During the next cigarette break, the 40ish overweight woman in the class told my wife about a childhood incident in which she had shot a neighborhood boy in the face with a BB gun. The boy had been taunting her, she had gotten in trouble for it. The local sheriff had forbade her from having any access to weapons until she was 18. "That was years ago". She said. "Now I would like to have a gun around as my niece is on meth and I am afraid of the people she hangs around with". She flashed a brief stained snagglepuss of a smile, then laughed the hacking laugh of one of Phillip Morris's finest. The sort of laugh that starts out sounding like a whoopee cushion full of Jell-O, but trails into a short cough and finally a prolonged throat clearing. For a man, such a laugh usually ends with a spit of phlegm then a reach for the pack of Camel Filterless in the breast pocket. It's easier to get the goods farther in the lungs after you've just hacked out a big blockage. Prime time for a smoke! Hanging out in the break room during blue-collar jobs that I had, I always wondered if the workin’ man smokes to shorten the misery of his existence.
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