Grandma's Gun Control

I am originally from the mountains of central Kentucky. In this area, guns are not only traditionally kept, but most are used to put meat on the table. As a child, I remember Grandpa Miller, hunting year round to help support his large family. Grandpa was an excellent shot, and a decorated marksman of World War II. My grandmother was also a superior marksman, and hunted for meat, after Grandpa died.

I remember my uncles kidding her about shooting the chickens we had for dinner, one Sunday. She waited for two chickens to walk beside each other, then, shot the heads off of both of them, so she would only use one shell. In short, you didn’t mess around with Grandma Hazel Miller.

Early in 1969 Grandpa was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. After a few weeks in the VA hospital, he was sent home to die. He spent weeks in bed, with the family in agony, awaiting the inevitable.  To add to the worry, at this time my uncle David was in Viet Nam.  Between worrying about David and taking care of Grandpa and her four children still living at home, Grandma was a wreck.

Several boys, aged eighteen to early twenties, decided it would be fun to terrorize the old folks. Most of the young men from the area had moved north, to find work, so they assumed they could do whatever they wanted.

For more than a week these young men drove up and down McFarland Ridge, shooting porch lights, and the occasional window, or just in the air. They would always drive east, then come back, heading west, after about fifteen minutes. Grandma, burdened with the worries of her family, was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and these boys were pushing her over the edge.

Finally, early one morning, the boys went driving past and shooting their guns as they went by. Grandma had had enough. She got out of bed, wearing only the floor length, flannel night gown, that she wore every night. She got the 12 gauge, and went into the orchard that bordered the road. There she awaited their return.

A little while later the boys came tearing down the road, shooting and yelling. As they passed the orchard, Grandma stepped from behind the tree and let them have it. She unloaded both barrels into the side of the pickup.

The driver jerked the wheel to the right, and they left the road. They hopped the ditch, plowed through a fence and almost turned over. After they got the truck under control, they plowed back through the fence, returned to the road, and left the area as quickly as possible. They never returned.

My father saw the truck later. He told me that behind the drivers seat, was a whole big enough to throw a dog through. My Grandmother thought gun control meant hitting what you aimed at.

No one was hurt, but that incident bothered my grandmother for the rest of her life. She was SURE one of those boys saw her in her nightgown.