Bob Read
docbob@jayco.net

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Mid April, and the first warm Sunday afternoon of 1938. Warm enough for three generations of the Hart family to stretch lazily on a porch swing, on two chairs, the steps, and on the porch floor against the house. The family, as it did every Sunday afternoon, also included Lewis Reynolds who was adopted two generations ago.

Will Hart, grandfather, Justice of the Peace, Constable for the Village of Franklin, blacksmith, and wheelwright sat at the end of the swaying porch swing next to Lewis. Both were laboring to keep pipes lit, this requiring much tamping, knocking, and relighting. Grandmother Clara often poked a little fun by asking whether the two of them were smoking tobacco or matches. She was studiously ignored. Will was, in fact busily trying to organize a chew of Spark Plug tobacco which he attempted to enjoy simultaneously with the pipe. Will and Lewis were content, Will’s white and Lewis’s gray hair moving with the breeze and glinting in the sun.

Suddenly, Will jumped to his feet as quickly as his nearly seventy years permitted. With a barely concealed epithet he threw open the screen door and disappeared into the house. With a similar expression, Lewis Reynolds was right behind him. Nearly everyone followed this action with wonder, but Clara’s attention was focused on the lawn not far from the porch. Finally she pointed and gasped, "O no, not my favorite tom!"

The family quickly shifted focus and spied a yellow and white tomcat creeping across the lawn with a baby chicken in his mouth. The doomed chick was peeping with diminishing energy as tom headed stealthily toward a favorite dining spot.

Suddenly the screen door burst open with a crash that spelled the end of its square hanging, and Will emerged brandishing a revolver of substantial caliber. Lewis who was frantically stuffing shells in a twice-barrel twelve-gauge shotgun closely followed him. As Lewis finally loaded his gun and closed it to fire, he and the entire assembly were shocked by two rapidly spaced, loud reports from Will’s revolver.

All eyes went to the cat, which had now become a large ball of fur and blood. Lewis was so disappointed he had to relieve his feelings with a choice selection of blacksmith shop language which women and children pretended not to hear.

Clara dabbed a tear for the loss of her cat. Most stared at Will in wonder for they knew they had seen marksmanship of the first order. Will simply blew the smoke away from the revolver barrel, grinned, and asked, " Any questions?"

This story recalls a true event. The killing of a household pet and the firing of a revolver in city limits all by a municipal official. The action was applauded as a deed well done by many and accepted as a necessary act by even the most reluctant. Over a half century later this act would have angered a community and would result in civil action against the shooter. It is a profound measure of the change of a people from recognition of the hard decisions and actions needed to scratch a living to an easier life. One that permits us to show more care for all of God’s creatures.

All, that is, except fellow man.

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