From “The Witness Jose and Me” Allow me to take you back to my young dog days, A time when Rob had just started to climb up the ranks, Clark had yet to melt his first 45 and the Colt 45 was king of the hill and a Gold Cup was even better.
Now in truth at best I am just and average shot. I had won a few local match but this was unusual. This in no way stopped me from dreaming of running with the big dogs. And maybe my chance was just around the corner. You see my club was hosting a major match which would draw shooter from a four state area.
With a large supply of reloaded ammo and my tricked out Wetness I vowed to be match ready. Each night on my way home I would stop at the range and practice until sundown.
As fate always seams to have me in its sights the weekend of the match I had to work. My only hope was to race from work Sunday and hope to get to the match in time to shoot. So I pull into the match in the company truck in my dirty work uniform, work boots and a hat that said IBT (industrial belting and transmission).
There is less than an hour to shoot and all other contestants have fired the course but it is decided that I can shoot if I hurry up and get ready. So here I am loading Mags and reading the course of fire. The match is a jungle run with shoot and no shoot targets which will require a minim of 60 rounds. You are to take Jose who is wounded with you and traverse the course engaging targets on your left and right with two shots each. The rest was the usual does and don’ts. It turns out that Jose is a 120 lb. rag doll of approximately 6’ tall wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. The course was a logging road.
At the sound of the buzzer I grabbed Jose’s arm and away we go. At close targets I would shoot strong hand while holding Jose’s arm, more distant two hand weaver. Now I am no track star but everything seamed to be going well and I was pleased as I crossed the finish line.
At the finish line I was met by a group of my so called friends who wanted to know what Jose and I had been doing in the woods that would result in his jeans being around his ankles? The next group was much larger and most unfriendly and wanted me DQed. As it turned out my time and hits had me in first place. This was all new territory for me. So off we go to see the match director. The problem was that the first shooter carried Jose in a fireman’s carry and everyone else did the same but me. I could only point to the course of fire and the words “take Jose with you”. With this my so called friends piped up with “damm Charlie look at Jose with his jeans around his ankles, is there any doubt he’s been taken?” Not the help I needed. In the end it was decided that any means that got Jose across the finish line was ok. and I was the winner. What I took away from this match was the knowledge that there is a God and He has a sense of humor. R S