A Slice of American Gun Culture: Be Rich, Be Frank

Buck taken with Model 94 Winchester

On the Internet news aggregator/discussion site, freerepublic.com, one of the posters/contributors posted an abbreviated version of the story to follow. This correspondent contacted Brad Cloven, the author. Brad fleshed it out a bit and included some excellent photographs. This correspondent did a little light editing, and believes it is a story worthy of a wider audience. It is more than a hunting and gun collecting story.  It is a slice of the American gun culture you seldom see in the old media.  From Brad Cloven:

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About 4 years ago, an online acquaintance I eventually knew In Real Life named “Rich”, (last name withheld for his family’s anonymity) and I were chatting about firearms. He mentioned he had a Winchester Model 94 lever action in .30-30, octagonal barrel, takedown, open sights, that his Great Grandfather had bought new in Seattle in 1898. Rich had no heirs who would care to have it. So, we kinda agreed that if-and-when he ever considered disposing of it, that he would call me, as I live just 40 miles away.

Two years passed, and Rich called: “I have four kinds of cancer, and I’ll be out in about 3 months.” Tragic. He had had a fascinating and good life, a loving wife and daughter, a great place in the woods, a 1973 Ford F250 HiBoy in pristine condition … and a gun collection.

“How’d you like to come buy me out?” he said. “What all do you have?” I asked. He listed out about 22 firearms, including the Model 94. “That’s a few more than I can handle, but can I bring a relative and friend?”

Model 1894 manufactured in 1898

So, a few weeks later, my brother-in-law, best friend and I went to Rich’s. He had them all carefully laid out on the dining room table. My U.S. Army Lt. Col. Ret. (artillery) brother-in-law saw the Springfield 1911, sat down in front of it and put his arms around it. That was going to be his, a 1942 WWII US Army model. I had dibs on the Model 94 and a Ruger Blackhawk flattop in .357.

We had a nice lunch with Rich and his wife and got down to business. We divvied up the guns among us three depending on our interests, taking 20 out of 22 guns. I ended up with several nice pieces.

We had a gentlemanly negotiation in which Rich offered them to us for too little money, we upped our offers, and settled on prices about 1/3rd of market. With several thousand dollars in a nice tall stack, Rich tapped them into place and said, “When we’re all done here, I’m taking this down to the Senior Center and donating it.”

And so, we have in our friend circle a drinking toast

“Be Rich!”

Which means exactly: “Be generous beyond any reasonable expectation.”

We went back to visit Rich two more times before he passed, and played poker and drank whiskey with a larger group of guys who had heard the story. I was out of country for the memorial service, but my best friends went.

Nowadays, the Ruger Blackhawk .357 with Buffalo Bore Heavy 357 Mag Outdoorsman bullet is my just sufficient anti-Griz gun.

The Model 94 was a bit tricky. It had a headspace problem, and I tried for a couple of years to get that fixed, but nobody with skills and parts could get it done. Eventually, I tried different ammo which largely eliminated the problem, and worked closely with an Oklahoman gunsmith I encountered in Tel Aviv to understand that the problem was never going to be dangerous for shooting.

So, this fall, I hunted Mule Deer in SE Washington State with Rich’s Model 94. That territory is wide open, with long shots being the norm. This fall, I heard of about 12 bucks that were taken (3 points on one side minimum), the shortest shot was about 300 yards, and the longest was 600 yards.

 

Wide open area of the hunt

700 yards up on that rugged mountain several years ago, I encountered a guy named “Frank” (Frank Xavier Reisinger, Jr., Scappoose, OR) who was 97 at the time. He had shot a nice buck the year before at age 96 at 413 yards, verified by rangefinder. His family had helped him out with the meat.

Frank is a WWII Navy Submariner. He’s tough as nails. I’ve seen him up there several years including this past Fall of 2024 at the same place, posted up for Mule Deer.

I asked him how he stays in such good shape: “Before I get up out of bed each morning, I stretch and flex all my muscles, move all my joints as far as they can go, then I get up and use my 5-pound weights. I had to back off of the 10 pounders last year. Then I go for a walk.”

Frank, WWII Submariner, on the mountain, with gear

On the eighth day of hunting season this past year, Frank hurt his hip on the top of that mountain. “Yeah, I had to crawl out with my rifle and pack back to the Jeep and waited a few hours for the family to come back down and take me back to camp.” Frank turned 101 years old this past November.  He says it’s a 50/50 chance he’ll be hunting next year … at 102.

So, we have a toast in my friend group:

“Be Frank!”

Which means exactly: “Live to a ripe old age and stay in great shape.”  On to my hunting story. I had 7 days of poor luck, with dozens of does, and several legitimate shots on 2×2 bucks that didn’t meet the 3-point criteria. But I’m regularly stalking big groups of deer as close as 25 yards, so I’m feeling pretty good about the possibility of getting a short shot with open sights.

On Day 7, I ran into a young guy who spent more money on his scope than I had in everything on me. The dude was totally kitted out. I have no idea how many thousands of dollars his rifle scope cost. His rifle was a wonder of modern technology, with silencer / muzzle brake, a spectacular carbon fiber tripod brace for his spotting scope and rifle, etc.

He and I discussed the herds we had seen, and how we had followed each other’s footprints around the area a couple of miles out past the last road. We got friendly fast, and he told me of a couple of bucks out in a certain cliff area that was way too hard for me to hike at age 63. But we agreed that he’d go hike the cliffs, and if he knocked a buck down to where I was, he’d be happy if I shot it.

94 Winchester on the bank of the Snake Rive

For the next couple of days, I set up to intercept any buck he moved my way. Day 8, lots of does, and 2 different 2x2s at 50 yards. No shot. Day 9, I’m up in this crenelated basalt wall perch with grass sticking out the top, a perfect hide. There are about 20 does and fawns splayed out below me. No bucks … until one rounds the corner about 350 yards out, way too long a shot for open sights. So, I track him in with the binoculars until he’s at about 200 yards, and I can’t count how many points, but it’s a forest of tines up there, so I’m sure he’s legal.

Winchester 94 on crenelated wall hide

Then he wanders left into some thick undergrowth, and I lose him. I keep looking out further to the left to see if he’s after the does on the far side of the thicket. Nothing. Dang. Lost him. I go back and scan the right side of the thicket, and he’s come back out, is at 100 yards and closing! I set Rich’s Model 94 in a slot of the basalt, pull back the hammer and peer through the tall grass while the buck comes straight at me. No shot.

He stops at 75 yards, turns left 90 degrees, and gives me the perfect side to side shot. Drilled him through both lungs.

I’m so freaking excited! But he’s kinda loping around the field like he might make a run for it. I’d hate to lose him in the thicket, the wide-open country, or have him suffer any. So, as he’s stumbling away at 80 yards, I take a head shot. Miss. At 100 yards, head shot, miss. At 125 yards and lurching about, head shot, connected through the brain and out the right eye socket. He drops in place.

That’s a dead deer, so I’m comfortable walking right up. Yup. He’s a goner. 7:15 a.m. Rack is huge on a medium sized animal, 4 points x 5 points. Well over 200 pounds.

Luckily, it’s a cold morning and I’m hard up against a mountain to the South. I know I have lots of time before the sun hits the carcass.

Brad and the buck (image is reversed)

I don’t have my butchering gear and bags with me, and I could use some help. I hike out 2 miles, go to Frank’s camp for assistance, and nobody but the lady of the camp is there. So, I head back in with my meat pack and knives, and get busy butchering.

As I’m going through the motions, I notice the small entry wound, and no exit wound. Weird. Skinning my way down the far side, and my knife hits the mushroomed .30-30 bullet just under the skin. I’ve got in hand the bullet that took the deer!

Bullet recovered from buck and .30-30 case

When I’m almost done at 11 a.m., two guys from Frank’s camp show up to help. One carries out the head, the other carries out one hind quarter, and I carried out about 65 pounds of meat and bones in my pack, all of us in one trip! Back at Frank’s camp, I have a great picture of me, Frank, the head of the buck, and the rifle in its  rack.

Got the meat down on salted ice water immediately. Gave away all my excess food and beer to Frank’s camp mates. Beat feet back to civilization with a whole lot of excellent venison for the year.

All of which is to say,

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THANK YOU, MY DEARLY DEPARTED FRIEND, RICH.

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I will never have a more meaningful hunt.

And to all my fellow Hunters and Firearms Enthusiasts:

BE RICH!

BE FRANK!

Brad Cloven

Tacoma, WA

Source: http://gunwatch.blogspot.com/2025/06/a-slice-of-american-gun-culture-be-rich.html