GUNS – Like the rest of rural America, Frenchtown has enjoyed its guns. Shooting matches were held on “the flat” (now Borough Park) a century ago, one of which, in 1899, attracted legendary sharpshooter Annie Oakley.
Often the prize for one of these contests was an animal. For example, Johnson Warford and a Mr. Gilmer tied in a Dec. 31, 1902, shooting match and became co-owners of a big bull.
Another news report from that era gives the results of another contest: National Hotel owner William C. Apgar, winning a $20 gold piece; Stewart Carty, a 1,400-pound bull, and Borough Marshal Godfrey Hawk, $10 in gold. The journalist claims that Apgar “could easily have won all three of the prizes, but he so thoroughly despises selfishness that he wouldn't do it. It is claimed that he can drive a nail at forty paces with that gun of his...”
But there has been some collateral damage. At least four Frenchtown residents have accidentally, and non-fatally, shot themselves over the years.
Johnson Warford, who would later be manager of the Warford House, was a skilled and enthusiastic marksman. But in September 1882, while loading a rifle, a “cartridge exploded” and the bullet went almost clear through his foot, reported the Star. His gait was impaired at least temporarily.
Hugh Robinson (1865-1940) was shot in the hand by a revolver he was handling, according to the Dec. 4, 1889, issue of the Star.
Young Raymond Loper (1888-1956) shot himself in the foot with a revolver on the morning of July 8, 1900.
In 1923, not knowing it was loaded, C. Arthur “Bricky” Britton picked up a rifle in his store, the Britton News Agency, and shot himself in the arm. Happily, the bullet missed the bone.
I've enjoyed shooting targets, but never hunted -- except once. Sort of. Back in '77 I'd just moved into my house on Twelfth Street, and it was overrun by mice. So I set traps. One evening I saw a mouse sitting on a trap on the kitchen floor, eating the cheese. So of course I got a .22 revolver, loaded one bullet, and took a shot at him. The bullet went low (I never said I was a marksman) and blew the trap apart, sending the mouse several inches into the air.
He came down disoriented and fled in my direction. With an empty gun, I let him pass. Later I found that the bullet had penetrated the Linoleum flooring, hit the baseboard and ricocheted, landing in the middle of the kitchen floor. The takeaway: Shooting a gun in the house is more dangerous than you'd think!
Until about 1982 there was a shooting range on the riverbank at the foot of Twelfth Street, just far enough north to be in Alexandria Township. It was a place where hunters went to sight-in their guns, but I used to shoot tin cans there. The backstops were railroad-tie bulkheads built into the riverbank – one for short-range and one for long-range. Shooting was done to the north – toward Milford. The railroad trail was not in use yet, so the chances of shooting anyone were small.
From “Rick's Frenchtown Encyclopedia”
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