Enderlines
We still have some stories regarding WW I veterans, but that will wait for a while.
Merle Foss has written two stories regarding growing up. The first involves rubber band “rifles”. I wrote a similar article 11-7-05. Our weapons of choice were Hand “rubber” guns. If Merle and John would have come into town there could have been a showdown with the city kids at the O.K. stockyards. Our “ammunition” was knotted rubber inner tube bands. The Foss boys would not have stood a chance.
When you read on, in Merle’s story, you will come to the realization that we are lucky to have him around. He must have developed that wonderful brain of his after coming to Enderlin.
Merle’s story:
“IDLE HANDS SPELL TROUBLE”
As kids growing up on our 160 acre flat land farm with only one wet slough we were never left alone. But on this hot Saturday morning in mid-summer Dad was dropped off at our one-room Moore School to help make roof repairs, and Mom took our younger sister, Mary Lou, to Valley City to see a skin specialist. Older brother John and I were all alone and that sense rushed through us as we eagerly planned our fun for the day. Not a feeling of being abandoned, but one of anticipated unbridled freedom to do as we pleased.
It was war time and there was much emphasis on guns and war games were being played during our loosely supervised country school recess periods. Dad had rough- sawed down soft 2 by 4 boards to make rubber band “rifles” for us. And we whittled and sanded on them to suit our individual liking. The single board “forepiece” was squared off and had a lower hand drilled hole into which a short black pipe “barrel” could be inserted. The ballistic end of this field–piece was a thin band of 600 x 16” car tire inner-tube stretched full length and held back by a wood clothes pin nailed to the rounded “receiver”. To fire, you aimed along the weapons full length and triggered the clothes pin by pressing down on its top lever.
The effective range of the flying rubber band was 10-15 feet and only smarted a bit if you were “wounded” on exposed skin. We played this game of war in the house, hiding behind furniture, stoves, and partially opened closet doors hoping to ambush an unaware “enemy soldier”. The guy on patrol would count to 15 while the potential ambusher would hide. Then the game was on with two points for hits above the belt in the chest area and one point for all other body areas. First G.I. to 10 was the winner of the battle. This scoring system led to many arguments about who fired first, where did the shot hit, you were dead and could not have fired, etc. We had played this game many times before with John usually winning. We looked for bigger and more exciting things to do and we soon found them.
Enderlin is located about 40 miles southeast of Valley City and our homestead was 4 ? miles west of town which made it closer. Mom had done the math, saying she would be back home in time to cook supper and that Daddy would be working as a volunteer all day. Plenty of idle time for us! Our next move was a major step up as we took down the 12 gauge double barrel shotgun with its twin triggers and large exposed gnarled hammers. It was Grandpa Whitson’s gun but he left it for Dad to use for predator control and some bird hunting when time permitted. The loan was made with a warning to not discharge more powerful high-base shells that might damage the special Damascus twist steel barrels.
The gun hung in ready position on high hooks in the small work shed adjoining the kitchen. For us, inconveniently placed above the hand-crank cream separator. A sturdy chair was pulled into position and the taller brother John leveraged the heavy weapon off its hangers while I steadied the chair. We pushed the thumb lever to the side and the barrels cracked open to expose two federal low-based shiny brass unfired shot shells. Carefully closing the action, our excitement grew as we agreed that we would not fire it but just set the stock butt on the floor and cock back the barrel hammer. It’s not clear what happened next but I will never forget the deafening sound of the explosion and the strong acrid smell of burned smokeless gunpowder in that small room. The number 6 bird shot held a tight pattern out the fully choked barrel, passed through the open window space and made a neat, round 2-inch hole in the screen. We recovered from the shell shock and reasoned that it was best to remove the spent shell casing from the chamber before hanging the gun back in place. Nobody knows but us. Nobody got hurt, what’s next?
Next was an old army shell we had found earlier while digging through junk in the combination firewood and the valuable scraps saved for future repairs shed. It was dull and corroded when found but we had secretly polished the brass casing to a soft and shiny sheen before hiding the round back in the wood shed. The copper clad bullet was even shinery and raised still a higher level of excitement for us as it appeared much larger than lead 22 bullets we had seen. The end of the casing was stamped 30-40 Krag and we wondered what that meant. Our next decision was mutual as we selected a two-pound, short handled, square headed hammer and headed out past the outhouse, down the path through the woods. Our destination was a large flat rock lying on the west edge of the windbreak trees, about where Dad had built a smudge the night before to help the cattle fight off the mosquitoes.
Almost as ritual the round was placed in the center of the rock with the bullet facing away. We kneeled down and took turns pounding on the shell. One swing each and replacing it if it moved. I believe we knew it was going to explode and that is what we wanted. Big brother got in the unlucky hit and the noise of the explosion was, once again, ear-splitting. No flying shrapnel as the case blew open out its side and the bullet stayed in place. This time the evidence had to be hidden and so was shoved under the rock. But we knew we would have to come up with a good story to explain the powder burns on John’s right pounding hand and, oh yes, also that hole in the work shed window screen.”