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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Alan Liere: My magic closet

Many years before my wife passed away, she was re-organizing the shelves in our walk-in closet and came upon a lump under several layers of folded towels. “What’s this?” she asked, extracting two long cardboard boxes.

“I dunno,” I lied, coming to stand beside her as she knelt to examine them.

“Hmmmm,” she said as she opened one of the mystery boxes. “There seems to be a shotgun in here.”

“You’re kidding!” I exclaimed. “I’ve been lusting for a 12 gauge Benelli automatic, and here’s one hiding in my closet!”

“I wonder what’s in this other box?” my wife asked innocently. Lo and behold! There was another Benelli automatic, this one a 20 gauge!

“That’s crazy!” I enthused. “A matching pair of Benelli shotguns. Keep looking darling – perhaps you’ll find that pony I always wanted.”

Actually, having a gun collection was completely contradictory to the frugal nature I developed as a child. I began bird hunting in 1962 with my father’s old double-barreled Baker 16 gauge. I figured it would be the only gun I ever owned.

The gun stock broke 7 years later. Newly married, financially embarrassed and facing a bird season with no weapon, I found another side-by-side at the old Sportsman Surplus in Spokane for $150 – a spanking-new Ithaca 12 gauge double barrel. It was my only gun for the next 20 years.

I was in my forties before I became interested in big game hunting. I bought a .30-30 Marlin with a peep site and a .25-06 Remington with a scope. I started hunting whitetail, then went after antelope and caribou. Along about the same time, I got a royalty check for a wildly unsuccessful first book, and I spent it on a sweet little Ithaca double SKB 20 gauge.

I went from one to four guns in just a few months, and I convinced myself I needed – deserved – even more. A gun was not just a tool; it was a friend, an investment, a work of art, security – and proof I was no longer on a weekly budget with no wiggle.

A friend came by to shoot a Remington Model 1100 he had just purchased and was going to sell. I shot it at clay targets, couldn’t miss, and saved him a trip to the gun show. A month later, he came by with a classic 1951 Model 70 .30-06, and I bought that too. Another friend needed cash and I bought his .22-250.

At a Safari Club dinner/auction, I bought a Remington 870. I thought it would make a great turkey gun and I stashed it in the safe. Then, from another fundraiser, I brought home a Benelli Nova – a perfect lay-in-the mud goose gun.

My daughter, Katie, decided she wanted to hunt, and I bought her a 20 gauge Browning Citori over and under. Alas, Katie’s hunting instincts lasted only long enough for her to capture the heart of a hunter. She left the gun moldering in my safe until I decided it was mine again.

Which brings me back to that original 16 gauge Baker I gave my son 25 years ago.

He re-blued the barrel and had it fitted with a nice stock. He didn’t hunt big game, and it has been his only gun for many years. When I talked with him in September, though, he said he wanted to try antelope hunting next year, and he was very impressed with the story of the new acquisitions found in my magic closet. He said he’d check his own closet.

And you know what? He eventually found exactly what he wanted.