Maggie's drawers...

Just when you think you've seen everything, up pops a surprise that takes you back to an earlier time in your life and brings back a whole flood of memories.  Such was the case when Pam and I were walking thru the Tawawa Park here in Sidney a couple of weeks ago.  Aside from the beautiful trees and scenery, we came across an old firing range right in the middle of the park.

It is really amazing to have found this old range right in our back yard.  It is also special that the city has preserved it and provided documentation to let people know what something like this is and what it had to do with the war effort back in the 1940s.

I recalled a time in my early military career when I was assigned to the 342d MP Co. and we would go to the rafle range at the Blue Rock State Park, just below a little town called Duncan Falls in southern Ohio.  It was carved out of the forest and was a no-frills range used by the Army and the Ohio National Guard.  We would go there for the weekend and would fire our rifles (M-14s at that time) and our pistols (.45 cal.).  Everyone had their own assigned rifle, but we were not allocated enough pistols so we would all use the same dozen that we had in the company.  By the end of the day, they were caked with gun powder residue and it seemed like the barrels were wobbling around and ready to fall out at the next firing order.  But that was the way it was after Vietnam -- the Army was being drawn down and absolutely no money was being spent on weapons, ammo, updating equipment or maintenance.  It was not a very happy time to be in the military and those who stuck it out were generally treated with scorn and disdain.

But anyway, back to the range.  Part of the duties we all had at that time were range guards (the two guys who were assigned to sit out at the entrance to the range and make sure no unauthorized personnel came into the area), ammo detail guys (filling the magazines and delivering them to the firers on the firing line), range safety NCOs (those NCOs who would stand behind the firers observing their rounds, hits, misses, and coaching the firer), range safety officer (he didn't do much, but his butt was on the line if anything went wrong or anyone got hurt), the tower crew (called out the firing commands and firing orders),  and the real grunts of the weekend -- the pit crew.  In these old days of ranges, there were no computerized firing lanes, pop-up plastic targets, and computer generated score cards.  Everything was done by hand, and scores were kept with pencil by the firers coach on a paper score sheet.  This led to a lot of jawing about hits and misses and even something known as "pencil whipping" the course.  In fact, it was well-known that a pencil was about the same diameter as a .45 cal. round so if someone needed a few more hits to qualify, it was not uncommon for a coach to "pencil fire" a few holes into the silhouette and help his buddy.

It was also the responsibility of the pit crew to indicate the number of hits and misses after each event.  Since the lanes were so long and it would eat up too much time to walk from the firing point to the targets in order to count scores, the pit crew member would hold up a long red paddle and raise and lower it each time for the hit total.  After all the hits were recorded, he would waive the paddle right and left to indicate that there were no more hits.  This was called the "Maggie's drawers" part of the firing order.  There were many rude and crude legends as to how this term came about, but the most common was that at this point, "the firer couldn't hit a bull in the ass with a bass fiddle." 

Most soldiers hated their assignment in the pit crew.  Even though you were safe behind the firing berm, you were always getting dirt and rocks over the top from rounds that came up short.  There were always splinters from the wooden frame that held the targets as real the good firers would simultaneously try to score enough points to qualify all the while trying to shoot out the sides of the frame and watch it fall down into the pit. This was a great source of laughter and humor for the firers, but invoked the wrath of the First Sergeant and the range safety officer, and there was usually hell to pay for that.  And then there was always the heavy, thick grease that continually had to be applied to the target apparatus to get them to go up and down.

This was the view toward the targets from the firer's perspective.  Obviously there were no trees in the way back then.

This shows where the pit crew would sit while the firers had at it.  The dirt mound in front and the cement wall were there to keep them safe, but not necessarily clean.

This was the view from the pit crew out toward the firers.

Even though these were long, dirty weekends, they were some of my fondest memories.  I was really a pretty good shot and really enjoyed outshooting most of the others in our company.  I have to admit I couldn't outshoot our OPNS SGT (Barney) with the pistol, but I got even when it came to the rifle.  I also liked being in the field, and this was pretty much the start of my passion for always taking my troops to the field when I was a company and battalion commander. 

I know this method of firing was not very efficient, but it really taught a number of troops how to fire their assigned weapons. It taught us how to make each round count, and not to just "spray" rounds downrange hoping to hit something. 

But even more than that, it built unit cohesion and team work.  In those days, after a weekend at the range or in the field, you felt like you had accomplished something, you felt more like a unit, more like a team.  You got to know each other better and knew each others strengths and weaknesses and knew how to get things done --  both by the book and by the common sense method.  This was where many a soldier came to know his craft.

George Patton once said “...It is a proud privilege to be a soldier – a good soldier … [with] discipline, self-respect, pride in his unit and his country, a high sense of duty and obligation to comrades and to his superiors, and a self confidence born of demonstrated ability.”

If you've been there, you kinda know what this means.

Hooah