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Becoming The Armed Man

Becoming The Armed Man Vol. 4, No. 1: Fall 1991 any real pleasure. I never was coordinated enough to become a truly firstclass shot, but I did okay. I could sometimes feel that powerful satisfaction of having done something important when I pulled the trigger and the bird fell or the deer went down. Then one night in the spring of 1969,when I was in my late teens, some friends and I went out “hunting” on a north Texas ranch. That night we weren’t acting like sportsmen looking for game to bring back home. We rode in a jeep, wore camouflage clothes, and covered our faces with charcoal. We just wanted to kill something. Around midnight we came across a tree full of raccoons and opened fire with our shotguns. We wounded four or five of them; they started to scream and their cries sounded just like human babies. They all fell out of the tree and ran away, dragging hurt legs and trailing blood. We spent the next four hours chasing them down so we could mercifully finish them off. By morning the power of my weapons no longer excited me. Instead I felt ashamed of the thoughtless contempt I had http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Public Culture Duke University Press

Becoming The Armed Man

Gibson, J. William
Public Culture , Volume 4 (1) – Oct 1, 1991
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Publisher
Duke University Press
Copyright
Copyright 1991 by Duke University Press
ISSN
0899-2363
eISSN
1527-8018
DOI
10.1215/08992363-4-1-71
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

Vol. 4, No. 1: Fall 1991 any real pleasure. I never was coordinated enough to become a truly firstclass shot, but I did okay. I could sometimes feel that powerful satisfaction of having done something important when I pulled the trigger and the bird fell or the deer went down. Then one night in the spring of 1969,when I was in my late teens, some friends and I went out “hunting” on a north Texas ranch. That night we weren’t acting like sportsmen looking for game to bring back home. We rode in a jeep, wore camouflage clothes, and covered our faces with charcoal. We just wanted to kill something. Around midnight we came across a tree full of raccoons and opened fire with our shotguns. We wounded four or five of them; they started to scream and their cries sounded just like human babies. They all fell out of the tree and ran away, dragging hurt legs and trailing blood. We spent the next four hours chasing them down so we could mercifully finish them off. By morning the power of my weapons no longer excited me. Instead I felt ashamed of the thoughtless contempt I had

Journal

Public Culture – Duke University Press

Published: Oct 1, 1991

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