I had gone 50 straight in the preliminary event on Sunday, carrying into those rounds six targets, having dropped a low # one doubles in the round before (remember, in those days the doubles were shot after the singles had been completed). This gave me 56 straight targets going into the championship event. My first round on Monday was straight, and when some of the locals realized what was happening, they started to provide some verbal encouragement which only added to the growing tension. When I broke high # two of the doubles, and achieved the 100, I wasa nervous wreck...but the worst was yet to come. I finished the second round straight, and more gathered to watch, since Laurie Saulnier had already finished his perfect 100--and I was the only one left with any chance to catch him!

In the third round I passed singles # one, # two, and # three, but by the time it was my turn at station four, directly in front of the 'pull' house where the crowd was standing, I was destroyed. I loaded two shells into the chamber of the Ithaca 37, pushed the action forward, and the gun went off into the ground in front of me. There was no gun or ammunition malfunction...just a terrified finger that was frozen to the trigger. I had been stopped at 112, and just as well--another station or two and I would have been ready for old Dr. Blanchard's establishment on the ‘point.'

Evan Thompson of Dartmouth, later to become Mari- time Referee-in-Chief, was refereeing and he lost no time in calling "lost bird," and quite correctly so (rules today have changed this call). I had lost the 'run' but the pressure was off, the concentration gone, and three more targets flew off into the sunset before I was through. The accomplishment was not much by today's standards, but almost 30 years ago it was enough -to warrant a personal letter from the president of C.I.L. and a specially manufactured badge. There would be other 100s, but that one was by far the toughest.

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