I got a call Wednesday night that I was only half-expecting. Bob Charlton, one of my oldest, dearest friends, had died from complications of Diabetes. He’s was 82. His wife said he didn’t make it out of Dialysis.

I saw Bob on Tuesday evening. He was not at all happy. He was delirious for the most part. It was not a good visit, but I did manage to yank him back to reality for a bit. I told him I had snagged a Marlin 336 on Gunbroker and wanted his opinion on boring it out to 38-55 or 375 WIN. Bob thought I’d made an excellent deal.

You all may know Bob. He was the Shotgun Editor for Gun Dog Magazine back in the ’60s and early ’70s. He’d lived a good part of his life in Prescott, Arizona, so he knew Bill Ruger fairly well. He also had some great stories about hanging with guys like Elmer Keith. He was a past president of Ohio Gun Collectors Association. He was a founding member of Fairfield Sportsmen’s Association.

This was the guy that got me into shooting. This was the guy who went with me on my first turkey hunt. This was the guy who took me to my first guns show and watch me buy my first Ruger.

I’m certain I was the last guy to go hunting with this fellow. I’m certainly the last guy to camp with him. I think I was the last guy to go with him to the range. I drove him up to his last OGCA show. Just after New Year’s, I drove him for his last trip out to Hibberd’s in Cleves. That had become his favorite place in the world. I tease John and Dave and call their shop Hibberd’s Adult Day Care. Bob had acquired the habit of calling them on the days he wasn’t coming in, so they wouldn’t worry.

At first, I did not understand why this guy, over 20 years older than me, was showing up at my place after work. I was still in college at the time. It didn’t take too long to figure out that Bob and I were similarly disposed to a great many things. When I got my first programming job the next year, I found myself dropping off at his place on the way home. I became part of Bob’s family.

Here’s a typical Bob story: A Visit With Bob

I’ve got gobs of Bob stories. Most of them would only take me 10 seconds to tell, but Bob had a way of drawing things out. Bob was kind of like Winnie the Pooh’s friend Owl. I don’t have many of them written down. I should probably do so before they fade. It didn’t take much to wind him up. Bob would see a Ruger pistol in the case at the Local Gun Store, and this would cause him to launch into a story about one of the times and Bill Ruger were hanging together and Bob slipped in a suggestion about a particular variation in one of their offerings. Usually, Bill would scoff and tell him he was out of his tree, but Bob would at least get a good laugh. Months later he’d get a letter from somebody in Ruger apologizing for the delay, but the project had been canceled due to a minor skirmish with the Laws of Physics. A half hour would go by and before he was done, we’d all gotten a thorough education in Ruger shop politics, obscure wildcat chamberings, the history of Arizona, and stories of wild goings-on at Shot Shows long past. Bob was the guy who encouraged me to write for the outdoors

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