I’ve known Bob Story my entire life up to my current age of 63. He’s been a Lions Club member with me, a client of my office, a Boy Scout dad during my childhood, and most importantly, a friend.
At 92 years old, Bob doesn’t get around like he used to, and is currently a resident of Featherstone Assisted Living, which is where I conducted these interviews. He sold his distinctive Sooner truck with the OU flag proudly waving many years ago, but he’s still a die-hard Sooner fan.
Some of those stories will hopefully make it into a future article. While his vision and hearing are no longer what they used to be, his memory and recall are still razor sharp, even if the voice now shakes. His handshake is still firm and his smile is genuine, as is the laughter that frequents his conversations. “OU Bob” has some stories to tell.
As an avid hunter and fisherman for all his life, at age 92 Bob Story has seen more than most, some of which will never be seen again as it was a different era. Having been a long-time member of the Hickory Hollow Rod and Gun Club, some of my earliest memories from my childhood are with my Granddad Rector Swearengin on that lake.
Bob did the same during his childhood, back when agriculture was abundant, and wildlife, especially of the feathered variety was everywhere. Much of this history occurred before Lake Texoma was created (1944), so there were far fewer options for migratory birds to find places to rest and water.
At 13 acres, the lake at Hickory would barely qualify as a large farm pond today, but in the 30’s it was huge, and the talk of the town when 12 prominent businessmen known as the “Dirty Dozen” came to- gether in the 1920’s to build the lake and start the club. Stories of Hickory Hollow being black with ducks in the early morning and late afternoon are legendary. Indeed, the rule book from 1925 reflects that, with liberal game limits that would boggle the mind today.
Here’s an excerpt from that rule book. “Each member in good standing shall be entitled to kill up to 30 ducks per week between the hours of sunrise and sunset. Not more than 10 shall be taken during any one day.” Federal game limits at the time were 12 per day, 36 in possession, and 120 per year. The members from that bygone era took their duck hunting very seriously, as it further states: “Automobiles arriving at the property before daylight or while burning headlights during duck season are required to turn them off immediately upon entering the gate…no shooting shall be permitted during duck season before the sounding of signal by the (gate) keeper.”
While this was before Bob’s time (he was born in 1932), similar conditions prevailed during his childhood. Like many of us, Bob “lived” to hunt and fish as a child and got his start with a .410 shotgun (just like this writer). While short on firepower, it forced you to make every shot count. Bob had just such an opportunity to make those shots count in the early morning hours on a cold day in November of 1942.
Bob recalls: “My granddad R.F. Story dropped me off at the club before first light, probably 5 a.m. I put 3 shells in my pump shotgun and crept along behind the pond dam to get in position to take a shot when the sun rose. I could hear ducks quacking and wings flapping all over the lake. My heart was pounding in my chest as I waited for the sun to rise, and as the early morning light began to creep up over the lake, I realized there were so many ducks on the water that I couldn’t even see the lake.
“After peeking over the dam 3 or 4 times, I couldn’t take it anymore and I finally stood up and shouted, ‘Boo!’ The sound from their wings was deafening. There were hundreds of ducks in the air when I settled the barrel on one for my first shot. I pulled the trigger and saw it fall along with several behind it. I then moved to a second duck, and the same thing happened. Several more dropped after my third and final shot.
“After the smoke cleared, I had 13 ducks on the water. It took my granddad and me most of the morning to round them all up, as we had to wait for the wind to push them on shore. Even the gatekeeper came down to help. No one could believe it.While we were waiting, many of the ducks came back in and landed.”
Needless to say, the Story family had duck for dinner on more than one occasion over the following weeks.
Just to put this feat into perspective verses modern times, the best I’ve ever done was with a friend on a peanut field. We were both using 12-gauge magnum autoloaders that could shoot 3 of the magnum shells as quickly as you could pull the trigger. We emptied our guns on a flock that was coming into the field that day and knocked down 8 birds. Bob got 13 with three shots from a much smaller .410. It’s almost inconceivable.
Bob was also an avid goose hunter and had an interesting story to tell which involved my granddad Rector Swearengin, who called Bob during Christmas break asking if he wanted to tag along with him to deliver calendars on a cold December morning. It began to snow and sleet at 3 a.m., and by the time Bob drove to Rector’s insurance agency at 3rd and Main, there was black ice covering the road. Bob said,“It was slippery as Hell.”
Rector had coffee and donuts ready, but both agreed it was too hazardous to drive. While having coffee, their conversation was interrupted by a terrible commotion. They ran to the front door and watched a huge flock of giant Canadian geese attempt to land on the frozen street, apparently mistaking it for a lake. When they stepped out the door for a closer look, the flock took off, honking and flapping their wings making a terrible ruckus. Eight of the big geese had hit the road so hard when they attempted to land, that it killed or mortally wounded them. They rounded up the 8 geese, kept 2 for themselves, and took the rest to the King’s Daughters and Sons nursing home where they were prepared and later served for Christmas dinner. Eight geese harvested without having to fire a single shot.
(Another interview is planned with Bob to talk about vintage OU football.)
