So we're returning from a North Dakota pheasant hunt one October, and we finally hit the house in Eden Prairie.  Wayne had been sitting in the back seat of my buddy Tadd's extended cab reading hunting magazines, and had been reading an article about Benelli shotguns.  Wayne had won a Benelli a few years earlier at a Ducks Unlimited banquet, so when he hit the house, he just disappeared inside.

I start unloading the truck which is pretty full after a long hunt, and I grab two handfuls of gear and head downstairs towards the laundry room.  I get about halfway down the stairs, and all of a sudden I hear the loudest shotgun blast of my life coming from directly ahead of me in the basement.  I get downstairs, peer around the corner, and there is Wayne sitting on the couch holding this Benelli shotgun (it had never been shot before), and there is a big hole in my wall.

I pretty much lose it and yell "What in the #$&@ are you doing???"  All I get from Wayne is the deer-in-the-headlights look and a Jackie Gleason-like stammer "HAMAHAMAHAMAHAMA".  Since we lived in a four-plex at that time, I just assumed that he'd blown a hole through the common wall of our neighbor's basement and/or that the cops were showing up soon.

I ask him what happened, and he says that there was a shell in the Benelli and he accidentally touched the trigger.  I then ask him about Gun Safety 101 where you treat every gun as it is loaded.  More deer-in-the-headlights, so I can tell that he's about as shocked and flustered as I've ever seen him.

I finally calm down and take a look at the hole in the wall.  The firewall had stopped the blast, and all that was needed was some drywall being replaced.  My buddy Tadd is a general contractor, so I told Wayne that Tadd could probably fix it for us, but that Wayne was covering the cost of repairs along with a good steak dinner for Tadd and his wife Pam along with Sandy and myself (for scaring the sh!t out of me).  I also told him that I was "borrowing" his Benelli shotgun for all future hunts since it was obviously out of his league.  He readily agreed, and swore me to secrecy.

His secret was safe with all of us, but he had told Kathy about the incident who then mentioned to Bobbie Hunkins about what happened, and the secret spread like wildfire.  

The only time in my life I ever saw Wayne totally flustered and speechless, and I got the best shotgun I've ever hunted with as my reward......    :-)  

So we are down pheasant hunting in Elma, IA years ago in December, and on a Sunday morning, Wayne and his good friend Merle go road hunting around 8am.  It's a cold morning with ice and frost everywhere, and Merle (who was driving) had to be extra careful driving the back roads around Elma.

Both Wayne and Merle were chugging coffee all morning in an effort to keep warm.  Around 9:30 or so, they start heading back to Elma to meet the rest of us to organize some drives.  By this time, Wayne was on his 4th cup of coffee, and his finely-tuned sense of regularity had kicked in, so he was anxious to get back.

Of course on the way back, they spot a couple of rooster pheasants near a cornerpost by a patch of woods a couple miles from town.  By this time, Wayne really has to go to the bathroom pretty badly, but they make a plan and go after these two roosters.  They make a quick pinch, and Wayne makes a great shot to get one of the roosters, but the bird falls on a semi-steep sidehill near the woods on the fenceline.  Wayne trudges through the snow, but just as he's picking up the rooster, he hits an icy patch.  Both feet absolutely go out from under him, and he ends taking a header ending up flat on his back.

Unfortunately, Wayne's finely-tuned sense of regularity abandoned him immediately after hitting the ground.  He ends up walking back to the truck gingerly carrying the pheasant and his shotgun.  He's standing next to the truck when Merle asks him what's wrong, so Wayne gives him the messy details.

Merle starts giggling, and hands Wayne his pocket knife.  Wayne heads off to the woods to do some surgery on his underwear and "cleanse" himself by using oak leaves and snow.  Upon completion, Wayne tries to give Merle his knife back, but Merle tells him it's a present and that he can keep it forever.

They head back to town with the windows open.  Merle sees the rest of us and tells us all the entire gory story (giggling the whole time) while Wayne heads to the shower.

Elma is a small town of only 500 people or so, but Merle did his absolute best to tell everyone he saw that story.

Anyone who ever played golf with Wayne had to acknowledge that he had one of the uglier golf swings on earth, but he did like to play.

So one day, Wayne/I/Craig/Delwin head out to Oak Glen Golf Course in Stillwater to knock the ball around.  Teams were Delwin/I against Wayne/Craig, so on the par-5 2nd hole, Wayne pulls his second shot just over the water to the left near the 5th tee.  The four of us head over and find the ball, and Wayne is preparing his next shot.

Each tee at Oak Glen has a plaque mounted on a 7-foot 4x4 stud that tells you the hole number, distance, and picture of the hole.  I offhandedly mention to Delwin that if Wayne were to pull his third shot just a bit, he could hit this 4x4 stud head-on. 

Needless to say, that is exactly what happens.  Wayne drills a 3-wood straight into the 4x4 stud, and the ball comes screaming back at Wayne's head.  His Titleist just grazes the hair on top of his head, takes one big hop, and ends up back in the pond 30 yards behind him.

Wayne looks at the three of us with this goofy look on his face while checking to see if he lost any hair.  Del and I are laughing so hard that our eyes are tearing up.  Craig actually falls out of his cart on his face because he was laughing so hard.  Of course we made Wayne drop behind the pond he just ricocheted into, so he lost an extra 40 yards in distance and ended up with a 9 on the hole.

To no one's surprise, Wayne and Craig paid up a few bucks after that 18, but Wayne did get a free haircut out of the deal......   :-)
         

When Mike was growing up we had "Danger Dog" and a collection of 7 hamsters as pets.  One of Mike's hamsters was know as J Hamilton Bone the IV (Hambone).

On occasion, we would allow Hambone out of his cage to run around in our bed usually on a Sunday morning.  One morning I was in the kitchen making breakfast when I heard a blood curdling scream from the bedroom.  Wayne slept nude and Hambone was running loose in bed with him.  When I came to see what had happened, Wayne was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his penis with blood everywhere.  It appears that Hambone had taken a bite (thinking it was another hamster or, at least, that is what we surmised).

Hambone was immediately sent to his cage and Wayne was given first aid.  Lesson Learned.
 

Wayne loved men's league golf at the Adams-Friendship Golf Course.  Every Wednesday after golf, the gang would get together for drinking and gambling until the wee hours of the morning. 

All the wives had been instructed not to call the clubhouse for any reason unless it was a true emergency on that night as the other guys would give each other a hard time about being "whipped".  Wayne told me that I was not to call the clubhouse and ask for him unless " the house was burning down".

As it happened, a wind caused our burning barrel to throw sparks onto some dry weeds around the house (Wayne refused to have grass as he said that he would just have to mow it, so allowed the weeds to grow everywhere).  When I saw a strange light, I looked out the window and saw that our house was completely surrounded by fire.  I immediately called the clubhouse and asked for Wayne.  The bartender called Wayne to the phone and when the rest of the gang asked what was up, he told them he had to leave because his house was on fire.

Enough said. 

My first trip to the Arlington Race Track in Chicago was a new experience for me being a novice at betting and gambling in general.  I, of course, being from conservative parents refused to bet more than the minimum, always bet the favorite to show, and/or bet on the jockey or the jockey's colors, but most often I bet on a horse if I liked its name. Reading a turf sheet was foreign to me and seemed to be way too confusing.  I was told by Wayne that if I remembered nothing else, I should never bet on a gray horse or on a woman jockey as they were not winners.

Going into the last race, I was money ahead as I never risked more than the minimum.  Wayne, of course had spent all his money and wanted to borrow money from me to box some horses and, of course, make a big killing to recoup his losses. We had previously agreed that we would each only spend so much and when it was gone, it was gone.  I refused to give in on our original agreement and procceeded to make my bet.  There was a horse that had the weird name "Unit Wit" and even though the horse was a 30 to 1 shot, and was a gray horse with a woman jockey, I decided to bet the horse to win with all my remaining money (probably just to throw it in Wayne's face). He really wanted me to bet another horse but I stuck to my guns.  As my horse came around the last turn and headed for the finish line, we heard the announcer say and "Here comes U Nit Wit".  I collected my winnings and loved every minute of it.  There were some grumblings about "dumb luck" but I had made my point.  Revenge is Sweet.

After trying for three years to get a windbreak started on the west side of the house, I finally had little pine trees growing, with hopes of a beautiful stand in a few years. 

Wayne stopped by, and in the conversation, I mentioned I had to mow the lawn that day.  Being "helpful", he said, "I can do that for you!"  My reply was, "Let me go mow around the pine trees first because I know where they are!"  With the rider, I made two trips around them, leaving the trees down the middle, where you couldn't help but see them!  (Unless you were Wayne)

I took the camera out, to prove to Kathy that he DID mow the lawn, and here was Wayne, going right down the middle of my pine trees, mowing them to the ground!  
I have pictures to prove it!!

I never said anything, and he never knew, bless his heart!!         

While hunting Bob & Lyndall's farm in Camp Douglas during one Wisconsin deer season, I was tasked with driving their large ditch which had good cover for deer to hide.  We knew that the deer would quite often run out ahead of the drive to the far fenceline, and then hang a right to follow the fenceline towards the woods.

Wayne had the task of posting that same fenceline on that drive, and sure enough, I chased out a large doe who did exactly what we hoped by running to the far fenceline and turning straight for Wayne who was about 400 yards away posted four feet off of the same fenceline.  (Needless to say, he had plenty of time to see her coming!)

As the doe made a beeline toward Wayne, I watched/waited for the deer to get close enough for him to take the shot.  At about 30 yards, I fully expected Wayne to shoot, but nothing ever happened.  The deer actually ran within three feet of Wayne (we measured), but he accidentally hadn't closed the chamber on his rifle, so when he went to shoot, all he got was the sad "click" of nothingness.  Major "oops" for any hunter let alone one with 30 years of experience like Wayne.

When we met after the drive, I profused apologized to Wayne for not having driven any deer close enough for him to shoot.  Three feet away was obviously too far with anyone with a high-powered rifle with a scope, so next time, I'd get her to run within two feet of Wayne so that he could have a real chance!   :-)
            

So there I was:  a new player to the game of "Let it Ride" at the Fremont Hotel in Las Vegas, NV.  I was dealt three jacks, so I obviously Let it Ride.  Lo and behold, the fourth jack came up right away giving me four of a kind and a $750 winning hand.

Needless to say, I was excited by my luck and wanted to let Mike know of my good fortune.  Wayne had been watching me play this hand, and was just as excited as I was.  While the dealer was paying my winnings, Wayne scurried off to the Sportsbook to find Mike and share my good news. 

While I was very happy with getting a great hand, what made it memorable was watching Wayne excitedly "trot" over to tell Mike.  Even when he had two good legs, I didn't know Wayne could move that fast....        :-)