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......   :-)