Fred Leatherwood always wore a red plaid wool jacket and drove a peculiar colored bluish green Ford pickup. He was a quiet man with dark hair and a narrow, wispy mustache. I'm not sure what he did for a living, probably drove a truck or ran heavy equipment. He was also an officer at the Sportsman's Club on the small island near the Canadian Border where I grew up.
Every 15-year-old boy, and sometimes a girl or two, ended up in Fred's gun class. The equivalent of the village elders — tough,...Full Story