Cock the hammer, raise the revolver, lock my right arm and anchor my left in my jeans pocket. Line up my sights. Fire. It is Thursday morning and I am skipping class to shoot guns.
A .38 caliber revolver and a .22 caliber self-loading pistol, to be exact. In the bowels of U of T’s own Hart House, on a university campus with a zero-tolerance gun policy, I set my sights on a target 20 yards away. With muffled ears and sweaty palms, I put five bullets into the six-chamber revolver cylinder and prepare to take aim again.
Luckily, Michael Moore and Charlton Heston are nowhere in sight—I’m nervous enough as it is. But I do feel great after I complete the required safety and instruction course for the Hart House Revolver Club. Sweaty, but great.
Twenty-four hours earlier, I ranked among the many gun-shy students who walk the halls of Hart House. Now, however, I am beginning to understand why shooting enthusiasts have been converging down here from all over the city for decades.
It was just after the First World War that the Hart House Rifle Club opened its doors, making it one of the most quietly established groups on campus. Its sister group, the Revolver Club, came along as the Second World War drew to a close, again continuing a gentleman’s education.
But while there was a time when war and guns conjured up images of bravery and heroism in the mind’s eye, a combination of Michael Moore’s Bowling for Columbine, federal gun-control debates, and the unpopular display of American force in the international theatre has tipped the scales out of favour for Canadian gun-toting target shooters.
Hart House’s gun clubs are far from over, though. While public opinion and support may have waned, they continue to thrive. And judging by the boasted diversity of their membership, they’ll probably survive the present surging anti-war and anti-gun sentiment.
“We have a really broad membership, from all disciplines,” says grad student Frank Monozlai, describing the 203 individuals that make up the Revolver Club. Taking a cue from Sheila Copps, the Revolver Club’s secretary Eli Fidler reiterates, “We are extremely proud of our diversity.”
Sounds like a load of hokey Canadian rhetoric to me. I was sure the clubs would yield a majority of trigger-happy Calgarian cowboys blowing off some steam. But as I looked around the narrow and disgustingly hot basement range, I was struck by the undeniable truth—the clubs are quintessentially diverse. On one side sit two second-year humanities students with hip, shaggy haircuts. One clad in a Pink Floyd concert T-shirt, the other in a navy hoodie, they are waiting for their turn to shoot. A few steps away, an elderly gentleman is busy picking out his pistol of choice. I’m told that he’s participated in almost every competitive season of the Metro Toronto Pistol League since 1955.
Rifle Club member Deanna Langer, whose grandfather was a gunsmith and mother a target shooter, is a grad student of medical biophysics. Jessie Reynolds, a new Revolver Club member, is in her third year of a criminology degree. Paulo Rodrigues is studying computer engineering, and is a member of both clubs. The list goes on and on, and encompasses not only all types of students, but also legal, medical, and business professionals.
Senior member and Pistol League champion in his own right, Damian Kanarek is convinced of the clubs’ greatness. Now a member of the Hart House Board of Stewards, its highest in-house governing body, Kanarek is sure that if it wasn’t for the use of firearms, the Revolver Club would probably be held up as an ideal Hart House collective. “We have broad student and senior membership, appeal across disciplines, diversity…and we generate a profit for the House,” he says.
The curious and intrepid men and women who come do so for a variety of reasons. What they have in common is a certain passion and intrigue for shooting guns. Stephen Peringer, secretary of the Rifle Club, has always liked any sport that involves projectiles. “Baseball pitching, darts, archery…shooting is just a logical extension.”
While some simply like to shoot, others have ulterior motives. Classic civilizations and political science student Jesse Few has aspirations of being a police officer—“being able to fire a pistol would probably come in handy,” he says. A “Zen sport” is what one 10-year club veteran calls rifle shooting. “If you’re very still, you can see your sights moving with the beat of your heart,” he says. He prefers to remain unnamed, but adds with a shrug of the shoulders, “I’m a member of the old guard.” Enough said.
Hesitation and wariness to talk about their sport generally mark the attitudes of many gun club members. At Hart House, the sport has been particularly sensitive to outside attention. In November of 2001, operation of the two clubs was put on an indefinite hiatus after Michael Brassard, a range officer and safety instructor of the Rifle Club, was arrested on weapons-related charges in the subway. According to Toronto police, Brassard had a loaded .45 calibre handgun concealed in his belongings. A search of his home led to 74 weapons-related charges involving more than 50 guns.Although “Brassard’s actions had nothing to do with club activity,” stresses Kanarek, scandal subsequently rocked Hart House, and the decision came down from the Board of Stewards: the clubs would be closed until certain safety and procedural changes were met.
The “changing of the old guard” was just one such requirement. A flock of fresh faces came in when the clubs re-opened in January of 2003, rejuvenating the membership. But the rash of media attention and anti-gun sentiment following Brassard’s arrest has put many members, new and old, on the defensive.
One new Revolver Club member describes her time on the range as “very restful and relaxing.” When asked her name, however, her only reply is, “I’m faculty at this university.” A knowing look tells me the acceptance of professors firing guns is still a long way off.
Kanarek shrugs off the criticism. “A lot of people express an opinion without coming down to check it out,” he adds with a shake of his head. “I may not like drunk drivers, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to complain or protest against alcohol on campus.”
The distinction between irresponsible and criminal gun use and the kind of gun use that goes on at Hart House is emphasized again and again. “For the most part, we’re just shooting paper,” explains Nicholas Charland, a third-year paleontology student and new Rifle Club member. Another member acknowledges that gun possession is a contentious issue, but one she has resolved: “Well, I’m anti-gun too…out of the range.”
As I replay the old adage “guns don’t kill people, people kill people” in my head, I’m debriefed on the extensive safety precautions taken by the two clubs to ensure that, even on the range, the guns are made as innocuous as possible. Not only is there a new $20,000 motion-sensitive alarm system for potential intruders, Charland assures me that compliance with every regulation is triple-checked.
The clubs’ unblemished safety record is somewhat comforting as I lie prone with a .22 caliber rifle resting on my shoulder. I’ve been instructed by Charland, a member of the rifle team, to “take a big breath, breathe out, aim, then fire.” My hand is shaky and the damn gun won’t stay still. My breathing is anything but controlled. Shot. Reload. Shot. I squeeze the trigger 10 times. Ten tiny holes appear one by one on a distant piece of paper.
Trembling slightly and dripping with sweat, I am starting to like this. Of course, it is so damn hot.
Photography by Simon Turnbull
