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Monday, February 22, 2010


This was one of the stops on Les' morning route, along with the post office and some pawn shops. He was such a regular here that he had his own stool in the front of the store. At times he was a little embarrassed by his predictability, like the day the UPS man walked in and delivered a package to him while he was visiting with me. It was not unusual for his family or friends or customers to look for him and usually catch him here either. Les was pretty outspoken and had strong opinions on a lot of things. Once he got into a "discussion" with a man over gun control laws just as he was leaving. His blood pressure and frustration got the better of him and he started spinning the wheel on the book press I keep on the counter. Point! And he'd give it a twirl that sent the press plate down. Counterpoint! and he'd fly it back up again. Point! Counterpoint! Up and down! I'd guess it was the best workout that poor machine ever got but I am still not sure who won that argument. Eventually they did patch up their differences and future discussions were a lot mellower. Les was directly responsible for the underground shooting range that bears his name and was instrumental in running the Northwest Montana Arms Collectors Association. One of the guys dealing with him said Les was the 800 pound gorilla: what he wanted, he got. Les' soft spot was for his dogs. He babied them, and probably came to close to killing them with kindness. He had spaniels, Chesapeake's, Irish Setters and a mix of mongrels and strays he took in over the years I knew him, and he usually had at least one dog with him all the time. TBC (Me)