Hiram Bradley could swing a shotgun. Could he ever.

In a 17 year career of registered trapshooting, this Kentucky native was a 13-time Amateur Trapshooting Association All America, earning the team captain’s spot in 1968.  He dominated at the old Grand American grounds in Vandalia, Ohio, as both an amateur and an industry representative, capturing 21 Grand American trophies.  He shot nine 200 straights in competition at the Grand.

He took home the High-Over-All championship at Vandalia in 1965, just his third year of registered competition, breaking 959 X 1000 clays.  The next year, tied with 18 other shooters in the preliminary singles match, Hiram won the first shoot-off ever held under the lights at the Grand American.

Hiram Bradley broke records that had lasted years, including a 35 year old standard for consecutive singles breaks at 1,469 in 1967.   In eight different seasons, he averaged 99% or better in singles matches. 

In ’66 and ’67, Hiram Bradley shot averages of .9638   and .9637 to win the ATA’s All-Around Average Award.  He would win four zone championships and 16 state titles en route to his induction in the ATA’s Hall of Fame in 1990.

Also in 1990, Hiram was part of the Ohio ATA’s inaugural Hall of Fame class, sharing that honor with another fair hand at the trigger, one Annie Oakley.   Ironically, when Bradley began his registered trap shooting career, he taught high school English in Annie’s home town of Greenville, Ohio.

In the early ’70’s, Bradley would come home to Kentucky.  He kept a general store in Vest, Kentucky, before going back to teaching at Knott County Central High School. That’s where he met a young student named Eric Jacobs, already hooked on learning to shoot.

Eric remembers Hiram as the advisor to the school’s gun club.  The group did both rifle and shotgun shooting.  For the shotguns, they would set up throwers in the school parking lot and whang away at clays.

“Every so often,” Eric recalls, “he would do some exhibitions.  With the rifle, he’d put tape over a washer and shoot the hole out, or see home many times he could keep a .22 casing spinning…shooting from a .22!  I used to throw the casings for him.”

Bradley taught instinctive shooting to his high school students.  “ He’d say, ‘It’s just “point” and “shoot”.’ I first learned to shoot from the hip with him,” Jacobs laughs. “I heard stories from different guys about him grouse hunting and never raising his gun, making incredible shots.”

It was from Bradley that Eric became acquainted with the revolutionary autoloading Winchester Model 59 shotgun.  “His old 59 would rattle, it was so used.”

Eric remembers that Bradley would have his students disassemble his Model 59 in the classroom.

“Then we’d turn off the lights. In two minutes, working in pitch dark, he could put it all together again.”

Hiram helped youngsters find the right equipment for their needs.  “Hiram ordered my (shotshell) reloader for me,” Eric says, “and got me started loading with a MEC 600 Jr.”

Jacobs credits Bradley with instilling a quiet self-assuredness in his students.  Eric remembers shooting backyard clays with his wife Anna and friends, first with his own Model 59.  Using Hiram’s methods, Eric could break three clays thrown simultaneously…from the hip.  “Later, I used the Franchi (48AL 20 gauge). It was a little faster moving. I could consistently bust three clays off the thrower from the hip.  It was fun and fulfilling to believe in one’s self like that. Anna shot both the 59 and the Franchi well, too.”

Eric believes that “Thinking too much just makes us miss.  As I have gotten older I realize that more and more.”

All that thinking only has the game shooter’s head in the wrong place…about being afraid to miss. “The pressure of hitting comes from within ourselves,” Eric says, noting that keeping a clear head with laser focus on the target is the only remedy for overthinking, especially on a ruffed grouse careening off the point of a staunch Llewellin setter.

Jacobs grew up like most country boys, shooting a .22. In that enterprise, pressure came from the expectations of two generations of dead-eyes shots.

“My dad and grandpa were gifted with a rifle,” Eric recalls.  “My dad used to shoot wasps and yellow jackets flying!  I was amazed!”

Eric’s memories include his elders having him “ start nails in logs (with the .22).  We’d shoot from our old barn to the end of the log yard, near 75 yards. They taught me to strike matches at that distance with the .22.  Good memories.”

Eric always felt an urgency to perform well in front of his dad and granddad. But he never forgot that their shooting prowess came from pressure of quite a different sort.

“Grandpa would send Dad to guard the crop fields when Dad was just a kid.  You were only allowed so many (.22 cartridges) and had to bring back one animal head for each shell missing.  You got whipped for missing.”

“But then,” Eric says ruefully, “anything ate the crops, you got whipped, too.  It was a hard life.”