Colonel L. Larson
(EDITOR'S NOTE: - Colonel Larson, one of the world’s most well-known trick-shot artists, died Sunday at Methodist Hospital, Rochester, of leukemia. This story, by R. K. Martinson of Eau Claire, Wis., was prepared for use in a magazine feature on the Whitehall, Wis., resident.)
By R. K. MARTINSON
Special to the Sunday News
He called himself the “last of the hired guns." He could draw his six-gun faster than you can blink your eye and could split well over 100 playing cards in a row with his rifle at 50 feet.
His name was Colonel Leon Larson and he held six world's records for marksmanship. In addition, he was a renowned trick shot artist, fast draw expert, rope twirler and could handle the bull whip with ease.
Larson traveled across America for the past 30 years demonstrating his skills and talking about gun safety. He performed at rodeos, sport shows, schools, fairs, festivals, circuses and gun clubs.
Laron’s colorful career came about because of an almost fatal attack of polio. As a youth in Chippewa Falls, Wis., he was an outstanding athlete, winning all-state recognition in both football and basketball. He won more athletic honors at the Onarga (Ill.) Military Academy. After playing some football for the University of Illinois, he transferred to River Falls State College, where he won All-American recognition as well as all-state honors. Larson played end on the College All-Star squad that met the New York Giants on Soldier’s Field in 1939.
Colonel Larson always enjoyed working with young people and decided to enter coaching. After graduation he accepted a coaching job at Lake City, Minn., and was also offered a pro football contract with the Chicago Cardinals. It looked as though he was well on his way to a successful athletic career when a sudden, severe illness was diagnosed as polio. Larson was 27 when a staff of doctors at Rochester’s Mayo Clinic told him he would never walk again.
Lying paralyzed in bed, Larson even heard his own obituary being broadcast on the radio. But he was never one to give up. He began squeezing a rubber ball to bring life hack to his unresponsive hands. Many other exercises followed as life slowly returned to his wasted muscles. After three years of patient, unceasing effort, he was still confined to a wheelchair but could lift weights.
During this time, he learned rope spinning and tried whip tricks to assist in his muscle rehabilitation. One day his wife, La Verle, brought in a .22 caliber rifle to use in restoring his arm and shoulder muscles and he rapidly became proficient with the gun. He often entertained other patients with his rope tricks and other stunts developed in the hospital. "They made a film on my therapy program,” he recalled, "and it won an award in a film festival. It even shows up once in awhile on TV.”
Larson eventually recovered enough to leave his wheelchair and return to coaching.
"I regained the use of 65 percent of the muscles in my body,” he said. "My shoulder muscles never did come back and I lost part of the muscular strength in my left leg.” With his athletic training, Larson was able to develop muscles not normally used to compensate for muscles crippled by polio.
After a successful coaching stint at Whitehall, Wis., Larson managed a theater there. He continued his rope tricks and rifle shooting for therapy and finally decided to work up an act utilizing the skills. At first, he worked the summer rodeo circuit as a roper and whip artist, then he toured public schools. As assistants, he took along either his wife or his small daughter, Judy.
At first, Larson’s shooting was devoted mostly to trick shots — shooting a paper cup out from underneath a spinning toy top or breaking an aspirin tablet at 50 feet.
"I didn’t start shooting seriously until 1954,” he said. "I shot 1,000 rounds a day for practice from 1956-1960.”
The dedication paid off when Larsen set six world’s, records for marksmanship in 1960. During the event at Rockerville, S.D., Larson hit 3,600 aspirins without a miss at distances varying from 50 to 90 feet and split 125 playing cards in a row at 52 feet. He also hit 1,110 saccharin tablets consecutively.
When "fast draw” contests came back into vogue a few years ago, Colonel developed a fast-draw technique that set a record at the Northern Wisconsin Fairgrounds, Chippewa Falls.
By "fanning" the hammer of the gun, he was able to shoot out five balloons at 15 feet in one second.
“We don’t have those events any more with live ammunition,” explained Larson. “Since three fast-draw experts shot themselves in similar events.”
In 1961, the Marlin Firearms Co. offered to sponsor Larson in demonstrations using their products. Larson called himself the “last of the hired guns.”
He was kept busy on the exhibition tour until last November when he noticed his shoulder was continually bruised from his rifle stock. He was also tired and run down. A medical checkup revealed he had leukemia.
After another prolonged stay at the Mayo Clinic, Larson was able to return home, his blood count under control. Doctors told him to rest and relax. But he soon grew restless and asked for permission to shoot again. He had to learn to shoot all over. The disease had cost him the sight of his left eye and he was an instinctive shooter — keeping both eyes open and on the target. Some stunts proved more difficult.
“I'm not bothered shooting at targets 50 feet away,” Larson said then, “but now the shots at 25 feet are harder because of the bullet trajectory at that particular distance.”
Soon Larson asked his doctor if he could work the show at Old Milwaukee Days. He particularly enjoyed working that event because he played Frank Butler, Annie Oakley’s husband, in the Ringling Brothers Wild West Show. Larson rested between the acts, but was able to perform as before and soon was able to appear at other scheduled events.
Larson was fascinated by circuses and was working on a miniature circus in the basement of his home.
The back yard of his home in Whitehall was a favorite of local youngsters, who watched big-eyed and in awe as their favorite showman practiced his shooting feats. Larson was never too busy to explain safety rules, to perform a magic trick or to listen to a problem. They, and youth throughout the United States, cherish cards split in half, metal coins dented in mid-air, mementos of Larson, the man who would not accept defeat.
Colonel Larson was a man who set sights on his goals, then worked until they were accomplished.
(from the September 1, 1974, Winona [Minn.] Daily-News)
By R. K. MARTINSON
Special to the Sunday News
He called himself the “last of the hired guns." He could draw his six-gun faster than you can blink your eye and could split well over 100 playing cards in a row with his rifle at 50 feet.
His name was Colonel Leon Larson and he held six world's records for marksmanship. In addition, he was a renowned trick shot artist, fast draw expert, rope twirler and could handle the bull whip with ease.
Larson traveled across America for the past 30 years demonstrating his skills and talking about gun safety. He performed at rodeos, sport shows, schools, fairs, festivals, circuses and gun clubs.
Laron’s colorful career came about because of an almost fatal attack of polio. As a youth in Chippewa Falls, Wis., he was an outstanding athlete, winning all-state recognition in both football and basketball. He won more athletic honors at the Onarga (Ill.) Military Academy. After playing some football for the University of Illinois, he transferred to River Falls State College, where he won All-American recognition as well as all-state honors. Larson played end on the College All-Star squad that met the New York Giants on Soldier’s Field in 1939.
Colonel Larson always enjoyed working with young people and decided to enter coaching. After graduation he accepted a coaching job at Lake City, Minn., and was also offered a pro football contract with the Chicago Cardinals. It looked as though he was well on his way to a successful athletic career when a sudden, severe illness was diagnosed as polio. Larson was 27 when a staff of doctors at Rochester’s Mayo Clinic told him he would never walk again.
Lying paralyzed in bed, Larson even heard his own obituary being broadcast on the radio. But he was never one to give up. He began squeezing a rubber ball to bring life hack to his unresponsive hands. Many other exercises followed as life slowly returned to his wasted muscles. After three years of patient, unceasing effort, he was still confined to a wheelchair but could lift weights.
During this time, he learned rope spinning and tried whip tricks to assist in his muscle rehabilitation. One day his wife, La Verle, brought in a .22 caliber rifle to use in restoring his arm and shoulder muscles and he rapidly became proficient with the gun. He often entertained other patients with his rope tricks and other stunts developed in the hospital. "They made a film on my therapy program,” he recalled, "and it won an award in a film festival. It even shows up once in awhile on TV.”
Larson eventually recovered enough to leave his wheelchair and return to coaching.
"I regained the use of 65 percent of the muscles in my body,” he said. "My shoulder muscles never did come back and I lost part of the muscular strength in my left leg.” With his athletic training, Larson was able to develop muscles not normally used to compensate for muscles crippled by polio.
After a successful coaching stint at Whitehall, Wis., Larson managed a theater there. He continued his rope tricks and rifle shooting for therapy and finally decided to work up an act utilizing the skills. At first, he worked the summer rodeo circuit as a roper and whip artist, then he toured public schools. As assistants, he took along either his wife or his small daughter, Judy.
At first, Larson’s shooting was devoted mostly to trick shots — shooting a paper cup out from underneath a spinning toy top or breaking an aspirin tablet at 50 feet.
"I didn’t start shooting seriously until 1954,” he said. "I shot 1,000 rounds a day for practice from 1956-1960.”
The dedication paid off when Larsen set six world’s, records for marksmanship in 1960. During the event at Rockerville, S.D., Larson hit 3,600 aspirins without a miss at distances varying from 50 to 90 feet and split 125 playing cards in a row at 52 feet. He also hit 1,110 saccharin tablets consecutively.
When "fast draw” contests came back into vogue a few years ago, Colonel developed a fast-draw technique that set a record at the Northern Wisconsin Fairgrounds, Chippewa Falls.
By "fanning" the hammer of the gun, he was able to shoot out five balloons at 15 feet in one second.
“We don’t have those events any more with live ammunition,” explained Larson. “Since three fast-draw experts shot themselves in similar events.”
In 1961, the Marlin Firearms Co. offered to sponsor Larson in demonstrations using their products. Larson called himself the “last of the hired guns.”
He was kept busy on the exhibition tour until last November when he noticed his shoulder was continually bruised from his rifle stock. He was also tired and run down. A medical checkup revealed he had leukemia.
After another prolonged stay at the Mayo Clinic, Larson was able to return home, his blood count under control. Doctors told him to rest and relax. But he soon grew restless and asked for permission to shoot again. He had to learn to shoot all over. The disease had cost him the sight of his left eye and he was an instinctive shooter — keeping both eyes open and on the target. Some stunts proved more difficult.
“I'm not bothered shooting at targets 50 feet away,” Larson said then, “but now the shots at 25 feet are harder because of the bullet trajectory at that particular distance.”
Soon Larson asked his doctor if he could work the show at Old Milwaukee Days. He particularly enjoyed working that event because he played Frank Butler, Annie Oakley’s husband, in the Ringling Brothers Wild West Show. Larson rested between the acts, but was able to perform as before and soon was able to appear at other scheduled events.
Larson was fascinated by circuses and was working on a miniature circus in the basement of his home.
The back yard of his home in Whitehall was a favorite of local youngsters, who watched big-eyed and in awe as their favorite showman practiced his shooting feats. Larson was never too busy to explain safety rules, to perform a magic trick or to listen to a problem. They, and youth throughout the United States, cherish cards split in half, metal coins dented in mid-air, mementos of Larson, the man who would not accept defeat.
Colonel Larson was a man who set sights on his goals, then worked until they were accomplished.
(from the September 1, 1974, Winona [Minn.] Daily-News)