The opening day of deer season being upon us reminded me of some experiences with out-of-town hunters. At the far end of our district, near the interstate, we had would could be generously called a “gentleman’s club.” Strip joint was the common parlance. It was a well known establishment to most of our members. Jack, the guy who owned it, typically took good care of us.
We didn’t run too many calls there. Jack ran a pretty tight ship, and trouble didn’t get real far out of hand. The worst time of year, surprisingly, was hunting season.
Jersey hunters as we called them would come into town, hunting primarily state game lands; staying in nearby motels. They could be from anywhere, not necessarily New Jersey, but any non local hunter was tagged with the sobriquet. At night, they needed entertainment, hence their visits to our well known establishment.
Once they had a few beers in them, opinions would start to fly which would occasionally offend their Pennsylvania brethren. Attitude adjustment would ensue.
Following this, our ambulance would be needed for a ride to a local emergency room. On arrival, we would typically find the offending hunter lying in the parking lot in front of the building. They would intone on how they had been assaulted or had other criminal acts committed upon their person. We would enlighten them.
“You fell down the front steps,” we would explain to them. They would disagree, and we would repeat the explanation.
“If you had kept your mouth shut, you wouldn’t have fallen down the front steps,” we would explain. Eventually they would give up, or at least decide it wasn’t worth the argument.
It was always fun to see the grins on the Pennsylvania hunters as we explained the malady that caused the injury to the out-of-town boys.