by Hap Rocketto
A couple of weeks ago I was idly leafing through some Shakespeare when a line from King Henry IV Part I leapt from the page and stirred my memory. The Bard’s words “I saw…Harry, …gallantly arm’d, Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury…” brought to mind a war story about one of the treasured old characters of high power rifle shooting.
When I first went to Perry in the mid 70s I saw a grizzled old bear of a man shamble up to the line carrying an M1 in his ham-like hands. He was wearing well worn and faded fatigues, an old tan 10-X shooting coat that was adorned with a few ancient match brassards, his ample middle was cinched up tight with an ammo belt, and his head was crowned with a battered and sweat stained campaign hat that was rolled up fore and aft. To me it seemed as if the ghost of Perrys past has risen from the misty grass of Vaille Range.
I asked Roger McQuiggan if he knew the old duffer. He gave me one of those looks that are usually saved when one replies to a slightly addled nephew’s inane questioning. “That”, he replied in a slightly awed tone, “is Harry Seeburger.” Roger went on to explain that Harry was a living legend, of sorts, in the high power community. The New Jersey shooter had begun his quest for Distinguished when the ’03 was the service rifle. The campaign hat he wore was the original one issued to him a young recruit well prior to Pearl Harbor. In those days soldiers wore blue denim fatigues, “Daisy Mae” hats, leather belts, and the campaign hat was an article of issue not a drill sergeants affectation.
When I first saw him Harry was a retired Master Sergeant, the veteran of some 100 or more leg matches, and the owner of just 6 points! He was the personification of dogged determination. On top of all that he was a character and a curmudgeon. War stories about Harry were of epic proportions.
Most stories about Harry were considered to be apocryphal. However, I do know of one that is true, as the man that told it to me was involved and his integrity is not be questioned. Some years ago, in the late 50s, at the First Army Matches Harry was squadded with this shooter. During the rapid fire sitting stage the shooter is required to rise from position and await the appearance of the target before returning to the sitting position and shooting. Many of us who suffer from “furniture physique”, that is out chest has fallen into our drawers, usually undo our top trouser button and loosen the belt. Harry was full of years and his belly reflected his indulgence in the good life.
Upon responding to the command, “Shooters Rise!” he huffed and puffed his way to that unusual crossed legged crouch that the command requires. While waiting for the rest of the commands Harry’s trousers fell about his knees. Bent over he leaned back and growled, “Hey, Kid! Pull them trousers up and hold them!” My friend was a mere Private First Class, and a new shooter to boot, quickly followed the orders of his superior. He grabbed the belt loops of the trousers and held them up until the targets rose from the pits. As the target ascended Harry descended into his trousers, his sitting position, and immortality.
The young PFC who served as Harry’s valet that day so long ago at Fort Meade told this story to me. A few months from now he will retire from the Connecticut National Guard with 43 years of unbroken service. I have known him for over 20 years and I find it hard to believe anyone would ever call a national record holder, a Distinguished Rifleman, a winner of countless championships, and the only Connecticut resident to ever win the President’s Hundred, “kid”. But, everyone was young once. Even Dick Scheller was once a kid. Come to think of it, he probably still is one.
