Glen
02-04-2011, 01:25 AM
Reo R. Rake – In memoriam
Reo R. Rake of West Richland,WA passed away in Spokane on January 27, 2011, after a short battle with cancer. Reo was born December 12, 1936 in Woodinville, WA. He is survived by two daughters (Amy Lettau of Kennewick, WA, and Solara Rake of San Francisco, CA), four grandchildren (Autumn, Jasmine, Steffen and Bracken Lettau), and one great-granddaughter (Jade Finger). He was 74 years old.
Reo left school early to join the Marine Corps in 1955 and was subsequently trained as a sniper. He was stationed in Camp Pendleton, CA and later served in occupied Korea. He had a life-long passion for long-range marksmanship. He competed in high-powered rifle competition in the National Matches at Camp Perry representing the USMC, and qualified Lifetime Master in 1961. He was very proud of his accomplishments with an M1 Garand.
After getting out of the Marine Corps, he worked various jobs and eventually took a job with Westinghouse out at the Hanford site (north of Richland, WA) and worked as a nuclear material technician. This position led to a number of life-long friendships. In the mid-90s, he retired from Westinghouse after 25 years of service.
I met Reo in the latter part of the 1980s. I was out plinking at one of our local gravel pits and a silver Pontiac drove into an adjacent pit and I saw a short guy get out and start digging around in the back seat looking for something. After a couple of minutes, I heard the car door slam, a blue streak of profanity, and saw the camo-clad figure walking up the hill towards me, fishing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of one of his many pockets. When he got up to me, he lit his smoke, stuck out his hand and said, “My name’s Reo. I can’t believe I left my godamned gun at home. Whatcha shootin’?”. We spent most of the rest of that afternoon talking guns and telling hunting stories, with me picking his brain as an enthusiastic student of the gun, and him playing the role of seasoned master of same. Thus began one of the most colorful friendships of my life.
We hit it off immediately and spent a lot of time together during those years. He helped to get me started reloading, and he taught me the fine art of bullet casting. We would have major casting sessions on my back patio and we would cast up large piles of bullets, for a variety of guns (both his and mine). One day, at a gunshow, he walked up to me and commanded, “Stick out your hand!”. I did, and he reached out and placed an old 2-cavity Ideal 358477 mould that he had just dug out of somebody’s pile of “junk” and paid $5 for. “Here. Everybody should have a good .38 SWC mould.” He turned and walked away. I still have (and use) that mould.
Another time, he showed up at my duplex with a mischievous glimmer in his eye and said, “Today you learn how to cast hollow points!”. He had an old work-worn Ideal 358439 mould in his hand, and we cast up a batch of those Keith HPs and loaded them up for my .357 Magnum. The performance of that bullet was an epiphany for me, and I have been a big fan of cast HPs ever since.
Reo had a special place in his heart for the .45-70, especially if it was in the form of an 1873 Trapdoor Springfield. His preferred loads were built around cast bullets, loaded to moderate velocities. He especially liked the Gould Bullet (the Ideal 456122, a 330 grain HP dating back to the 1880s), loaded to ~1300 fps. His fondness for this bullet led me to experiment with sizing it down to .454” for use in the .45 Colt Contender back in the early ‘90s. He nicknamed my 10” .45 Colt TC “The Backdoor Springfield” since it was essentially reproducing the ballistics of his pet Trapdoor loads (and yes, Reo enjoyed puns immensely!).
A group of us made several trips out to Zortman, Montana to shoot prairie dogs. We burned up lots of ammo and had a great time. Reo had as much fun shooting as he did spotting, and he would even drive his Pontiac through the prairie dog towns so that other people could shoot in comfort and style. His favorite prairie dog gun was undoubtedly his Remington-Hepburn .219 Donaldson Wasp, with a 10x Unertl scope, loaded with the silver (cupro-nickel jacket) Speer 53 grain HP. I don’t recall the load, but I watched him unzip numerous prairie dogs with that combination many times, out to 300 yards and beyond. In the hands of a former Marine sniper, that rifle was deadly. It was “old-school” and full of character, just like the man shooting it.
We had a special table tucked off to the side in our favorite watering hole. It was a round table that sat about 10 people, and it got nick-named (appropriately enough) “the Round Table”. It was a meeting spot for our circle of friends for many years -- comedy night, Saturday night, Monday Night Football, or whatever. Reo was the Master of Ceremonies at the Round Table and thoroughly enjoyed “holding court”, telling war stories and telling jokes that he’d heard recently (he was a very funny guy!). I hadn’t been in that club in many years, but I stopped by there on the way home from work tonight to have a pint and toast the memory of an old friend. There are many, many happy memories in that room (I met my wife at the Round Table). Tonight, I heard an old friend chuckle as I thanked him for all he taught me. I like to think that he raised a glass and drank with me tonight.
Reo loved to sail. In the early ‘90s he bought a 26’ sailboat and spent much of his free time sailing it on the Snake River (where there is no shortage of wind). He took my wife and I out sailing on several sunny summer afternoons. After spending the day on the water, we would come back to the marina, dock the boat and grill up some burgers. Those were happy times.
After he retired in ’95, he was pretty much a free spirit, who kind of went wherever his mood dictated. He now had enough free time to immerse himself in his shooting, sailing and reading (he was an avid reader). While he no longer shot competitively at this point in his life, he did make it out to the range on a regular basis to shoot recreationally. These forays included his first love (high-powered rifle), as well as skeet shooting, and plinking with various handguns and .22 rifles.
Reo was a very musical guy and was always whistling some tune, or rolling his fingers across the table, tapping out the beat to whatever tune was bouncing around in his head. He especially liked jazz (especially the Rippingtons), but music of many varieties moved him. While he claimed that he couldn’t play any instruments, he could pick up a guitar and coax it into singing very sweetly indeed (he just didn’t do it very often).
Lots of guys collect stuff. Reo had a bunch of guns, but he didn’t really collect them. He had guns that interested him, and he had guns that served specific roles/functions. Beyond that, he didn’t really “collect” guns. He did however, collect cigarette lighters. Obsessively. Compulsively. I watched him buy them by the grocery sack full. He especially liked the older, more elegant lighters from the 1920s and 1930s, but could go equally “gaga” over more recent stuff as well. His vehicles were always piled full of “stuff”, usually with just enough room for him to sit in the driver’s seat, and most of this “stuff” was either shooting or lighter related.
In some ways Reo was kind of rough and unpolished, and sometimes rubbed some people the wrong way. To me, he was kind of like the quirky uncle who always liked to take his favorite nephew out shooting on a sunny Saturday afternoon and burn through a couple of bricks of .22 ammo. He placed very few demands on me, he just wanted to shoot and have fun, but he freely shared his extensive firearms and handloading knowledge with me for the better part of 20 years.
Reo taught me much about history, guns, shooting, music, Life and bullet casting. We had a lot of fun together over the years. He was my mentor, and taught me how to cast bullets, the value of cast hollow points, how to shoot an M1 Garand, and he firmly believed in the righteousness of the 1911 and the .45 ACP cartridge. Good teachers are a blessing indeed.
I think I will go out and fire up the lead pot and cast a few 358439s and recollect on a good friend gone home. I’m not sure what Heaven looks like, but I'd like to think that Reo is now sitting on the deck of a sailboat, with a Cuba Libre in his hand (and a cup of black coffee on the side), some soft jazz playing in the background, watching the sun set over the water, while whistling harmony and tapping out the back-beat with his finger-tips, and telling stories with old friends that he hasn't seen for a while. Thanks for everything Reo, I will remember you fondly, always.
Reo R. Rake of West Richland,WA passed away in Spokane on January 27, 2011, after a short battle with cancer. Reo was born December 12, 1936 in Woodinville, WA. He is survived by two daughters (Amy Lettau of Kennewick, WA, and Solara Rake of San Francisco, CA), four grandchildren (Autumn, Jasmine, Steffen and Bracken Lettau), and one great-granddaughter (Jade Finger). He was 74 years old.
Reo left school early to join the Marine Corps in 1955 and was subsequently trained as a sniper. He was stationed in Camp Pendleton, CA and later served in occupied Korea. He had a life-long passion for long-range marksmanship. He competed in high-powered rifle competition in the National Matches at Camp Perry representing the USMC, and qualified Lifetime Master in 1961. He was very proud of his accomplishments with an M1 Garand.
After getting out of the Marine Corps, he worked various jobs and eventually took a job with Westinghouse out at the Hanford site (north of Richland, WA) and worked as a nuclear material technician. This position led to a number of life-long friendships. In the mid-90s, he retired from Westinghouse after 25 years of service.
I met Reo in the latter part of the 1980s. I was out plinking at one of our local gravel pits and a silver Pontiac drove into an adjacent pit and I saw a short guy get out and start digging around in the back seat looking for something. After a couple of minutes, I heard the car door slam, a blue streak of profanity, and saw the camo-clad figure walking up the hill towards me, fishing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of one of his many pockets. When he got up to me, he lit his smoke, stuck out his hand and said, “My name’s Reo. I can’t believe I left my godamned gun at home. Whatcha shootin’?”. We spent most of the rest of that afternoon talking guns and telling hunting stories, with me picking his brain as an enthusiastic student of the gun, and him playing the role of seasoned master of same. Thus began one of the most colorful friendships of my life.
We hit it off immediately and spent a lot of time together during those years. He helped to get me started reloading, and he taught me the fine art of bullet casting. We would have major casting sessions on my back patio and we would cast up large piles of bullets, for a variety of guns (both his and mine). One day, at a gunshow, he walked up to me and commanded, “Stick out your hand!”. I did, and he reached out and placed an old 2-cavity Ideal 358477 mould that he had just dug out of somebody’s pile of “junk” and paid $5 for. “Here. Everybody should have a good .38 SWC mould.” He turned and walked away. I still have (and use) that mould.
Another time, he showed up at my duplex with a mischievous glimmer in his eye and said, “Today you learn how to cast hollow points!”. He had an old work-worn Ideal 358439 mould in his hand, and we cast up a batch of those Keith HPs and loaded them up for my .357 Magnum. The performance of that bullet was an epiphany for me, and I have been a big fan of cast HPs ever since.
Reo had a special place in his heart for the .45-70, especially if it was in the form of an 1873 Trapdoor Springfield. His preferred loads were built around cast bullets, loaded to moderate velocities. He especially liked the Gould Bullet (the Ideal 456122, a 330 grain HP dating back to the 1880s), loaded to ~1300 fps. His fondness for this bullet led me to experiment with sizing it down to .454” for use in the .45 Colt Contender back in the early ‘90s. He nicknamed my 10” .45 Colt TC “The Backdoor Springfield” since it was essentially reproducing the ballistics of his pet Trapdoor loads (and yes, Reo enjoyed puns immensely!).
A group of us made several trips out to Zortman, Montana to shoot prairie dogs. We burned up lots of ammo and had a great time. Reo had as much fun shooting as he did spotting, and he would even drive his Pontiac through the prairie dog towns so that other people could shoot in comfort and style. His favorite prairie dog gun was undoubtedly his Remington-Hepburn .219 Donaldson Wasp, with a 10x Unertl scope, loaded with the silver (cupro-nickel jacket) Speer 53 grain HP. I don’t recall the load, but I watched him unzip numerous prairie dogs with that combination many times, out to 300 yards and beyond. In the hands of a former Marine sniper, that rifle was deadly. It was “old-school” and full of character, just like the man shooting it.
We had a special table tucked off to the side in our favorite watering hole. It was a round table that sat about 10 people, and it got nick-named (appropriately enough) “the Round Table”. It was a meeting spot for our circle of friends for many years -- comedy night, Saturday night, Monday Night Football, or whatever. Reo was the Master of Ceremonies at the Round Table and thoroughly enjoyed “holding court”, telling war stories and telling jokes that he’d heard recently (he was a very funny guy!). I hadn’t been in that club in many years, but I stopped by there on the way home from work tonight to have a pint and toast the memory of an old friend. There are many, many happy memories in that room (I met my wife at the Round Table). Tonight, I heard an old friend chuckle as I thanked him for all he taught me. I like to think that he raised a glass and drank with me tonight.
Reo loved to sail. In the early ‘90s he bought a 26’ sailboat and spent much of his free time sailing it on the Snake River (where there is no shortage of wind). He took my wife and I out sailing on several sunny summer afternoons. After spending the day on the water, we would come back to the marina, dock the boat and grill up some burgers. Those were happy times.
After he retired in ’95, he was pretty much a free spirit, who kind of went wherever his mood dictated. He now had enough free time to immerse himself in his shooting, sailing and reading (he was an avid reader). While he no longer shot competitively at this point in his life, he did make it out to the range on a regular basis to shoot recreationally. These forays included his first love (high-powered rifle), as well as skeet shooting, and plinking with various handguns and .22 rifles.
Reo was a very musical guy and was always whistling some tune, or rolling his fingers across the table, tapping out the beat to whatever tune was bouncing around in his head. He especially liked jazz (especially the Rippingtons), but music of many varieties moved him. While he claimed that he couldn’t play any instruments, he could pick up a guitar and coax it into singing very sweetly indeed (he just didn’t do it very often).
Lots of guys collect stuff. Reo had a bunch of guns, but he didn’t really collect them. He had guns that interested him, and he had guns that served specific roles/functions. Beyond that, he didn’t really “collect” guns. He did however, collect cigarette lighters. Obsessively. Compulsively. I watched him buy them by the grocery sack full. He especially liked the older, more elegant lighters from the 1920s and 1930s, but could go equally “gaga” over more recent stuff as well. His vehicles were always piled full of “stuff”, usually with just enough room for him to sit in the driver’s seat, and most of this “stuff” was either shooting or lighter related.
In some ways Reo was kind of rough and unpolished, and sometimes rubbed some people the wrong way. To me, he was kind of like the quirky uncle who always liked to take his favorite nephew out shooting on a sunny Saturday afternoon and burn through a couple of bricks of .22 ammo. He placed very few demands on me, he just wanted to shoot and have fun, but he freely shared his extensive firearms and handloading knowledge with me for the better part of 20 years.
Reo taught me much about history, guns, shooting, music, Life and bullet casting. We had a lot of fun together over the years. He was my mentor, and taught me how to cast bullets, the value of cast hollow points, how to shoot an M1 Garand, and he firmly believed in the righteousness of the 1911 and the .45 ACP cartridge. Good teachers are a blessing indeed.
I think I will go out and fire up the lead pot and cast a few 358439s and recollect on a good friend gone home. I’m not sure what Heaven looks like, but I'd like to think that Reo is now sitting on the deck of a sailboat, with a Cuba Libre in his hand (and a cup of black coffee on the side), some soft jazz playing in the background, watching the sun set over the water, while whistling harmony and tapping out the back-beat with his finger-tips, and telling stories with old friends that he hasn't seen for a while. Thanks for everything Reo, I will remember you fondly, always.