Pappy

THE SHOTGUN WAS BROUGHT OUT and the empty bottle of Van Winkle Special Reserve 12-Year-Old bourbon was placed on a fencepost some fifty feet away from the fire pit. It was a hot summer night at a cabin in rural Georgia, and Blake Riber and his buddies had just polished off the bottle of coveted booze. Someone had the smart idea to not pull the trigger—their wives and children were sleeping inside just a few yards away, after all. Instead, Riber walked to the fence, grabbed the bottle, and slam-dunked it into a nearby trashcan, making sure it shattered into countless shards. He may have been a little buzzed, but he had a sober rationale.