The Time Capsule: Firing anvils, a new Olympic sport?

This week we’ll discuss launching heavy objects, along with my personal quest to have anvil firing sanctioned as an Olympic event.  

Nearly ten years ago, this column included a reprint of a news item that appeared at the close of WWI. Wild celebrations were held in towns throughout our county. Crowds of cheering people jammed the streets, bands played, speeches were made, flags flew, anvils were fired.

Anvils were fired? I had no clue, and the internet was of no help. I so stated in the column. An old-timer responded, saying he remembered a time when an anvil was fired in Grant. He was a child then, back in the 1930s, and recalled watching as burly men carried an anvil to the center of a main street intersection.  A quantity of explosives was placed under it, a fuse attached.  The crowd was moved back a safe distance—had I been in charge this would have been Elliott—and the fuse was lit.  

Firing anvils faded from popularity. I’ve found references to anvil shooting following the Civil War, Spanish-American and WWI, but not after WWII. An argument can made that we haven’t done as well in wars since, so there’s been little reason.  

A couple of weeks ago, I was looking for a term to describe a celebration and anvil firing came to mind.  Curious as to what Mr. Google has to say now, I checked. The results were surprising—from nothing on the subject a few years ago to pages of it today.  Try it.  You can watch otherwise normal men firing anvils on YouTube videos. They even have contests. A consistent winner is Gay Wilkinson, who lives in Farmington, Mo.

I called Mr. Wilkinson. He explained competition anvils—antiques which were originally used by authentic blacksmiths—weigh 100 pounds.  One is turned upside down on a solid surface. The bottom, which becomes the top, has a rectangular depression, which is filled with one pound of black powder. Wadding and a fuse are put in place, along with a sealer (peanut butter works well), then another anvil placed upright on top. The blast sends the anvil soaring.  Wilkinson has achieved 200 feet and more. Smaller anvils can reach an incredible 500 feet in altitude.  

The intent is to fire straight up, with the anvil slowing as it reaches the apex, hovering, then falling with a screaming thud—probably just missing Wile E. Coyote. Points are awarded for distance and accuracy. Some anvils, Wilkinson said, fly better than others.  At the national championship two years ago a contestant went home minus a thumb. Stuff, as they say, happens.    

Wilkinson is a congenial, barrel-bellied man with a passion for launching anvils.  He’s traveled hundreds of miles to do demonstrations and not charged a dime. He recently fired a shot for Larry the Cable Guy’s TV show, which will probably air in January.         

I asked if he’d ever considered the possibility of his specialty becoming an Olympic event. While he had not, the prospects of a gold medal appealed.  

He doubted, though, the International Olympic Committee would be interested.  I’m not so sure. They’ve done synchronized swimming, pigeon shooting and ping pong.  They award medals for curling, which amounts to grown men pushing rocks across some ice.  How many spectators can that draw? Who can argue launching an anvil, a spectacle punctuated by a roaring explosion and cloud of smoke, is more exciting than watching some porky guy put a shot?  

I’ve written the IOC a letter, and expect to have more on this later.  

Roy Marshall is a local historian and columnist for the Red Oak Express. He can be contacted at news@redoakexpress.com.