Let's "Talk Story"...

[HandLoad]

I hope to elicit good short stories of you and your history with guns - midlength stories that illuminate your life, that you would like to share with others. 

Here is one I tell every time I get a chance, and it will give an example of what I think could develop into an interesting thread.   Pull up a Chair.  Since I am a Merchant Mariner, my stories always have to start out with: "Now, this Ain't No (C)hit..."


So, you have asked me about my favorites among my collection of Guns, here is one - Rifle, it would have to be 32 Winchester Special - here's why: When I asked him for his Daughter's Hand in Marriage, my (soon to be) Father-in-Law, said, with a twinkle in his eye "Wait here". He went back in the house, and after a time, came out with a double armload of weapons! He handed them each over to me with a little tale of how he got it, and his and its history together. Among the weapons, there was this hard-used Winchester Lever action, Octagonal Barrelled rifle, a model 94, in 32 Win SPL...it had, he explained, been his father's and his favorite gun. On the stock, it had impressions of case mouths - so many it looked like fishscales partly covering one side, and nearly completely on the other! I asked what that was, and he said: "The marks on this side were done by my Dad, for every Deer, Wolf, Coyote or Bear he took, and these on this side were for the ones I took". It has a stained butt, and the buttplate is rusted, I questioned. He said that was from a flood, back in Missouri - that is how high it got in his Father's house, a Long, Long Time ago. It is a sweet shooting gun, and I will be honored and sad to pass it on, when a boy comes and asks for my Daughter's hand... I take it out and shoot it at least twice a year, clean it, oil it, and put it away. It has the best history of any Rifle I own. I have had it for over 25 years now, and my time with it is growing short. The Daughter is in the USAF, and is 21, and "To Everything, There is a Season"...

Guy

[Pathfinder]

My story would be radically different than yours, Handload. I grew up in a house where my parent strove - worked doggone hard in fact - to be the classic 1950's suburban couple. Nice well-maintained house, bridge club each Friday or Saturday, Dad worked, Mom stayed home. No hunting, no passed down firearms, although I do have my great-grandfather's Civil War sabers (Union). My Dad had flown B-17s over Germany, never talked about it, although we got to play with (and sadly destroy) his gear - hat, boots, etc. Still have his original flight jacket, though.

Anyhow, he and some other dads in Batavia started a gun club, used Army surplus bolt-action .22 target rifles, Remingtons I think, huge barrels - I remember them being the diameter of a quarter, could be wrong on that, but they were thick. I started when I was 13, short, chubby, little T-Rex arms. The barrels got a work out with me, as at first they would weave around so badly they bounced off the concrete floor at the range in the basement of the St. Charles, IL Civic Center, a police range as I recall.

BUT, I stuck with it, got a bunch of achievement medals, pro-marksman, marksman and 8 or nine bars on my sharpshooter before I discovered girls and gas. We would meet at the local American Legion hall, us kids got to walk through the bar to get to the meeting room. And when not at the range, the rifles were stored in our basement, just leaning up against the wall. we knew better than to even touch them, let alone mess around with them. Different world from today, for sure.

After I stopped with the club, I shot occasionally, nothing serious. Got stupid, married a liberal who would not even allow toy guns in the house - until my 3 year old was eating a sandwich, discovered it was a L shape, and looked at me with a look of glee on his face, and said "Look Dad! A GUN!!! Bang! Bang!". At that point toy guns were OK, but no real ones.

After the divorce, I have been making up for lost time, still working hard to hit the paper, but enjoying it immensely.

[HandLoad]

Nice One, Pathfinder!  Thanks for the trade!  We might not have had such a different experience however, as this (Earlier in time) story will show...

This one Ain't No (C)hit, neither....

The story for My Favorite pistol is fun, too: While I was growing up, we lived a couple of places close in to the cities, on the East Coast, and My Father chose to prevent me from learning about guns in any way. Even though he had been an avid huntsman in his youth, coming from the Appalachians in the Great Depression, and moving into the West to be a powder monkey for Anaconda Mines in Wyoming/Colorado, he didn't feel safe having a gun in amongst all the people of the city, and he was working long hours - he just didn't think we should have one around.  I was punished if I even pointed a finger and said "Bang".

So, while I was growing up in the 50's and 60's, I had to go to friends houses to play games, if they involved imaginary guns.  I did find a BB gun one time, and had it hidden in the basement for a while...only to get it one day and found it bent, as though it had hit the support pole in our basement very hard.  It was ruined.  Nothing was ever said.  Probably the result of a rebound BB coming back from a shot at something hard, which resulted in a replacement of the immense sliding door to the basement.

But upon the occasion of my Graduation from the United States Merchant Marine Academy/Commission into the U.S. Navy, My Family gave me a very special gift: They presented me with an Officer's sidearm: (Dad had been enlisted in the USAF) - A Colt Combat Commander Hardslide, Engraved with my full name, Academy initials, and my Class year. He had had it worked over by a famous (among Navy SEALS at the time in San Diego area) Gunsmith/Inventor/Armorer, Art Langeth. Art worked the trigger sear so that it "breaks like glass", gave it a "ramp job" and jewelled the outside of the chamber to be pretty. The .45 was presented in a handmade and hand-tooled leather case, made by my Mother and by my two Brothers, with the Colt Logo on one side and the Symbol of my Engineering Class and Graduating Year on the other, laced up by my brothers, and padded with Lamb's wool inside. Best gift from my entire Family, EVER, and I shoot a couple boxes of hardball through it a few times a year, and remember. I don't know if I want to be buried with it, or give it to my Daughter...

If we can get a few more stories from others, I will post a picture....

Guy