Saturday, May 24, 2008

Saturday Memories and an excuse for some Gun Pron

That right there would be an object of my youthful desire during my growing up years. I've known it is a Smith & Wesson 32. Recently I've been told that, more specifically, it’s a .32 Double Action, Fourth Model. Pre-1898

During my growing up years dad had it wrapped up in an old piece of Pajama material in his sock drawer.

Yes, I'd sneak in and fondle when alone in the house (shh, don't tell Dad).

Yes, I learned from that and keep all my firearms locked up now that I have kids.

The mechanical geekery and gun nut thing started early. Those would also be the days I'd sit and stare at the engines of our family cars and wonder about their operation or lock myself in the back bathroom to dissassemble my big brother's electric Sears razor in the hard brown vinyl covered box (and then panic as I struggled to reassemble it in a hurry when someone would start knocking and asking how long I'd be in there).

Back to this handgun...

Dad been given it by his father some time after he returned to Iowa from the war -- that would be THE war. WWII. Maybe it was on a later visit to Iowa from Alaska when Dad was working for Pan Am.

Anyway, a couple years back Dad passed it on to me. I'm the youngest of three sons, but, I'm the lone gun nut and was also named for Grandpa from whence this pistol came. I guess that qualified me to become the next trustee of this little piece of nickel plated history. Yea! Honored to be sure.

It hasn't been fired since the late 40's or early 50's when Dad got it from Grandpa. I remember Dad's conjecture that Grandpa took it as barter or to pay off a debt -- maybe from his sorghum mill or for some horse training he'd done.

That'd be Grandpa far left on the snare next to his brother Jesse on the bass drum.

Wonder if he was packing that day... :-)

Grandpa's long gone and so is the farm and any family claim to the old homestead on the banks of the Des Moines river. Just a bunch of family names remain on markers in the old Coal Creek cemetery. Not much left to do but wonder about their stories and carry on the name with honor.

This little pistol makes me remember and wonder too.

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