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Sometimes all it takes is a single word to inspire me to great reams of prose. Today that word is dinosaur. I have a vast store of knowledge on the subject because I are one. There is some disagreement among scientists as to the cause of the dinosaur’s extinction but they are all wrong. Dinosaurs are alive and well living among us. They have simply evolved.
And I hang out with quite a few who think nothing new in firearms has come along since Browning died and I have a dear friend who believes that loading any handgun cartridge with anything other than Bullseye or Unique is the eighth deadly sin. Somewhere are tablets of stone that say guns should be made of steel and stocks of walnut. And that may not be a bad thing.
But one of the things that bothers me the most is the idea now going around that one must be a machinist to accurize a 1911. You must cut the barrel hood to precisely 0.4000”. I guess that’s fine, but what do you do if the slide cut is 0.3999”? The dino in me is repelled.
When I learned how to do the job the most sophisticated stuff we had was a welding torch and a bunch of files. And carefully calibrated eyeballs. Some things just shouldn’t be reduced to a strict formula. You just don’t get soul with a micrometer.
Can a gun have soul? Maybe… maybe not… but doesn’t a gun built by one man for whom the gun is more than just a hunk of metal, by someone who gives a damn, take a bit of him wherever it goes?
I sure think so.
When I was leaving the air force in 1962 Bob Day and I built me a carry gun. It was just a GI .45 I got at a gun show but he milled it for a set of S&W sights and made what may well have been the first ambidextrous safety. I welded up a discarded NM barrel and did the fitting and trigger job.
I shot that gun a lot and did fit a modern safety but ended up with a more modern carry gun. But sometime, perhaps late 80s, I was going to Thunder Ranch and was going to spend a couple of days at Bob’s shop (The Powderhorn) in San Antonio so I took the gun with me.
We know how s*** happens so sure enough during the class my gun shed the rear sight. The tiny little screw holding the sight simply sheared off. When I got to Bob’s I asked if he had a slightly larger screw and was going to fix it when I got home.
He almost snatched the gun out of my hand and gave it a quick inspection. “Hell Charlie, this barrel is shot out.”
Without a word from me he took a new barrel off the shelf and set to work. He tightened the slide/frame fit which had become a bit loose. The original bushing happened to fit the new barrel very well so he fitted the hood and then pulled out a contraption I had never seen. It was a fixture he had made to hold the fame for cutting the barrel lugs and it only took a few minutes to do the job. I just stood there and watched.
In something less than two hours he rebuilt that gun, drilled and tapped a new hole for the sight screw and handed it back to me. You can learn a lot by how a gun feels and this one was merely perfect. He hadn’t measured a thing.
I took it to the shoot tube and fired a couple of rounds just so he could be sure it worked and took it home. After I had shot it a bit I knew it was good so I put it in the Ransom Rest and shot a bunch of groups. Few were over one inch for ten shots and I took one that measured 0.75”, signed it with the note, “ To Bob Day: you’re are still the best,” had it framed and mailed it off to Texas.
A year or so later I was back on another trip and there on the wall, right next to the frame where his Distinguished Pistol Shot, and Excellence in Competiton (leg) medals hung was that target. He never said a word about it, but for the second time I had a struggle to keep my emotions under control.
A friend of mine who knew the story dubbed the gun “Air Force One.”
I like that.
And I hang out with quite a few who think nothing new in firearms has come along since Browning died and I have a dear friend who believes that loading any handgun cartridge with anything other than Bullseye or Unique is the eighth deadly sin. Somewhere are tablets of stone that say guns should be made of steel and stocks of walnut. And that may not be a bad thing.
But one of the things that bothers me the most is the idea now going around that one must be a machinist to accurize a 1911. You must cut the barrel hood to precisely 0.4000”. I guess that’s fine, but what do you do if the slide cut is 0.3999”? The dino in me is repelled.
When I learned how to do the job the most sophisticated stuff we had was a welding torch and a bunch of files. And carefully calibrated eyeballs. Some things just shouldn’t be reduced to a strict formula. You just don’t get soul with a micrometer.
Can a gun have soul? Maybe… maybe not… but doesn’t a gun built by one man for whom the gun is more than just a hunk of metal, by someone who gives a damn, take a bit of him wherever it goes?
I sure think so.
When I was leaving the air force in 1962 Bob Day and I built me a carry gun. It was just a GI .45 I got at a gun show but he milled it for a set of S&W sights and made what may well have been the first ambidextrous safety. I welded up a discarded NM barrel and did the fitting and trigger job.
I shot that gun a lot and did fit a modern safety but ended up with a more modern carry gun. But sometime, perhaps late 80s, I was going to Thunder Ranch and was going to spend a couple of days at Bob’s shop (The Powderhorn) in San Antonio so I took the gun with me.
We know how s*** happens so sure enough during the class my gun shed the rear sight. The tiny little screw holding the sight simply sheared off. When I got to Bob’s I asked if he had a slightly larger screw and was going to fix it when I got home.
He almost snatched the gun out of my hand and gave it a quick inspection. “Hell Charlie, this barrel is shot out.”
Without a word from me he took a new barrel off the shelf and set to work. He tightened the slide/frame fit which had become a bit loose. The original bushing happened to fit the new barrel very well so he fitted the hood and then pulled out a contraption I had never seen. It was a fixture he had made to hold the fame for cutting the barrel lugs and it only took a few minutes to do the job. I just stood there and watched.
In something less than two hours he rebuilt that gun, drilled and tapped a new hole for the sight screw and handed it back to me. You can learn a lot by how a gun feels and this one was merely perfect. He hadn’t measured a thing.
I took it to the shoot tube and fired a couple of rounds just so he could be sure it worked and took it home. After I had shot it a bit I knew it was good so I put it in the Ransom Rest and shot a bunch of groups. Few were over one inch for ten shots and I took one that measured 0.75”, signed it with the note, “ To Bob Day: you’re are still the best,” had it framed and mailed it off to Texas.
A year or so later I was back on another trip and there on the wall, right next to the frame where his Distinguished Pistol Shot, and Excellence in Competiton (leg) medals hung was that target. He never said a word about it, but for the second time I had a struggle to keep my emotions under control.
A friend of mine who knew the story dubbed the gun “Air Force One.”
I like that.
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