My father was almost totally uninterested in guns, perhaps as a reaction to his father who was a great gun nut but totally uninterested in his children. That grandfather farmed his three sons off to a "grandma" (distant relative, I think) in the Black Hills for the duration of the Great Depression, and my dad's experience with guns was killing a lot of dinners with "Grandma Grimes'" .22 Special--he equated hunting and guns with poverty.
That Grandfather was a soldier and federal cop all his life, did love guns, and owned some classics. Fought the Spanish, the Filipinos, and the Moros, then chased "that rascal Villa" around northern Mexico, and then fought with the 89th Div in France. He carried a Colt New Service DA .44 after he became an officer and gent and had to turn in his Krag, then drank the jammamatic Cool Aid in Mexico in 1916 and never was without a 1911 Colt after that. I ultimately got the New Service.
My maternal grandfather was a mining engineer and "mechanic" who practiced his profession and trade all over the world, prospecting for "fossil water" aquifers, which he then "brought in" for the government that employed him on contract. Did a lot of work for "Old Man Diez" in Mexico, and greatly admired that "controversial" guy. Always carried an S&W .44 Russian.DA breaktop revolver wherever he went.
I grew up in northern California when it was very rural and agricultural and we were surrounded by ranchers and farmers who were WWII vets. Pretty much everyone I admired was a shooter and hunter.
When we bought our ranch in 1948, the first visitor, even before we had a house, was the "nextdoor neighbor" who lived about a mile away, Old Man Duerson, rode up to the back gate, pulled off his hat, introduced himself to my Mom in a very welcoming and courtly fashion and gave her his ranch phone number in case we ever needed help. He had a .45 1911 on his belt and a Win 94 in his saddle scabbard.
I was hooked for life.
Last edited by Mesa; 07/05/21.
