Gun Loving John

Be Nice to Young People

Back when I was around 12-13, I was not Hercules, not that I ever was, My older brothers used to point out that I had a "pirates treasure" aka a "sunken chest." But truth be told I was a hard worker. One time an old farmer came to hire my brothers, Joe and Phil to help him pick up hay. They asked if he wanted me also. The Farmer, who I will refer to as Dip Wad, was kind of an ass when he sneared rather bitingly, "No, John is too little." My dad was there and he thought the remark was uncalled for, and while my brothers would pick on me , but without malice, they also thought it was a dick move. I had helped pick up hay before, and even if I could not lift the larger square bales I was at least good at rolling them closer. I was not useless. I thought Dip Wad was an A-hole. So did everyone there that day. I still think he was an A-hole. My brothers needed money, so they went and worked for Dip Wad all day. They never repeated what the A-hole said as ammunition to pick on me, other than to point out it was rude and uncalled for. Fast forward about 6-7 years. One Saturday, after my brothers had found much more lucrative employment and picking up Hay was not it, I was working from 8-12 in my dads tool store. Mr. Dip Wad, the Farmer, came in to ask what I was doing that hot Afternoon , as Rain was headed our way and his hay in the field would be ruined. I said, going swimming or some such. He asked if I would go help him pick up his hay. My immediate reply was, "I'm too little." He asked about my friends, I said "They are too little too." Later that afternoon I drove by his field in my Trans Am, with a big Cold Drink, I stood there long enough for him to see me take a big drink, get back in my TA and drive away to Rend Lake. Maybe that was a smart Alec move, but if it was I was 19 at most, and no I am NOT SORRY. He was over 50 when he was an ass. And as far as I know, he never stopped being one. Be nice to kids, they will be adults before you know it. AND some of them get even.

The World War One Veteran and the Cookies

When I was but barely a teen,  my sister Cindy led a Thursday night youth group at our small church. We would get together in the evenings and study the Bible, and every other Thursday or so we went to visit the Old Folks Homes, I know its not the PC term, but if you expect that you are at the wrong blog.  My sister Cindy was the absolute best dessert maker in the world.  I say was as my eyes develop a leak, because Cindy left to make cookies in heaven back in 2006.  On these "mission" outings, which I truly believe were a gift to the people we visited, We would take treats along to the "Old Folks."  I know its hard to believe we were allowed to bring in outside food to the patients, but this was back before the Country had lost its mind. We would sing to them, and my musical sisters would play the piano and or guitars.  The "Old Folks" loved it. 

One night in particular I will never forget, it was probably 81, and Cindy had made sugar cookies and my all time favorite, Banana Cookies with Pink Icing.  Being a future marine at the time, I didn't care for the color pink, but that is what color she made those cookies and thats what made them so tasty.  So while no one can make Banana Cookies Like Cindy made, to me, they will always be "Banana Cookies with Pink Icing."  

That night, There was an older, taller, gentleman (maybe he wasn't tall, but I was a kid) in the audience and he kind of went unnoticed (probably his plan) until the cookies were on the table.  All of the sudden out of his seat, he rushed up and grabbed a handful of cookies, quickly cramming them in his mouth like they were Nathan's  Hot Dogs and it was Independence Day on Coney Island.  The nurses bum rushed him and took the cookies from his hand, but try as they might, his jaw was clenched and they weren't about to take the loot, i mean cookies, from his mouth without losing a digit.  

They told every one there he couldn't have them,  He had "Sugar" as diabetes is known in the sticks where I grew up.  they told him they were bad for him he could die.

I will never forget his reply,  " I'm old, my wife is dead, my kids are dead, my grandkids don't come visit me, and you won't met me have cookies. What do I want to stay alive for?"

To the best of my my memory, he was a WW1 veteran. 

There is  a lesson here somewhere if i could only find it.  

Be safe, visit old people, you may learn something. Oh yeah and eat the cookie. 

Firearm Attachments Part 1

I worked a gun show this weekend.   I met a lot of good Americans, and I noticed a few things.  Like Firearm Attachments.   There were Lights and Lasers, Grips and Slings, And all manner of Tactical Things.  But those are not the Firearm attachments I am here to talk about.  I am here to talk about the kind of attachments that are often free,  they require a little Do It Yourself elbow grease and time. 

That is the Attachment a person has toward his or her firearm.

Here are the best type of Attachments.  This will be a recurring theme over the next few months.  

Father Attachment.   My Dad/Grandfather had this gun it was passed to me.  That type of attachment works better and lasts longest if the father and son spent time together with the firearm being the glue or reason for the outing.  If the father had the foresight to spend time shooting or refinishing the firearm with the child all the while telling how his father  and he spent time together doing the same the son will want to pass that on for generations.   The firearm does not have to be expensive.  The time together can be priceless.  The firearm passed from generation to generation with that type of emotional investment will not be sold in a yard sale. It will be cherished. 

Next:  The Fun Attachment

Until Then keep your muzzles pointed in a safe direction.

My Second Favorite Christmas

 

My Second Favorite Christmas

I am the youngest of nine.  Six girls followed by three boys. Dad was a World War 2 veteran, US Navy South Pacific, USS Alhena.  Google it sometime.

Christmases were always a fun time.  We nine kids understood the meaning of Christmas, no, not the “Spirit of Christmas” crap that is pawned off on the world today.  The Story of the Virgin Birth , of the coming of the Savior of the World.

 Dad always got us gifts for Christmas.  He was a Minister of the Gospel of Jesus Christ that did not compromise his principles nor his belief that the Bible was the infallible Word of God. Preachers like that (the ones that will make sure you get to heaven or at least know about each and every pitfall that can stop you) do not get large congregations and work a real job during the week to earn a living.   He worked hard for a living and the earliest Christmases I remember had few gifts for every one of us kids.  They were never expensive, they were what we could afford. But the thought was there.   

The first gift I remember receiving was around the time I was 5 or 6 it was a dart gun. You know with the plastic darts with suction cups I even remember where they bought it and snuck it out to the car, on the square in Marion from Woolworths if I remember correctly.  My first gun was a blue plastic dart gun. 

But my Second Favorite Christmas was the one I’ll never forget.  It was in Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, 900 miles from where I grew up.  I was in the Marine Corps getting ready to deploy to Operation Desert Shield, which would become Desert Storm. When I say getting “Ready to Deploy” I mean 2-3 days after Christmas I was to be on a plane flying to Killragheadistan.  We were advised a few days before Christmas that we would be given a 36 hour liberty starting around 1200 Christmas Eve to show up back at the Camp by 0000 hours December 26.  I called home and mentioned that I had l a 36 and would be going somewhere with some other Marines. (Probably getting in the Christmas spirits, but I left that detail out.)   I do not know how the plans back home came together so quickly, but my mom and dad decided to drive to Camp Lejeune and spend Christmas with me, Apparently the rest of the family was going to postpone Christmas until they returned. 

One thing a Marine Grunt does not watch is the Weather Channel , or TV, for that matter.  It doesn't;’t matter what the weather is doing, if you are outside it is what it is.  If I had been near a TV, I would have seen the ice storm they would have had to drive through and called and told them some story about my squad’s liberty being yanked and we had to pull duty or something to keep them from braving the ice.  The braved it anyway, and looking back, I am glad they did.

We, the entire battalion, were returning from a 6 mile run, when I saw their car arrive, I ran to change into my civvies, or civilian attire, sign out and go to town.   I ran to meet them.  I told them I had a small list of items I would need before deployment. We went to Kmart and I rounded up the batteries and electric razor and toiletries, I think the bill was around 20 bucks. Dad paid for it and said,” Merry Christmas!”  We then went to a North Carolina local eatery and had dinner.   We had to drive around 40-50 miles to find a hotel.  Dad and mom got a room and they got me my own room.  Shortly after I was in my room, the phone rang, it was the front desk, “Hello, are you the Marine going to Desert Shield?”  I replied in the affirmative, “Well, thank you, and please enjoy any and all movies In the room free of charge. Merry Christmas!”  I stayed awake most of that night watching free movies.

Christmas Morning broke early.  We headed back in to Jacksonville , the car had some small problem and we found a garage that was open.  As we were driving through the Carolina Pines on a sunny Christmas morning we listened to the Charlie Daniels Christmas Special. We stopped and had breakfast somewhere, then went to Saigon Sam’s Surplus Salvage, yes; it was open on Christmas Day.  Dad and Mom bought themselves some team colors  "Chocolate Chip” Desert Camouflage and bumper stickers.  We went back to Camp Lejeune and I checked back in. They started back on their 20 plus hour ice storm laden drive. 

I, the youngest of nine ,  had my parents to myself for one Christmas.  I did not intend to be selfish and keep them to myself, it just happened that year by circumstance.  Thank you to the rest of my family for that Christmas.  

That is the story of my Second Favorite Christmas, “What is your Most Favorite Christmas?” you ask.

That’s easy; I wasn’t there. My favorite Christmas is the First Christmas, The Birth of my Dear Savior, when He was deployed to save the world from an evil tyrant.

Kel-Tec PLR 22 Review

Sometimes you see a new gun and it is a must have.  I saw such a firearm at the Kel-Tec booth at 2008 SHOT Show.  It was the PLR 22. A politically incorrect plinker with a 27 round magazine.  I wasted no time and as I work for an licensed dealer I called our distributor from the floor of SHOT Show and Informed him of what as coming down the pike and asked to be placed on the waiting list. 

Well, last week it came in. I filled out a 4473, which if you accidentally type it in with the shift key depressed  is a $$&#.  Monday I picked the plinker up.  I shot it a little on Monday evening  and found that it did not function at all with Remington Golden Bullets Bulk Pack From Wally World.  It seemed to function pretty well with Federal Bulk pack.  The firearm is accurate, fun and as it comes threaded 1/2 by 28. I am sure that some of those Gun-lovers in states that allow the polite shooting of firearms will take advantage of this bargain and pair it off with a nice sound suppressor.

While the PLR 22 does not automatically stay locked back on the last round, it has a very usable button located on the bottom just behind the magazine.  

The Kel-Tec PLR 22 disassembles rather easily  using any small diameter tool that can push out a single pin.  The rest of disassembly and reassembly require no tools at all. I cannot wait for the rifle version to arrive.   As for videos of the gun in action, I let my lovely bride, Tracy, aka Pretty Pistolera, shoot the Kel-Tec PLR 22. 

  

Until next time keep your muzzles pointed in a safe direction.

Expanding the Shooting Universe

It seems at least as daunting a task to get certain groups of other humans to grow a spark of shooting interest.  I have been whittling away at the "little woman" to go shooting for a good while. 

She went deer hunting with me once when we were dating, but that is another story when we get closer to deer season.  She was pro-gun all along, even joining in a pro-gun rally during the dark nineties.  If she were not pro-gun she would not have met the qualifications to be Mrs. Gunlovingjohn.  Being pro-gun did not mean she needed to shoot, just that she recognized their intrinsic worth.

After 12 years of solo trips to the gun range, I cajoled her into going to a match last year.  She met some good people (called shooters) and has since became one of the newest, and might I add the prettiest, members of the gun culture. 

I could go on, but she can tell the transition from a passive to active member of the gun culture a lot better than I.  The other evening I took her out for a nice dinner and pitched the idea of a firearm blog from a "girly girl's" point of view.  She got that spark in her eyes!  I gave her a name, the Pretty Pistolera.   Well, she has expanded the shooting universe. 

www.prettypistolera.com   

Read it if you are female to learn shooting tips.  Read it if you are male to get "how to get your girl to shoot" tips.

Till next time, keep your muzzles pointed in a safe direction.  

Arrow's Law

Arrow's Law:  For every 50 yards from the shooting bench the number of staples in the staple gun will be reduced by 50 percent.  Therefore if you are at the 200 yard range with 8 targets to put up, you will only have 4 staples. There is also a phenomenon by which beyond 600 yards the stapler itself disappears from your vest only to reappear back at the shooting bench upon your return.