This is me with my best friend Jason. The world would be a much better place if more people had buddies like mine.
I maintain a zippy little recreational fighter plane. You guys bought that for me, incidentally. Once my kids were grown and gone, I had the opportunity to get back into flying. The Army taught me the fine art of stick wiggling back in 1990. However, a tragic lack of time and resources kept me out of the cockpit for some two decades. Once my children moved on and my writing career kind of picked up steam, I got to remedy that.
My Vans RV6A is the classic compromise. Fancier, more powerful planes are more expensive and cost more to operate. Cheaper craft are mind-numbingly slow.
My RV6 is surprisingly affordable and cruises at around 155 knots. That’s about 180 mph. To put that in perspective, I could conceivably eat breakfast at home in Mississippi and grab lunch in Chicago.
The Vans RV line of small planes is the most-produced homebuilt aircraft family on Planet Earth. These spunky machines are fun, aerobatic and safe. As of 2015, there were some 8,900 copies flying. That number likely exceeds 10,000 today. I do love mine so.
My little plane will comfortably pack two adults and a spot of luggage. The baggage compartment is hardly palatial, but it is nonetheless amazing what you can wedge in there. In my case, that includes everything from a Thompson submachine gun to a Browning Automatic Rifle.
This sporty little airplane is so much fun.
The Mission
Like all normal guys, I have coveted my own Tommy gun since before I could walk. The sexy lines of the Chicago typewriter just stir something visceral in the male soul. Tragically, I was not the only person in America to think that.
The first run of 15,000 M1921 Thompsons was produced in, you guessed it, 1921 by Colt’s Manufacturing. Back in the heady days before the 1934 National Firearms Act, real-deal automatic weapons were technically available cash-and-carry from most any American hardware store. Over time, that original pot of 15,000 guns got whittled down considerably.
Nowadays, an original Colt Thompson costs substantially more than a decent automobile. Thankfully, I have two full-time jobs. My doctor gig supports my family. This word monkey thing keeps the gun collection energized. I literally saved for years before beginning my hunt in earnest. I landed the perfect example from a gentleman in central Florida.
Buying a live machine gun these days is a laborious experience. Machine gun ownership is governed by the state. Thirty-five states allow private ownership of automatic weapons. The rest obviously do not.
Those of you who live in California, Colorado, Delaware, Hawaii, Illinois, Iowa, Louisiana, Maryland, Massachusetts, Minnesota, New Jersey, New York, Rhode Island, and Wisconsin have my sincere pity. Louisiana surprises me. C’mon, you Cajun pansies — that’s just embarrassing.
I maintain my own Class 3 gun dealer’s license, so transferring this weapon was not as bad as it might otherwise have been. The FFL is actually not terribly difficult to obtain. Like everything the government does, there is a process. However, mind the rules, and it is readily surmountable by normal folk.
At the end of the day, this remarkable vintage M1921
Colt Thompson made it back to its new forever home.
The Gun
The Tommy in question has a fascinating story. I am only the third owner. The Seattle Police Department bought the gun new in 1928 and used it operationally for decades. It bears the stigmata of honest service as a result.
In the 1970s, the Seattle PD liquidated their old Thompsons, and this one was bought by this gent in the Sunshine State. He sold it to make money to buy a new airplane. We obviously had plenty in common.
The gun came with a vintage FBI case and a few accessories. The seller and I arranged to meet at a certain airfield at a certain time. The weather turned out to be just sparkly.
Friendship
If everybody had a best friend like Jason, the world would be a much better place. He and I are about the same size and have been mistaken for brothers. We met in seventh grade and roomed together in college. We stood in each other’s weddings. Together, we have shot guns, driven tanks, celebrated births and buried parents. There’s really not much I would not do for that guy, and he for me. I am immeasurably richer for his friendship.
On the appointed day, Jason and I piled into Tommyrot. Tommyrot is my wife’s name for the airplane. It means, “Foolish, silly, or ill-advised.” I had to look that up. We made it to the rendezvous on a single tank of gas with go juice to spare.
I treated the seller to lunch at a fast food joint and left with both a new friend and a cool vintage machine gun. Jason and I whiled away the trip home, jabbering about our fun, crazy adventures that spanned decades. The Colt Thompson is now a cherished treasure.
The Nancy Pelosis of the world will never comprehend the sheer unfiltered joy that can be derived from an intimate association with firearms. She and those like her are products of a different space. I get it. However, that really is a shame. Airborne gunrunning is something that everyone should experience at least once. My life is markedly better for it.