Category: COOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Some things aren’t just tools. They’re carried.
The first thing Earl Briggs did every morning was reach for two things: his coffee and his Zippo.
Not his phone. Not the remote. His Zippo.
It was a 1968 classic brushed chrome, worn down to raw brass on the corners where his thumb had worked it ten thousand times. His father brought it back from Vietnam with three words scratched into the bottom panel in uneven letters:
still standing here
Nobody knew if the old man carved it himself or bought it off some kid in a Saigon market. Didn’t matter. It said what it needed to say.
Earl set it on the kitchen table next to his mug every morning the same way some men set out a Bible.
He ran a small gunsmith shop outside of Zanesville, Ohio — the kind of place that didn’t advertise, didn’t need to. Word got around.
A hand-painted sign above the door read:
BRIGGS FIREARMS — REPAIR & CUSTOM WORK
We don’t call 911.
The regulars loved that. Earl had put it up as a joke fifteen years ago and never took it down.
Most days it was trigger jobs, action smoothing, the occasional stock refinish. Sometimes a farmer would come in with a Model 94 that hadn’t been cleaned since Reagan, and Earl would spend a quiet afternoon bringing it back.
He didn’t mind.
His apprentice, a twenty-three-year-old named Danny, noticed the lighter on the bench one afternoon while Earl was fitting a new barrel.
“That thing got a story?”
“Everything worth keeping has a story.”
Danny picked it up. Turned it over. Read the scratched letters on the bottom.
“Your dad’s?”
“Mm.”
“What’d he carry over there?”
“A 1911 and that lighter.” Earl didn’t look up from the vise. “Said the lighter never let him down. Said the same thing about the 1911.”
Danny sparked it. There was that sound first — that sharp, solid snap when the lid swung open, a sound so specific and so clean it belonged to nothing else on earth. Then the wheel, and the flame came to life. The butane fumes drifted across the bench — that smell, faintly sweet, faintly chemical, the kind that lands somewhere between a memory and a warning. Earl caught it without looking up and something in his jaw relaxed, the way it did every time.
“How old is this thing?”
“Fifty-six years older than you.”
Danny set it back down with a little more respect than he’d picked it up with.
On Saturdays, the gun shop turned into more of a clubhouse.
Men came in who weren’t there for gun work, or not only for gun work. They drank Earl’s terrible coffee, argued about loads and legislatures, and solved the world’s problems before noon without anyone taking notes.
That particular Saturday, the talk turned to a bill moving through Columbus.
“They want to make us register everything,” said Hoke, a retired deputy who owned more guns than some departments. “Registration’s just a list they make before they come take ’em.”
Earl listened.
He had opinions — strong ones — but in a room where everyone already agreed, the useful thing was to listen for what wasn’t being said.
What wasn’t being said was this: most of these men weren’t angry.
Not really.
Underneath the politics and the noise, they were protective. Of their families. Of what they’d been handed, and what they intended to pass on.
The guns were real.
But they stood for something else — a simple idea:
I am responsible for my own.
Earl picked up the Zippo. That snap cut through the chatter like a period at the end of a sentence.
He lit the propane torch he used for solder work, and for just a moment, the smell of butane hung in the air over the coffee and the gun oil, familiar, grounding, like the shop itself was exhaling.
When Danny closed up that evening, he found an envelope on the bench with his name on it.
Inside was a Zippo — brand new, still in the box.
On the front, laser-engraved, the Second Amendment.
Below it, scratched in uneven letters:
Now you carry it.
Danny stood in the empty shop for a long moment, reading the engraving in the last light through the front window. Then he opened it — that snap, loud in the quiet — and sparked the wheel.
The flame rose clean and steady. The smell curled up soft and sharp at the same time, the way it always did, the way it always would.
He stood there a moment longer than he needed to.
Then he closed it, slipped it in his pocket, and walked out into the evening.
Most of us have shot a classic .22 plinker but moved on to “bigger” and “better.” However — sometimes — simple pleasures are the best!
Early into my shooting career, some of my absolute favorite moments resulted from cool, calm days where I had all of the time in the world to sling .22 rounds at dime-sized targets — and with little concern about ammo cost or being battered by the forces of recoil!
As I investigated what else the rimfire world had in store for me, I would repeatedly come across articles referencing some of the kings of the category: the Winchester 52 and the Remington 37, for example. Many of these designs were once considered the gold standard of accuracy within 100 yards and my interest was firmly piqued.
Unfortunately, my dreams of owning these legends dissipated once I picked them up. Today, I’m a lot more excited by those rifles that, to me, represent a golden mean between raw accuracy and ease of use. Indulge me and I’ll tell you what I think makes for a perfect “offhand plinker.”
The Walther KKJ is an exceptionally well-made “sporter” rimfire rifle. If you can see it with the naked eye, you’ll hit it with this.
“Seeable” reactive targets don’t much care for minor point-of-impact shifts. A rifle with a pencil barrel can zap them, hot or cold.
Two Ends Of The Spectrum
On one hand, we’ve always been awash with lightweight, affordable rifles and many of them have been of extraordinarily high quality. I learned recently that Ruger has produced more than 5 million of its famous 10/22 rifles. I would reason that within a half-hour drive of your current location, you can find a gun store with a 10/22, new or used, currently sitting on the shelf.
It’s no mystery why the rifles are beloved. The 10/22 is easily shouldered and aimed. It is robust and reliable, and tolerant of a wide variety of ammunition. When I was in my late teens, I had fired a gun before. However, the groups I coaxed out of a 10/22 got me to think about shooting differently. “Maybe I have some talent for this,” I told myself.
Additionally, America’s used gun market is awash with a number of .22LR rifles intended as either entry-level tools for pest control or “boy’s” or “youth” rifles that would serve as a child’s first introduction to marksmanship without mom or dad having to break the bank. The Winchester 67, Remington 514, and Stevens 15 are all prototypical examples of the type. In general, they are light, easily operated and despite their humble origins and no-frills materials, they tend to shoot surprisingly well!
Still, spend some time with them and their limitations come into focus. Most have very simple folded metal or “buckhorn” sights, thin barrels prone to heating up quickly and stiff triggers. Budget price points often necessitated budget materials so expect beechwood or plastic stocks, along with stamped steel construction of various small parts.
The Winchester 69 has Clayton’s vote for offering
buyers the most usable accuracy for the least spend.
The Bergara BMR — Its light weight makes for a rifle that can still be comfortably shot offhand even with a mounted scope.
Winchester 63 with a period-correct Weaver low-magnification scope. Light and simple is often best!
Winchester’s vaunted Model 52 is of the perennial kings of rimfire accuracy and craftsmanship, it’s also a boat anchor!
The Other End
As one moves from “budget” to “premium” in the rimfire rifle category, the upgrades are obvious. At the upper tier of the quality spectrum, buyers can expect to find longer, thicker barrels that aid accuracy. A 26″ tent-pole of a barrel not only offers more runway for the powder of a rimfire cartridge to fully and completely burn, but it gives open sight users more distance to ensure perfect alignment between the front and rear units.
The barrel thickness also ensures it heats and cools in a more uniform manner, which reduces any temperature-based point of impact shifts.
Along with those long, gorgeous barrels and hand-fit actions, you’ll also usually find very generous and beautiful walnut furniture, often with metal fixtures for the buttstock, sling attachments and other accoutrements. One look at these guns and you’ll immediately be transported back to an era where no cost was spared to provide the rimfire shooter with the best accuracy the day’s engineering and experience could allow.
The trade-offs, however, are size and weight. Most of the .22s you’ll find in rimfire competitions tend to be big. Extra mass provides more stability and precision, but makes it a rifle much harder to heft and shoot offhand. It’s not to say one can’t do so but those interested in the attempt normally have specialized shooting jackets dedicated to such a purpose.
The same goes for adding one of the most common and historic tools for improving one’s group: the scope. As my military buddies like to say, “Ounces make pounds.” Where rimfire rifles are concerned, I’ve found a 24-oz. scope moves offhand shooting on a big, wood-stocked rifle from the realm of “challenging” to “impromptu strength training.” Show me a guy who can heft a scoped Winchester 52D and shoot a great group offhand, and I’ll show you a guy who looks like Hulk Hogan.
Above, the Ruger 10/22 is well-represented in America’s gun stores, and for good reason.
The Middle Path
For the rest of us, many of the design specs and equipment choices maximizing mechanical precision come at the expense of practical accuracy. In simpler terms: Bring the scope to eye level, and your arms will almost instantly begin to feel like wet noodles and the reticle will wobble all over the place. To quote the old infomercials: There has to be a better way!
Indeed, there is no shortage of rimfire rifles which got an extra degree of TLC from the maker over the budget model yet weren’t fully optimized for bench work. The Winchester 69 remains perhaps my favorite rifle of all time. Yes, the trigger guard is stamped steel and the trigger pull isn’t astoundingly light, but the gun is like a laser in my hands. Within 75 yards, if I can see it, I can hit it. Of course, beyond that I probably can’t see it!
I also have a tremendous affinity for a number of quality pump-action rifles. Often, models like the Remington 12, Winchester 62 and Browning Trombone exhibit very high quality workmanship, are fast into action, and shucking rounds in and out of these platforms is a joy.
Still, I’m not picky. Just about any mag or tube-fed rifle with a thinner barrel, decent wood and a good set of aperture sights has my eye. To this latter point, I find “peep” sights allow for tremendous practical accuracy without the weight of a scope and mounts, yet they also eschew the alignment imprecision that often goes hand-in-hand with buckhorns or folded steel sights.
One key to finding a great offhand plinker is to look for the phrase “sporter.” Through the generations, the term has defined guns designed to be used afield — i.e., picked up and shot. Winchester made its storied 52 in a “sporter” configuration (a gun perpetually on my “one day” list), and Browning still makes its excellent T-bolt rifle as a sporter.
The wood-stocked version of Springfield’s new 2020 Waypoint rimfire rifle also comes with an accuracy guarantee and a stated weight of 6 lbs., 3 oz. Truly, a “best of both worlds” deal.
Elsewhere, composite materials help to keep the weight down. I purchased my Bergara BMR not only because of the Spanish gunmaker’s well-established reputation but because it was light enough for me to heft even with a scope included.
With a user-adjustable trigger — currently set at 2.5 lbs. exactly — and capable of eye-popping groups from the bench, I don’t feel like I’m giving up much to the walnut-stocked, bull-barreled monsters of yore.
Many sporter-weight rimfire rifles feature simple sights often challenging to aging eyes, but (right) the aperture sight is a godsend on a small-caliber rifle, enabling high precision with hardly any additional weight.
Freedom of Choice
Our own Massad Ayoob recently wrote he didn’t like the finger grooves on the third-generation GLOCKs because he didn’t like a gun telling him how he needed to shoot it. The same goes for me with the weight of many .22 rifles — a gun telling me it needs to live on the bench isn’t usually one that’s fun for me to work with.
Sure, the long guns I’ve gravitated to might very well give up some accuracy at the 50-yard line and beyond. I don’t know how many dudes are winning rimfire matches with clapped out “department store” rifle. Regardless, there have been countless golf balls, shotgun shells, playing cards and wood chips obliterated by my ugly, dinged-up .22 and the slight impact shift between a hot and cold barrel doesn’t normally matter on targets I don’t need magnification to see.
Ironically, the older I get, the more time I seem to spend with designs historically positioned as youth rifles. That is, they’re lithe, simple and inexpensive. To me, the feats of marksmanship putting a smile on my face are those coming as a result of me using my own two eyes and hands to zap something just at the threshold of my vision. Almost always, I’m going to reach for a .22 rifle to scratch the itch.
If it’s been some time since you’ve gotten away from the bench rest, or if you’re the kind of shooter who has regarded any sort of .22 as a novelty, here’s your invitation — buy a svelte, light rimfire rifle. It probably won’t cost you very much and I bet you’ll immediately rediscover just how fun offhand shooting can be.
A construction worker making preparations for the removal of the original Statue of Liberty torch in 1985. The old torch went on a tour of the US before it was moved to the Statue of Liberty Museum.
In 1985, a significant event occurred involving one of America’s most iconic symbols: the Statue of Liberty. The original torch, which had stood atop Lady Liberty since the statue’s dedication in 1886, was removed for restoration. Over the years, the copper and glass torch had become worn and damaged due to exposure to the elements, so it was carefully replaced with a replica to ensure the statue’s preservation for future generations. This monumental task was part of a larger restoration project in preparation for the Statue of Liberty’s centennial celebration in 1986.
After the torch was removed, it embarked on a nationwide tour, allowing Americans from coast to coast to see this historic artifact up close. The tour was not only a symbol of national pride but also a reminder of the enduring importance of the Statue of Liberty as a beacon of freedom and democracy. The original torch was eventually relocated to the newly established Statue of Liberty Museum on Liberty Island in 2019, where it continues to serve as a symbol of the nation’s ideals. Its journey from its removal in 1985 to its permanent display highlights the significance of preserving history while making it accessible to the public.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a classic Renaissance Man. He seemed to do most everything well.
Public domain.
Sir Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle was born in 1859 in Edinburgh, Scotland. His father was an alcoholic with a history of psychiatric illness. Young Arthur’s family was subsequently all but destitute.
Despite his squalid upbringing, Arthur was a quick study. Supported by wealthy uncles, the boy was sent to boarding school, where he availed himself of a classical education. He eventually attended a Jesuit school in Austria before returning to Scotland to study at the University of Edinburgh Medical School. Along the way, he made time to master botany and begin writing short stories.
The young doctor was a gifted athlete. He was an amateur boxer, a compulsive cricketer, and a goalkeeper for the Portsmouth Association Football Club.
An avid marksman, he founded the Undershaw Rifle Club at his home, replete with a 100-yard known distance firing range. Doyle was also recognized for his skill at skiing, golf, and billiards. In 1901, Arthur Doyle served as one of three official judges for the world’s first male bodybuilding competition.
Doyle was a prolific scribe, ultimately producing more than 30 book-length pieces and at least 150 short stories. Sprinkled across all of that were hundreds of essays and magazine articles. What Arthur Conan Doyle is truly remembered for, however, is creating Sherlock Holmes.
Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes series captivated readers around the world. Public domain.
Doyle’s Super Sleuth
Sherlock Holmes’ capacity for observation and deduction was like a superpower. His first work was A Study in Scarlet. Doyle penned this piece over the span of three weeks when he was 27 years old and then, predictably, struggled to find a publisher. Ward Lock and Co eventually printed the piece in 1886. Doyle earned £25 for his efforts. That would be about $4,700 today.
Doyle patterned his gifted detective upon one of his university professors named Joseph Bell. In a 1892 letter to Bell, he wrote, “It is most certainly to you that I owe Sherlock Holmes … round the centre of deduction and inference and observation which I have heard you inculcate I have tried to build up a man.”
Once the reading public got a taste of Sherlock Holmes, they could not be satiated. Doyle grew weary of such pigeonholed writing in short order and considered killing the acerbic super sleuth off. In an effort to rid himself of the Holmes burden, the author began demanding exorbitant sums from his publishers. However, they willingly paid whatever he asked to get more Holmes material.
Modern depictions of Doyle’s classic characters are reliably compelling even today.
Promotional still from the TV series Sherlock.
Life Imitates Art
As an aspiring professional writer myself, I can tell you that we all write from life. My early efforts were utterly tripe until I had accumulated enough experience to depict things realistically.
It was only after engineering school, eight years as an Army officer, and a second career as a physician that I finally accumulated a portfolio of experience adequate to inform a decent literary career. In the case of Arthur Doyle, MD, some of Sherlock Holmes’ amazing capacity for deduction bled over into his day job.
Dr. Doyle worked in a hospital in Edinburgh and was once consulted to evaluate a particularly sick child. The youngster was pale and listless. Despite being obviously well-nourished, the boy had little to no strength in his wrists. Doyle pondered the case briefly and directed the patient’s mother to stop painting the child’s crib.
When she inquired what the connection might be between the color of his crib and her child’s sickness, Doyle observed that the woman had flecks of white paint on her hands.
White paint in the 19th century invariably contained large amounts of elemental lead. Little children chew on anything they can fit into their mouths. Dr. Doyle rightly deduced that the kid had been gnawing on his freshly-painted crib and had developed plumbism.
Plumbism is the doctor word for lead poisoning. Back then, lead was found in lots of household stuff. This made lead intoxication a serious concern, particularly for inquisitive children. Chronic lead exposure can lead to belly pain, cognitive defects, and irreversible brain damage. Arthur Conan Doyle’s deductive skills uncovered the source of the kid’s problem so that it might be rectified.
Arthur Conan Doyle’s last words were directed at his wife
when he said, “You are wonderful.”
Ruminations
Doyle personally investigated two real-world closed cases in a relentless pursuit of justice. Both men were eventually exonerated as a result of his efforts. Doyle covered the second man’s legal expenses out of his own pocket.
In 1903, Doyle founded what he called The Crimes Club. This was an exclusive social club limited to 100 members that met four times a year at the Imperial Hotel on Russell Square in London. Their objective was to foment discussion on crime and criminal detection. The club has been perpetuated in its original form to the present day. Their logo is a silhouette of Doyle.
In July of 1930, Doyle suffered a catastrophic heart attack. He left behind five children, none of whom had kids of their own. As a result, Arthur Conan Doyle produced no direct descendants. His last words were directed at his wife when he said, “You are wonderful.” It was a fitting end for a truly exceptional scribe.
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