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Category: Well I thought it was neat!
Winchester Model 88: Where It Began
In the early 1940s Winchester figured that, given America’s love affair with the lever-action, and the growing popularity of more accurate bolt-action models, the time had come to modernize its venerable 19th century models. At the time, the John Browning-designed Model 1895 stood as the only Winchester chambering a high-velocity, flat-shooting cartridge.
This strong, box-magazine fed rifle fired the wonderful, pointed .30-06 Springfield round. Badly outdated by the early ’40s, Winchester discontinued the model in 1931. The legendary Winchester lever-actions remained widely known for their speed of firing. But they unfortunately lacked the strength and accuracy of modern bolt-action rifles. What Winchester needed was a modern lever-action combining the best attributes of both. If only it were so simple.
Winchester’s design team reasoned that the strength of a bolt-action mechanism in a lever-action rifle would require a rotating front-locking bolt to withstand the higher pressures of newer cartridges, and this design would also call for a solid breech similar to that used on the Savage Model 99, which would eliminate the possibility of gas blowback into the shooters eyes should a cartridge case fail. Additionally, intended as a sporting gun, Winchester considered adding a scope mounting option.
This dictated a receiver with side ejection, with the ejection port sealed off with the action shut to keep dirt and foreign objects from entering the mechanism. Further compounding the issue, the rifle’s traditional lever-action tubular magazine forbid the use of newer cartridges with pointed bullets. This necessitated the design of a cartridge box or clip-type magazine (the Model 1895 became the first Winchester lever-action to feature a box magazine).
Further Refinements
To achieve a higher level of accuracy, Winchester discarded its traditional two-piece stock in favor of a more rigid, one-piece design. Factory engineers also wanted this new repeater to operate much faster, so they developed a short throw lever. Lastly, they decided to top things off by combining the lever and trigger assembly. These two changes enabled the action to cycle much faster, with the shooter’s finger never coming off the trigger.
All that remained was to design a rifle that could do all of those things! It’s a tall order, even by today’s standards, and all of this was happening in the 1940s. The Model 88, lacking a working mechanism, remained just a concept until the early ’50s, when a young man named W. D. Butler, Winchester’s assistant manager of Arms and Ammunition R&D, was assigned the job as designer. The development program was given top priority, receiving attention 16 hours per day, seven days a week.
The Details
Butler and his team achieved their goal. The Model 88’s entire trigger assembly cycled with the lever as one unit. A reversible cross-bolt safety was located in the front of the triggerguard. The action was equipped with several safety features to avoid premature or accidental discharge with the mechanism open. The bolt had a separate rotating head with three lugs that locked into the front of the receiver. The closed breech of the receiver, which gently curved to flow with the stock, guarded against escaping gasses in the event of a case failure or ruptured primer. The receiver featured side ejection, and the solid top was drilled and tapped for scope mounts. The left rear side of the receiver was even drilled and tapped for a Lyman 66W-88 peep sight.
For loading, Winchester devised an easily detachable clip-style magazine that held four cartridges. A fifth round loaded into the chamber. The clip release mechanism resided at the front of the magazine well. It activated with even a gloved hand. The smooth, tapered Winchester proof steel barrel measured 22 inches in length. It came fitted with a Winchester No. 103C beaded, ramped front sight with a removable hood and a Lyman No. 16A adjustable folding-leaf rear sight. The rifle measured 42 inches overall and weighed an incredibly light 6.5 pounds.
A New Military Cartridge
Another novelty was the rifle’s caliber: The Model 88 was chambered in company’s latest cartridge, the .308 Winchester. This was the Winchester-Olin commercial version of the brand-new 7.62mm NATO military cartridge, better known in the 1950s as the T65 Army.
The .308 Win was an ideal caliber for deer and other large game. Its ballistics were almost equal to those of the .30-06 Springfield, but its case length was a full half-inch shorter, making it perfect for a short-throw, lever-action rifle.
Among the early reviewers of the Model 88 was the legendary author and firearms specialist Elmer Keith, who called the rifle “just right for snap or running shooting.”
“The rifle handles as fast as a shotgun,” Keith wrote. “We take our hats off to the Winchester engineers for giving us a super-accurate front-locking lever-action.”
Design Changes
The Model 88 came offered in only .308 its first year. In 1956, Winchester added two additional cartridges, both commercial versions of wildcat rounds. First, the .243 Winchester brought a necked down .308, designed to compete with the popular .257 Roberts and .250 Savage. Then the .358 Winchester comprised a necked-up .308, placing the Model 88 in the .35-caliber brush-buster class. Winchester made approximately 80,000 Model 88s between 1955 and 1956.
By the 1957-58 production run, Winchester made most of the engineering changes and improvements found on the later-issue Model 88. The most noticeable was the redesigned recoil lug at the rear of the receiver. The original “three-bumped” shape changed to a rounded contour, eliminating a tendency for cracking around the narrow finger of the original lug. Though not as aesthetically pleasing, it solved one of the Model 88’s few significant problems.
Winchester dropped the .358 Winchester from the lineup in 1962. Recurrent chambering problems reportedly the reason, but lackluster sales might have contributed. In 1963, Winchester introduced a completely new cartridge specifically designed for the Model 88—the .284 Winchester.
The company wanted a more powerful round, packed into a short action, with ballistics comparable to the .270 Winchester. The .284 incorporated a rebated rim. Possessing the same .473-inch rim diameter as the .308 Winchester and .30-06 Springfield, the .284’s case diameter at the base, expanded to .5 inch, increased powder capacity. It became the most powerful cartridge available in the Model 88. The .284 Winchester proved to be an extremely accurate and flat-shooting round—in essence, the first non-belted, short magnum cartridge.
Accommodating the .284
The longer, fatter case of the .284 prompted several design changes in the Model 88. First, Winchester lengthened the receiver’s ejection port approximately .25-inch at the front. This exposed a small portion of the rotating bolt head not visible on earlier versions. Also, by the early ’60s, the clip magazine changed, redesigned with caliber numbers now stamped on the front end. The earlier flat-bottom version with a de-bossed arrow gone, dismissed in favor of a fancier, stepped design with embossed arrow. The capacity of the .284 clip was three, making with one in the chamber a total capacity of four—one round less than that of the .243 and .308. Of the various Model 88s produced, the “pre-’64” cut-checkering version .284 is today the most rare, with only 2,925 made in 1963.
Not specifically limited to the Model 88, the pre-’64 designation popularized by gun collectors is used in reference to other Winchester models built prior to 1964. Most notably, the look of the Model 88 changed after 1963. The traditional cut checkering disappeared in favor of a new style called impress checkering, done to speed up manufacturing and cut production costs. It appeared on all Winchester rifles, and all but the most expensive shotguns, with patterns varying from somewhat plain to very elaborate.
The design on the Model 88 is known as the “basket weave with oak leaf” motif, which appears on the pistol grip and forearm as well as on the underside of the forearm. It was and still is very pleasing to the eye and provides a very comfortable grip. This design of checkering remained unchanged to the end of Model 88 production. The nylon diamond checkered butt plates remained the same throughout the model’s entire production run, although some have been seen with the Winchester name embossed in the middle. The steel grip cap was changed slightly in 1964. It was still done in the same raised style, but was altered to incorporate an insert with the red Winchester “W”logo.
The Model 88 Carbine
As with many successful Winchester lever guns, it was inevitable that the 88 would eventually appear in the more compact carbine configuration. In 1968, some 13 years after the Model 88’s introduction, a carbine version finally arrived on the scene. Not simply shorter, the 19-inch barreled version carbine came with a uniquely designed, plain, un-checkered walnut stock. Exhibiting a smoother, heftier feel than the rifle, the carbine further differentiated by way of a wide semi-beavertail forend. The 88 carbines used the same sights as the lever-action. However, they came with a barrel band–straight from Winchester lever-action lore–with an attached front sling swivel.
The quick-handling Model 88 carbine next came in the three remaining calibers: .243, .308 and .284 Winchester. However, in 1970, after only three years of production and 7,000 88s made, Winchester dropped the .284 chambering. Two years later Winchester discontinued the 88 carbine altogether after five years in production. Winchester produced more than 28,000 in total from 1968 to 1972. Of all the Model 88 Winchesters, the .284 carbine comprises the second-most rare variation produced.
The End Of The Road
In the waning months of 1972, Winchester eliminated yet another caliber had from the Model 88 line, the .284. Production continued in the remaining .243 and .308 Winchester calibers for only one more year. At the end of 1973, after 19 years in production, Winchester discontinued the Model 88.
Throughout the entire production run, from 1955 to 1973, Winchester manufactured approximately 284,000 Model 88s. Many traditionalists don’t care for the look of the Model 88, but fans love it for its unique form and incredible out-of-the-box accuracy. All said and done, the special combination of high-quality craftsmanship and limited quantity help make a firearm unique and collectable. The Model 88 certainly qualifies.
THE RAREST MODEL 88
In 1963, the last year for the handcrafted Pre-64 Model 88 rifles, the .284 Winchester, a new cartridge specifically designed for the Model 88 debuted. A more powerful round with ballistics comparable to the .270 Winchester but packed into a short action, the .284 incorporated a rebated-rim. It featured the same rim diameter as the .308 Winchester and the .30-06 Springfield, measuring .473 inch. The case body diameter at the based expanded to a full half-inch, thus increasing power capacity.
This became the most powerful cartridge available for the Model 88. The .284 Winchester proved to be an extremely accurate and flat shooting round, in essence, the first non-belted, short magnum cartridge. The capacity of the .284 clip was three, with one in the chamber, one less than that of the .243 and .308. For collectors on the lookout for the best Model 88, especially for rarity, the Pre ’64 cut-checkering version .284 remains the rarest. Winchester produced just 2,925 in 1963.
Staring this guy down all night long would likely put anybody’s problems
into perspective. (Source: Mika Brandt, Unsplash)
It is simply breathtaking to look back on two decades of medical practice and appreciate some of the things that drive patients to seek a physician’s attention. I have had folks with snakebites, active strokes, gunshot wounds and evolving heart attacks aplenty inexplicably report to my humble urgent care clinic for treatment. Most, but not all, of those individuals get a quick ride to the local ER.
I have also had patients become genuinely put out with me should I respectfully refuse to excise their quarter-sized facial lesions or not expeditiously remove their gallbladders in the procedure room because they, “really hate going to the hospital.” I once had an elderly lady tell me that she would sooner die in my waiting room than go back to a hospital. However, on the other end of the spectrum, sometimes a visit to the local sawbones is somewhat more social than medical.
If they are of the proper age and comportment to manage them responsibly, I frequently make inflatable animals for my pediatric patients out of rubber gloves. I derive markedly more enjoyment out of this exercise than do they. On two occasions I have had kids fake illnesses just to get a fresh rubber animal.
While such antics will invariably precipitate the screaming habdabs in mom, these represent some of my proudest moments as a physician. Sometimes, however, grownups will come to the clinic for things that are, shall we say, not terribly critical.
“I can’t describe it,” “I just don’t feel good,” “My (insert random family member) is crazy,” and “My teeth itch” are perennial favorites. In each case, I do my utmost to discern some underlying treatable pathology and proceed accordingly, but sometimes the problem has a more esoteric origin.
We Information Age Americans have become awfully domesticated these days. We are now quite far removed from our rugged hunter-gatherer forebears. Sometimes what we need is not some expensive medication or rarefied medical therapy so much as a hefty dose of perspective. I think after so many years as a small-town doctor I have finally divined the answer.
Behold the implements of America’s game. Under slightly different circumstances,
they could also be viewed as medical instruments. (Source: NeonBrand, Unsplash)
Go North, Young Man
When some verklempt unfortunate reports to the clinic with itchy teeth, sometimes I just want to retrieve my prescription pad and scrawl out, “Lion Therapy — #1, Refill PRN” before scribbling my John Hancock across the bottom. I would then instruct the patient to take the prescription and drive 78 miles north to the Memphis Zoo, planning to arrive at the front gate around closing time. Don’t bring spare clothes or a bag. This novel but effective therapy demands neither.
You present the little medical writ to the gate attendant at which point they usher you back to the big cat enclosures. Once at the lion paddock you are shown into a nicely appointed climate-controlled dressing room painted in soothing pastel colors. In the privacy of your dressing room, you then strip naked and place your clothes and belongings in a secure locker provided for your convenience.
While all this preparation is taking place, the keepers are nearby vigorously feeding the lions. The lions are gorged, having consumed all the Purina Lion Chow they can manage. Once you are divested of all vestiges of civilization to include your cell phone, eyeglasses, beauty products, cross trainers and underpants, the zookeeper issues you with one standard baseball bat. They then plop you into the lion paddock and go home for the night.
Itchy Teeth Be Gone
When the keepers return the following morning, chances are you will not have been eaten. The lions were well-fed, after all. However, armed with nothing but a baseball bat after spending an evening standing naked while being curiously ogled by half a dozen African lions you now have your previous problems in perspective. You have been successfully treated with your first round of lion therapy.
The aforementioned wistful rambling should not be misinterpreted to minimize the import of mental illness or one of several zillion serious medical maladies that can manifest in ways that are both ethereal and mild. But compared to the rugged individualists who settled this great nation, our current generation seems to me to be not quite so durable. While my malpractice carrier would undoubtedly take umbrage with this radical course of treatment, I think it might be just the ticket in certain narrow circumstances.
How many folks do you know might benefit from a round or two of lion therapy? I’ve got my pad ready.
In 1944, British breweries offered to donate beer to British troops currently invading Normandy. In order to deliver the beer, the RAF modified spitfires to carry beer kegs instead of bombs. The airflow over the kegs even provided natural refrigeration.
This 1917 will never be changed.
I’ve got guns with warts on them. Nicks, a bit of rust, plating flaking off, signs of bad gunsmithing in the past or just plain honest wear — warts-all. And the funny thing is I won’t change a thing on any of them, ever. Let me explain.
My brother, Ren, died unexpectedly a few years ago. We grew up around guns and hunted and shot together. He was five years younger than me, but we were always close. I was the real gun-guy and I think Ren, while owning a modest collection of often eclectic bent, mostly enjoyed them because he knew how much I did.
He’d often call me excitedly about some weird or unusual find he had located, “It’s this strange thing, I think .32 caliber, but it might be 9mm, but the old lady said her husband died and he got it in the war, and she wanted to get rid of it so I bought it for $150. It’s got some kind of funny writing on it, maybe Russian? You think I did good?” And he usually didn’t do good. But he never lost his enthusiasm and I think he hoped one day I’d say, “My god Ren, do you realize what you’ve found!?” One day he came close.
After the excited call, he came over and plopped a bag on the table. “Found this and I’ll bet you’ll like it,” he said smiling. In the brown paper bag was a “bag-o-gun” as I call them. A 1917 S&W completely apart, down to every screw and pin. “Well, cool, huh?” he said. And at the time a 1917 was hard to get and it was cool, and I told him so. It was pretty rusty, but seemed all there. “Can you put it together,” he asked excitedly?
“Better yet,” I said, “I’ll help you to put it together.” An hour or two later we had a functioning 1917 and he was proud as anything knowing I liked the gun. “You know, it’s for you,” he said, holding it out. I smiled and closed my hand on his while he held it, “No, it’s for you, because I helped you put it together. One day I’ll show you how to refinish it and we’ll make it like new. Then it’ll be our gun.” He smiled at me and I knew he liked the idea. But we never got around to it as such things all too often go, and after he died I found the 1917 among some other guns he had. The gun lives in my safe now and I think you understand why it won’t ever be restored. It still has his hands on it.
I have others. The old Colt Single Action .44-40 is a genuine “stashed under the cabin floor” gun, found in an old cabin in Arizona. Grips don’t get that worn by sitting in a drawer somewhere and I only wish it could talk. I’ll bet you do too.
Genuine “Cabin” find Colt.
Suzi’s family 1911.
If you look closely at the old blued 1911 you’ll see where someone had taken a belt sander to the top-strap sometime in its past life. The reason the gun is special is because it belonged to Suzi’s grandfather who carried it on Navy ships during WWII, then was passed on to her step-father, who carried it in Vietnam on gunboats. At one time in its life, some armorer probably ground off some rust and got the gun going again. It stays the way it is.
The other 1911 was carried by an old gentleman during WWII in the South Pacific, and saw serious action in the island-hopping campaign. “Roy, it saved my life on more than one occasion and I have to tell you, that old .45 hardball round would punch right through a Japanese helmet. I know because I did it.” I got the original holster and two 20-round boxes of military ammo dated 1944 with it when he died. I’ll never change it.
A fighting gun from WWII.
The old nickel S&W .38 break-top is a family gun of ours. My dad bought it for $10 when I was about eight, and it was a thing of mystery and beauty the entire time I was growing up. I could “look at the gun” anytime I wanted to, I just had to ask. No end of bank-robbers and bad guys met their fate in my imagination, while I held that gun carefully on my lap.
I think it fostered my desire to be a cop later on. I can still feel the snappy recoil of those .38 S&W rounds in my eight-year old hands and I can’t pick the gun up today without doing some time traveling. It has my own eight-year old hands on it still, and it’s a eerie feeling to have my now 55-year old hands meet them. I almost feel like I’m shaking hands with that gun-crazy little boy all those years ago. I only wish I could have whispered back over the decades to him in a dream to assure him his passion would turn into a lifetime of enjoyment, opportunity and adventure.
The gun that made Roy become a cop.
Too many people have talked to these old guns, too many friends who are now gone have shot them with me, or simply enjoyed looking at them with me over a glass of good wine to change the patina now. It would be like taking the bark off an old oak tree — and that’s equally unthinkable for me now that I live with those fine, old, wise trees on our land.
Funny how it just depends on how you look at things. Sometimes, warts can be a good thing.
LOCALS in Louisiana were left stunned to find one of Putin’s prized T-90 tanks that was seized by Ukranian forces parked at a truck stop.
The monstrous military vehicle was dumped in a parking lot off the Interstate 10 highway after being shipped over to the United States.
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Employees at Peto’s Travel Center and Casino in Roanoke were stunned when they saw the terrifying tank plonked outside.
A shipping label on the side of the barrel of the main gun suggests it may have been shipped over from Gdynia, Poland.
Open source intelligence trackers claim the T-90A tank was captured by Ukrainian forces last September amid Russia’s disastrous invasion.
The formidable Russian motor was left unattended at the truck stop for several days, leaving passing drivers baffled.
The state-of-the-art tank was being hauled across the state of Louisiana when the transmission on the truck suddenly went out.
The driver had to go to Houston to replace his mode of transport and asked staff at Peto’s if he could leave the tank there until he returned, according to The Drive.
Assistant manager Valerie Mott said: “I’ve been here seven years. I’ve never seen [a tank] here before.”
She said the truck stop was under the watchful eye of security guards 24 hours a day in case any military fanatics got too giddy.
The T-90 still boasted some explosive reactor armor containers on the turret, but had been stripped of its deadly machine guns.
The tank seems to have sustained some damage to its front and rear fenders, as well as lacking some Western fire control components that they are usually equipped with.
A shipping label suggests it may have been transported from Poland by an organization known as the “multinational assessment field team.”
It is thought the armored vehicle may be headed to the US Army Aberdeen Test Center (ATC) in Maryland for weapons testing or training exercises.
The tank, believed to have been constructed in 2004, is thought to have been captured in Kharviv last September from Putin‘s soldiers by Ukraine’s 92nd Separate Mechanized Brigade.
The Russian troops who ditched their motor were with the 27th Separate Guards Motorized Rifle Brigade, 1st Guards Tank Army.
The tank is expected to be examined by the US military to gain insight into the equipment Russia relies on in battle.
Experts can assess its capabilities and vulnerabilities through reverse engineering.
It is believed that Ukrainian forces may have already stripped some key components after seizing the T-90.
Its sheer presence sparked a panic in Louisiana, as people feared it may have been tampered with while sitting idly for several days.
The trucking company transporting the tank nor military officials have yet to publicly address the incident.
The bizarre guest in the Peto’s parking lot has left many Americans with more questions than answers.
Images of the tank were shared on Reddit by a motorist who lives nearby after he spotted it while driving past.
The post read: “I’m some guy in the south who happens to like tanks from playing War Thunder and stumbled upon this beauty.”
His computer game dreams seemed to have come to life after he extraordinarily found the tank as it made its baffling journey.
Ukraine previously claimed that a T-90 tank they had captured was stuffed with technology made by French firm Thales.
There has been an arms embargo for European firms supplying Russia with equipment since the annexation of Crimea in 2014.
But reports say €346 million worth of military gear was sold to Russia by continental manufacturers after that.
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The modern Walther PPK/S (left) is an evolutionary development of this pre-war Walther PPK in .32 ACP.
I had signed into Fort Rucker, Ala., a few days prior to my actual report date. It left a long weekend to kill before settling into the grind at our new Army post. As the beach was a mere hour and a half south, we decided to go sample the sugar white sand of Panama City.
On the drive back north, we stopped at the shopping mall in Dothan to stretch our legs and grab a bite. My son was a toddler. As a result, either my wife or I had to be physically managing him all the time lest he wander into traffic. This meant we went to the restroom in shifts.
When it was my turn, there was one other guy in the john. I don’t make a habit of studying guys in the restroom, so I just knew he was an older gentleman. As he left the institutional mall bathroom, a group of a dozen or so boisterous young men piled in.
They were loud and obnoxious as young men in herds typically tend to be. They were cursing and slamming into things. They went from one end of the restroom to the other, kicking in the stall doors to ensure no one was lurking therein. Then they got to me.
I was still facing the urinal doing my business when one of the young men came up behind me and popped me with a quick rabbit punch between the shoulder blades. I leaned forward but caught myself reflexively before becoming one with the urinal. I then put myself together and turned around to face the assembled crowd.
At the time, I was young, fit and hard — a trained soldier. However, they outnumbered me a dozen to one. They now stood silent in a semicircle, facing me, their arms collectively crossed. We exchanged stares, and they said not a word.
It was then I realized I might be about to die in a restroom in the Dothan, Ala. shopping mall. I might have taken a couple of them on a good day, but these were rangy 17-year-olds wearing gang colors. There was no way I was going to best them all collectively.
I slipped my hand into my right front pocket, slipped the latch on the butterfly knife that was my constant companion and said a little prayer. Without a word, I walked toward the largest of the lot, turning sideways to squeeze between him and his nearest companion. Throughout the episode, they all remained inexplicably fixated on the urinal. I’m fairly certain it was the prayer that got me out of that restroom alive.
Once outside, I found my precious wife innocently beaming. The elderly gentleman who had been in the restroom originally was apparently considerably more street-savvy than was I. He had posted himself outside the restroom and was telling others to find another venue. He said there was a gang meeting going on inside.
I gathered my family and left. However, I found I did not much care for the feeling of helplessness I had experienced during this sordid little episode. I drove directly from the shopping mall to the nearby county seat to apply for my very first concealed carry permit.
The FIE Titan .25 ACP that was Will’s first concealed carry weapon really is a silly little gun.
Will’s first serious concealed carry pistol was a stainless steel PPK/S in .380 ACP.
Though a bit heavy, the trim little Walther carried well and packed some proper horsepower.
Administrative Details
Back in the early ’90s in Alabama, the application for a concealed carry permit was but a single page. The permit was good for a year and cost $15. You filled it out at the local sheriff’s office.
I documented the demographic data and got to the part about supplying three references. As these were the days before cell phones and I had not come prepared with my address book, I struggled to come up with addresses and phone numbers for three people who were not family members. When the sweet lady behind the counter saw I was struggling, she said, “Son, don’t fret about that stuff. We ain’t calling any of those people anyway.”
The plan was to leave the application with the sheriff. They would run a background check overnight while it was slow, and then I could pick up the permit the following day. When I arrived the next morning, the same lady apologized and said they had been too busy to run the checks the night before. As it was a half-hour drive from home, and I would soon be really short on discretionary time, I was clearly disappointed. She said, “Aww, hell, you look like an honest guy,” and signed my form.
I was both surprised and grateful. When she noted my confusion, she asked me if I had ever been frisked by the police. I replied I had not. She went on to explain I could have carried a concealed weapon every day from first grade to the present and no one ever would have known. She said the fact I was standing there meant I needed it and criminals didn’t make a habit of asking the police for permission to carry a gun. Hers was the most profound wisdom I have ever heard from a government servant.
Finally, Firepower
Now that I had the paper, I needed a gun. Mine was a hunting family. I had a bunch of long guns to include an AR-15 and a Chicom Type 56 AK. However, I had not grown up with handguns. The only pistol I owned was an FIE Titan in .25 ACP.
My precious wife bought me the tiny little gun for my birthday the previous year for $50. I liked it because it was a pistol. She liked it because it was cute. This diminutive .25-caliber heater was all the gun we could afford at the time.
The Titan was technically the Tanfoglio GT27. This single-action, blowback-operated semi-automatic pistol fed from a seven-round magazine and weighed three quarters of a pound loaded. The lightweight cast frame was formed from some weird cheap alloy called Zamak. Production began in 1962.
The GT27 fell prey to the import restrictions imposed by the 1968 Gun Control Act. The GCA was intended to restrict availability of cheap “Saturday Night Specials.” I was living proof sometimes cheap “Saturday Night Specials” were all a working man could afford. As a result, the American companies Excam and FIE (Firearms Import and Export) brought the parts in from Italy and assembled them domestically as a workaround.
I carried the little gun loose in my right front pocket where my butterfly knife used to ride. I kept the chamber empty and practiced charging the weapon as part of its retrieval. I couldn’t afford a better pistol, but I stoked it with Glaser Safety Slugs.
Safety Slugs were serious defensive medicine back then. Basically, a formed bullet jacket packed with fine lead shot and topped with a polymer tip, these flimsy little 1/4″ bullets likely would not have penetrated much past a T-shirt. Regardless, I was finally packing heat.
Like roughly one-tenth of the American adult population, a nice, concealed carry handgun is an integral part of Will’s daily loadout.
Left to right: 9mm Parabellum, .380 ACP and .25 ACP. Modern hollowpoints are quite capable.
Evolution
I saved up my pennies and bought a stainless steel Walther PPK/S in .380 ACP. I packed it in a small-of-the-back leather holster I borrowed from a friend. I recall the first time I went to the local Walmart with that thing underneath a T-shirt feeling like I was glowing orange. After a while, I came to appreciate folks either couldn’t tell I was packing a gun or didn’t care. It was, after all, the point of the exercise.
The PPK/S with its steel frame and seven-round magazine capacity was fairly heavy. However, the superb single-action/double-action trigger allowed me to carry the gun safely with a round in the chamber. I kept the slide-mounted safety on just in case and trained to flick it off on the draw. Then as now, I am diagnosable-paranoid about negligent discharges. It’s one of the reasons over many decades of shooting and hundreds of thousands of rounds, I’ve yet to have one.
I pack something high capacity, lightweight and plastic these days. I am armed whenever I am not asleep or in the shower. I have had need of a gun twice for real since then and found myself prepared both times. Had I faced that gang with nothing but my trusty FIE Titan they likely would have killed me. However, I would have at least had the means to make them work for it.
Will’s first concealed carry pistol was this truly pathetic FIE Titan in .25 ACP.
This diminutive little heater might have been preferable to foul language or
pleading, but not by much.
Modern concealed carry pistols like this tricked-out SIG SAUER P365
are hugely more capable than previous offerings.
Ruminations
Just before Christmas 1984, Bernie Goetz used a J-Frame Smith & Wesson revolver to wound four hustling teenagers on a New York subway train. Though they played themselves as victims at the time, the teens later admitted their intent had been to rob Goetz. When Goetz was tried for the shooting, fully half of his jurors had themselves been victims of New York street crime. He was acquitted of everything but illegal weapons possession.
This watershed event really birthed the concealed carry movement in America. Like me, many to most Americans were fed up with being defenseless in the face of criminals who ignored the law. Nowadays more than 19 million Americans hold a valid concealed carry license, and 20 states allow concealed carry without a permit. In a nation with 196 million adults, it means at least one-tenth of the population packs heat. It’s been an interesting trip getting here.
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