Categories
The Truth About Deployments
The Marlin Model 60—in this case, a 60W with gold trigger and medallion in the stock— is one of the most popular .22 rifles ever built but even after 11 million guns shipped, Marlin shut down production in 2020.
There are guns you keep because they’re precious, and there are guns you keep because they earn their place. My old Marlin Model 60W sits squarely in the latter camp. For years, it’s been the squirrel rifle I grab before any walk in the underbrush: inexpensive, unpretentious and ready to work. You don’t fuss over it. You don’t polish every inch. You sling it, you hunt with it, you hand it to your kid when it’s time to learn — That’s kinda the point with the Marlin Model 60.
The Model 60 used many designed features of the Marlin Model 99, but the cost-saving brass inner magazine turned out to be a better material for the tubular magazine because it resisted rust, not a bad feature in a “field” gun!
Designed by Edward Nichol and based on the earlier Model 99 platform, the initial Model 60 was introduced under the “Glenfield” sub-brand. It featured several cost-saving measures over its predecessor, including a rust-resistant brass inner tube for the tubular magazine (which turned out to be an improvement), a birchwood stock instead of walnut and a receiver grooved for tip-off scope mounts.
Early models were stamped with “Marlin Model 60G,” later changing to “Marlin Glenfield Model 60” in the late 1960s. They also sold countless private label versions for Sears, Montgomery Ward, Western Auto and others.
Time’s Up
Sadly, if you don’t already own a new Model 60, you’re out of luck. Marlin quit building rimfire rifles in 2020, right before the brand was purchased from Remington by Ruger. As the Ruger-built Marlin centerfire lever actions have literally sparked a resurgence in lever action sales, I can imagine the big brains at Ruger have at least considered bringing back this model that sold over 11 million guns during its run.
Current (used) prices run between $150-200 at the time of writing, with certain special or dolled-up models bringing upwards of $500.
The straight blow-back action of the Model 60 is simple and quite robust. Keep it reasonably clean —
and more importantly, oiled — and it will continue to work until you get tired or run out of ammo.
The story of the Marlin Model 60 is like the sweet spot of where marketing meets practical thinking. Designed by Nichol in — surprise — 1960, it was initially introduced as a simple, reliable, inexpensive tube-fed, direct-blowback semi-automatic .22 LR.
It wasn’t glamorous or especially prized, but what the Model 60 lacked in pizzazz was more than made up for by the fact that it was an awful lot of rifle for not much money. It wasn’t trying to be an art piece; it was an everyday tool, and it hit the mark well.
Over the decades that followed, Marlin made small changes to the rifle nearly as often as the wind changed direction. So many, in fact, it’s hard to compile a definitive list without lots of research, and there are still disagreements as you’ll see.
However, the endless variants over the years gave shooters options without changing the fundamental character of the rifle.
Marlin produced everything from stripped-down economy models to nicer wood-stocked trims with better sights and even checkering. Barrel lengths varied; there were factory-scoped versions for precision plinking, and later runs brought stainless finishes and synthetic stocks for the rougher life.
Because of the low cost married to good design and value, you see Model 60s everywhere: at the farm, at the summer cabin, in firearms training programs and in the hands of hunters who want something that will keep putting bullets precisely on target without drama.
The Marlin Micro-roove rifling was cheaper to produce but performed quite well with soft lead .22 bullets.
This is the foundation of Marlin .22s reputation for accuracy.
Groovy Times
A big part of the Model 60’s reputation comes from Marlin’s micro-groove rifling. Instead of a few deep grooves like typical rifling, Marlin cut a greater number of very shallow channels into the bore. The idea was to gently grip the bullet and stabilize it without the deformation that deeper lands can cause on the soft lead .22 bullets.
The result—especially in a ballistically-forgiving cartridge like the .22 LR — is consistently good accuracy. The Micro-groove rifling was also much cheaper to manufacture, as fewer passes of a rifling tool are required. It was truly a win-win situation for this mass-market-appeal rifle.
A typical September morning’s work for Brent’s beloved Marlin Model 60W. With good accuracy in an inexpensive gun you’re not afraid to get dirty, the Model 60 is perfect for hard hunts for small game.
For field work like squirrel hunting, where most of the shots are inside 50 yards, the accuracy of Model 60s is first-rate, especially in light of the cost. Most folks get less than one-inch groups at 50 yards, but if you find the right ammo your particular rifle adores, the scope is decent, all screws are properly torqued, and you’re feeling fine, half-inch groups aren’t out of reach.
Such accuracy is right at 1 MOA, which seems almost impossible with a rifle only a few steps above a BB gun in terms of design and material.
The last time I “officially” measured my rifle, years and years ago, according to an old story I wrote, the group was .7 with run-of-the-mill practice ammo off an improvised rest.
At least a hundred-fold squirrels could equally testify as to its deadliness, but they can’t because they ended up swimming in gravy. In the end, micro-groove rifling gave the Model 60 a real edge in accuracy at a price everyone could afford.
The semi-auto blowback action of the Model 60 isn’t really novice-friendly for gunsmith work, but this gun generally
doesn’t need such pampering. Keep it cleaned and lubed, and it will reward with decades of perfect service.
The value of practicality extends to maintenance. The Model 60 is famously straightforward to keep running even without much in the way of cleaning.
Though the receiver is chock full of levers and springs that aren’t easy for a novice to repair, removing the two action screws takes the metal off wood and lets you lubricate and wipe off the notoriously dirty powder residue of the .22 LR.
However, even if you don’t do this, provided you keep the area around the chamber reasonably clean and the bolt well-lubricated, the Model 60 will run until you get tired of shooting.
Coupled with the fact that parts are widely available and inexpensive, even if you likely have to pay a gunsmith to do the work, the low maintenance and part replacement costs make ownership less injurious to the wallet.
Brent’s rifle is the Model 60W with a medallion embedded in the buttstock saying “Safety, Ethics, Sportsmanship.”
According to various sources, it was probably a joint NRA-Walmart marketing venture to promote shooting sports.
One Man, One Rifle
The particular Model 60W that I own is a special version fitted with a gold trigger and a medallion in the stock saying “Safety, Ethics, Sportsmanship.” Herein starts a controversy I blame on the Internet. According to multiple online sources, the 60W designation stands for “walnut stock.” Um, no, it doesn’t, at least not that I can verify as fact.
I’ve seen this claim on at least one authoritative-looking website along with numerous forum posts. I will consider the possibility there was an earlier Model 60W with a walnut stock but I’ve seen no pictures or other specific data verifying they even exist.
Ultimately, I think this is one of those things where somebody claimed a sheer guess as fact and it became enshrined on the internet. After all, once something has been cited online, it is now the honest and true gospel, regardless of the actual truth.
Brent’s rifle also has a special “golden” trigger. This alone gave the gun a .5 MOA increase in accuracy
(we’re kidding, of course. But, it looks nice!)
“My” Model 60W has a straight birch stock, standard action with 13+1 capacity and was supposedly made exclusively for the big box store that starts with “W” and ends in “-Mart,” at least back when they sold guns. If I remember correctly, that’s indeed where I purchased it nearly 40 years ago.
I’m not sure what the medallion is supposed to symbolize but regardless of the bling, it’s been a faithful companion for decades. One source says the 60W was an NRA co-promotion of general shooting sports with Wally World, and I think this explanation makes sense.
“The Mystery Screw” — The rearward-most screw (Phillips-head on right) represents a significant manufacturing step yet it doesn’t seem to serve a function and doesn’t appear on any gun diagram we’ve seen. Any ideas?
Another mystery item is the rearward-most screw. It is properly inletted into the stock and would appear to be the aft takedown bolt — but it isn’t. Remove it and you’ll have a largish Phillips wood screw that doesn’t seem to secure anything.
I’ve also not seen a takedown diagram yet that shows this screw. If anyone has an idea what it was intended for, let us know because I’m certain Marlin wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of machining out the stock and adding the screw simply for decorative purposes, when it can’t even be seen. I dunno!
A Domestic Partner
What makes the Model 60 feel like a member of the family is not just how it shoots but how it wears. Because the rifle is affordable, it invites use. You don’t baby it. Dings, scratches, and a scuffed stock are badges of time spent outdoors, not reasons to hide it away. There are times when my rifle seems a bit on unattractive side but then I step back and realize it simply has ‘character,’ an elusive and hard-to-earn quality in today’s digital world.
Brent’s Model 60 is certainly “well-loved.” It’s fallen over many times when leaned against fences and logs,
been dropped occasionally and thrashed through countless thickets and downed treetops.
Yet, the inexpensive rifle wears it’s wounds proudly, like the salty old vet of the fields it is.
This cheapness is actually liberating. It’s the rifle you take to the briar patch and don’t lose sleep over when a thorn takes a swipe of the finish. It’s the rifle you hand to a friend who needs to borrow a .22 for some reason.
There’s a cultural element to the Model 60’s ubiquity. A .22 rifle that’s affordable and dependable becomes a rite of passage: first shots, small game seasons, teaching younger shooters firearm safety and respect.
It’s a workhorse in the most literal sense, useful for general shooting fun while ridding the world of evil tin cans at the dump, clearing pests and providing the main ingredient for a squirrel fry in the early fall. You can count on it in the same way you count on a good pair of boots — not flashy, but you’d be shorted without them.
Universal Truths
Call it sentimentality if you like, but there’s a practical poetry to a rifle that earns its patina. My Model 60W has a considerable number of cosmetic scars from years of use, and the stock wrist shows a dim polish that comes from countless hands and winter gloves.
The only problem I’ve had is when I somehow lost the brass inner magazine tube while walking back to the car carrying a couple of tree rats by the tails. One quick search on the internet and a new one was in my mailbox in a few days for the price of a workday lunch. It’s hunting done cheap.
Even as a single-shot until my replacement tube arrived, it still pointed the same, shot the same, and it still got the job done. What more could a shooter want?
For the hunter, when everything comes down to a squirrel peaking through the leaves, accuracy is the only important attribute of a rifle. The Marlin Model 60 offers a plainand simple package which hides the accuracy necessary to take shots like this from 50-yards away.
Ultimately, when you strip things down to the basics, what remains is a rifle with a clear mission — reliability, accuracy enough for the work at hand, that’s cheap to own and keep, and conventional enough that you can hand it to the next generation without a second thought.
This is why I’ll keep calling the Marlin Model 60 the “ultimate workhorse” of .22s. It’s not beloved for being delicate or exclusive or even beautiful in the common sense. It’s purely beloved because it’s always there when you need it — season after season, squirrel after squirrel.
But the bottom line is that failed painter was a real idiot at times!! Grumpy
Categories
Clever!
Part utilitarian, part shrine, almost furniture: Grandpa’s gun cabinet always held fascinating treasures.
Even better, every item had its own special backstory.
Let’s face it — your gun safe is boring. Mine too, for many of the same reasons I’ll explain. It’s full of matte-black polymer rifles, a few optics you bought because some guy on YouTube told you to, and a mountain of gizmos you don’t really need.
Old school
Grandpa’s gun cabinet? It wasn’t so much about storage but more like a shrine — an oak-and-glass monument to a time when guns had a different role, hard-earned character, a certain aura and, above all, stories.
This short pontification is inspired by a recent GUNS Magazine Podcast. In episode #298, Roy Huntington and I discussed the changes in gun culture over the years and were instantly reminded — yet again — some AR owners don’t accept anything less than glowing praise about their favorite “weapon system.” Roy and I have taken every possible pain to explain we don’t hate ARs; in fact, between us, we probably have several dozen, yet the angry comments keep coming.
Guns such as grandpa’s Lefever Nitro double-barrel 20 gauge have more character in their splinter fore-end
than an entire cabinet full of black rifles — never mind the stories it represents!
In such remarks, the writers are unconsciously reinforcing the negative stereotypes of certain shooters as they completely miss the point by at least 50 MOA.
What we were trying to analyze is the significant changes in how shooters relate to firearms nowadays. There is nothing wrong with our “modern” gun culture, but anyone with an ounce of honesty will admit the all-encompassing black rifle and pistol craze has a dull, certain sameness. They’re useful, yes, and there is a certain beauty in function over form, but generally the word to describe them is “monotonous.”
Down home
Grandpa’s gun cabinet was so much different. Open the door and you were hit with the glorious sweet petroleum aroma of old-formula Hoppe’s No. 9, 3-in-1 oil, aged walnut and maybe a trace of cigar smoke. Your safe smells like plastic, silica packs and unfilled dreams.
Grandpa didn’t own five ARs that are identical except for different bolt carrier groups. His cabinet was the firearms version of the Whitman Sampler (look it up).
The stereotypical “load out” included a lever gun with honest bluing wear from countless deer seasons, a pump shotgun with a small crack in the stock that still dropped birds every fall, and a .22 rifle that taught three generations how to shoot. There was also a center-fire bolt-action rifle, maybe an old 98-pattern or a 1903 surplus Springfield. On these workaday guns, every nick, scratch and dent had a story attached.
Grandpa’s gun cabinet drawer often held a museum of old dog-eared, half-filled cartridge boxes,
each representing something interesting.
Even the ammo shelf was cooler. Grandpa stocked cartridges with names you’ve only heard of — .300 Savage, .257 Roberts, maybe a half-empty box of .32-20 that hadn’t been made since before you were born. These cartridges were for guns he used to own but (regretfully) sold years ago, while those partial boxes of ammo were kept “just in case.”
For pap, buying ammo wasn’t a bulk-online experience seeking the lowest cost per round of “commodity” calibers — it meant going to the hardware store and asking for a certain dusty green-and-yellow box behind the counter.
Furnishings
And there was the cabinet itself. It wasn’t a giant steel monolith hiding in the basement or closet. It was a piece of furniture, often prominent in the dining room or front hallway, with a plate-glass front and a tiny brass lock that wouldn’t stop a semi-determined raccoon.
The lock was primarily to keep the kids and other semi-honest people out of the guns without adult supervision, and it worked well, even though certain unkempt children wondered if a paper clip or bent wire would trip the simple mechanism.
Yet, I — sorry, I meant to say “those kids” — never tried it because it would break an important trust with somebody you never wanted to disappoint.
The glass front made a dangerous yet reassuring rattle when you opened it, a hollow jangling noise you can’t describe but one you’d recognize instantly. While not flashy, the whole thing was essentially a monument to the household armory. Grandpa wasn’t ostentatious, but he was quietly proud of his guns.
Ever “need” a 16-gauge bolt action Mossberg 190? The best place to find one was Grandpa’s gun cabinet!
Heart of the matter
The coolest thing about Grandpa’s cabinet wasn’t even the firearms within; it was the stories. When he opened that door, you didn’t just gain access to firearms—history came pouring out. “This one kept the coons out of the chicken coop back on the farm,” he pointed out.
Up until the 1950s, a fox or hawk snatching a chicken was nearly as serious as someone kidnapping a kid today because it meant soup for dinner. “This one’s been to deer camp every year since Eisenhower,” he said with a certain wistful tone, as you considered he hadn’t gone deer hunting in years. But, no matter…
Your safe just beeps angrily if you punch in the wrong code twice.
You’ll never know what you’ll find but treasures abound in Grandpa’s gun cabinet!
Long memories
Spend all you want on Cerakote, carbon fiber and aircraft aluminum, but you can’t buy Grandpa’s perspective, the experiences or the miles he put on those guns. His cabinet was cooler because it wasn’t just about what was inside — it was about the man who kept them, the history of a life he and his guns lived, and the stories he passed down every time he turned the little brass key.
My own grandkids will grow up with shooting memories of polymer handguns, beeping keypads and digital displays, but it just won’t be the same — and I think we’re all poorer because of it.