About the Garands

...and the carbines. How did that happen, that your humble author came to crave these military rifles that predated her in service by a couple of wars and several decades?

Well, therein lies a bit of a story, and, of course, an Old Marine.

Charley is an older gentleman who probably (and don't kill me if I'm wrong here, Charley!) just barely missed Korea, but was off the table for Vietnam. His time in the Marine Corps was a single term in his youth, but it defined him (and well) as it has so many other men.

We first found Charley when he volunteered to construct pullup bars for the Marine Corps recruiting district in the wake of Sept. 11, as his contribution to the cause. He struck up a friendship with the Mister out of that undertaking, and things went downhill from there.

He took us hunting up in Deer Creek, Minnesota. Here's a hint - despite the name, there are no deer in Deer Creek. There was one and Charley shot him 15 years ago. But it's a fine place for drinks and sea stories.

He took us shooting at Oakdale Gun Club, where he discovered that the true hoplophile in the family was not the active Marine. The downhill progress picked up speed (with the added influence of John With The Thompson and Mike The Other Instructor). Within months, he had me joining the club, helping to instruct the Firearms Safety course, and shooting the (monthly? twice monthly?) military semi-auto 100 yard match with one of his M1 Carbines.

I got a lot smarter in a hurry. I'd always been a military history buff, but until Charley and his collection, I had no concept of how large a Garand is, or what it does to those with slow thumbs. Nor would I have realized what a revolution the M16 platform and the 5.56mm round are - if you haven't handled the old gear, you have no idea what it weighs, or how serious and solid it is (that is, of course, a good thing and a bad thing. I wouldn't want to hump one across Europe, but if I was out of ammo and had to go upside someone's head, I'd take the 43 inches of walnut and steel that comprise the old beast over an M4 carbine in a heartbeat).

My love affair with the 1911 is probably also somehow his fault.

But - I digress.

Charley was the consumate instructor, passing on something useful at almost every encounter, yet never making one feel like an idiot. We were guests at his table several evenings, where his wife made even us nomads feel at home.

Leaving Charley and his wife was as bad as leaving the good job and the nice house in Minnesota. Good friends are like that.

And I think of Charley every time I seal up a CMP envelope (I didn't even know the organization existed before he pointed it out to me). I'm sure Mr. Abby thinks of him as well. However, I know my thoughts are fond ones. Heh.

Charley's a machinist, so you need any precise machining done and you're in that area, shoot an email and I'll put you in touch. I highly recommend you avoid him for your gunsmithing work, however. I left an old .38 with him once and now it has a trigger that falls when mosquitoes fly nearby.