David E. Petzal - The Gun Nut

. . . you get a lesson in humility. I have a very, very accurate .22 with a Lilja barrel that was installed by gunsmith John Blauvelt, of whom you will read in the June issue of Field & Stream. John gave it a tight chamber, because the less slop there is in .22 rimfire chambers, the better they shoot.

But after a while, the rifle wouldn’t extract the fired brass. So I went whining to John, and asked him to see what was wrong with the extractors. It turned out there was nothing wrong with them.

“Do you clean the gun?” he asked.

“Of course I clean it.”

Well, he put the bore scope up its bore, and lo and behold, there was a disgusting ring of lead and burned powder near the front of the chamber. It had not been removed even by regular cleaning with a bronze-bristle .22 brush.

It turns out that tight-chambered .22s often suffer from this type of loathsome deposit, and the way to get it out is to take a 6mm phospor-bronze brush and scrub the hell out of it. A .22 brush won’t do because it doesn’t fit tight enough. I gave the .22 the treatment and it throws cases like it was new.

(The coda to this is that, after resisting for a long time, I finally broke down and bought my own bore scope. But that is a subject for another rant.)

For the last 25 years, the United States Marine Corps has equipped its snipers with a fixed-power 10X scope made by Unertl Optical Company. But no more. While roaming the aisles at the SHOT Show in February, I saw the Unertl’s successor, which is the Schmidt & Bender PM II LP, and is a 3X-12X variable with S&B’s Gen II mil-dot reticle.

This scope is so big and so complicated that I could not comprehend the thing if I studied it for a month. It was the winner in a competition in which 25 optics companies submitted entries, and it was the only one to meet the Corps’ specifications.
      
If you would like to get your hands on one, you can join the Corps, go through boot camp where you must qualify as expert with the M-16, and then get into scout-sniper school, which is tough, and graduate, which is even tougher. The Corps will then give you a M40A3 sniper rifle, all 19 pounds of it, lots of match ammo, and a chance to use it where it will do the most good.

Or you can simply pony up $2,849, which is the MSRP for the civilian version of the Marine scope. It doesn’t have USMC on it, and the adjustment turrets revolve in a different direction, but those are the only differences. If any of you buy one, or become a Marine sniper and shoot one, let me know.

I’ve been reading The New York Times every day since 1959, and in that nearly five decades, I’ve learned that if the Times reports on a gun story, it will screw up. This is not because its reporters are dumb or lazy, it’s because they know nothing about the subject, and are unable to understand what they’re being told.

Yesterday morning, however, I got a bad fright while reading “Armed and Competitive” in the Times’  Business Section. The story was about Smith & Wesson’s journey back from near death, and I was almost at the end of the story when I realized that the writer, one Leslie Wayne, had not made a single mistake.

Beads of sweat formed on my brow. My hands began to shake. My heart switched to an ominous, non-life-sustaining rhythm. Feeling like a man taking a stroll to the gas chamber, I got to the next paragraph, and…saved !

According to Ms. Wayne, “The company has come up with a single-shot rifle that is the law enforcement version of a military assault-style weapon. The rifle, the M&P15, is popular with police departments as an alternative to pump shotguns.”

Wow, I thought, those are some ballsy cops who are willing to take on the forces of evil with a single-shot rifle. Or could it be that Ms. Wayne doesn’t know what she’s talking about, since the M&P15 feeds from a 30-round magazine?

I called Paul Pluff, who is Director of Marketing at S&W, and he explained:

“She asked us if the M&P15 was an assault weapon, and we said no, it only fired one round with each pull of the trigger, but she couldn’t grasp that.

“Actually, we should be grateful; it’s the first time I’ve ever seen The Times write anything positive about the gun industry.”

And in the meanwhile, The Times can proudly keep as its motto:

“All the news that’s fit to print… even if we don’t understand it.”

You, fellow bloggers, can help us here. We’re trying to decide whether to include rants on gun legislation in this space, but we’re of two minds:

One mind says, “They don’t want to hear about it. It’s the same stuff over and over, and it’s depressing. They’ll get it elsewhere, so don’t bother.”

The other mind says: “What kind of Americans are we? Our duty is to get the word out, whether  people are amused by it or not. If we lose our guns, we lose our phony baloney jobs, and will end up as editors at McCalls or The New Yorker.

So now it’s your turn, fellow bloggers.  What do we do?

Recognizing that the last rant may have been just a tad grim, it’s time to return to the realm of unbridled hilarity, courtesy of the M-1 rifle, which gave us what several generations of American servicemen knew as “M-1 Thumb.”

In the Manual of Arms, there was a movement called “Inspection Arms.” You stood at attention with your M-1 held diagonally across your torso with your left hand at the rifle’s balance point. When you were given Inspection Arms you placed the outer edge of your right hand on the rifle’s operating-rod handle and shoved the handle smartly to the rear, opening the bolt, which was held open by a small catch.

The command to close your bolt was “Port Arms.” On “Port,” which was the preparatory command, you shoved down on the follower with your right thumb and with the edge of your right hand you pushed the bolt very slightly to the rear, which disengaged the catch. After “Port” rang out, you could hear a lot of clicking, and the command of execution, “Arms” came a couple of heartbeats later. When you heard that, you got your thumb off the follower real fast and jerked your hand away, which allowed the bolt to slam forward like the Original Hammer of Hell, and if your thumb was still down in the receiver・o I have to paint you a picture?

Anyway, many a dull formation was livened up by some poor dunce who got his thumb flattened, and it sounded like this:

“Port...ARMS!”

Then came a metallic crash as 50 bolts slammed closed in unison, and simultaneously,

“YAAAAGH!”

If an officer were in command of the formation, there would be only snickering, but if it were an NCO, especially one with a sense of humor, all military order broke down as the poor dumb bastard with the bright blue and red thumb wrung his hand in agony and the rest of us cheered.

I don’t think the Army has fun like this anymore.

Now that we’ve got the poor old T-rex shot to pieces, here’s another hypothetical-choice rant. Pay attention, because things are going to happen fast.

Sept. 11, 2006:  On the advice of the CIA, President Bush orders the invasion of Iran. However, the only troops available are 31 court stenographers from the Judge Advocate General’s Corps in Washington, D.C.

Sept. 12:  Citing “increased security concerns,” Vice President Cheney begins carrying a handgun.

Sept. 17:  While practicing his fast draw, the Vice President accidentally shoots a member of his Secret Service detail. The remaining agents instinctively return fire, giving the Veep his Sixth and Final Deferment.

Sept. 20: With no one to tell him what to do, President Bush returns to his ranch at Crawford, Texas, where his only audible words are " ... heckuva job”

Sept. 25:  Citing “ ... catastrophic lack of leadership,” Senator Hillary Clinton appoints herself President Of the United States for Life. Her first official act is to disband both Congress and the Supreme Court. Her second is to order the execution by firing squad of William Jefferson Clinton.

Sept. 26:  Despite assurances of progress by Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, the U.S. invasion force in Iran is quickly overwhelmed. In retaliation, the Iranians rain hitherto-undetected nuclear missiles on the major oilfields of the Middle East.

Sept. 27:  Oil  and gas reserves in the U.S. immediately fall by 77 percent.  Widespread looting and riots begin. President for Life Clinton declares martial law; however, with most of our troops overseas, efforts to enforce it fail.

Dec. 25:  With the oil gone, life in the U.S. deteriorates to a level not seen since man lived in caves.

And now the question, fellow bloggers: You are allowed one gun to defend yourself and your family in this new Dark Age. What’s your choice?

On Thursday, March 30, the U.S. Repeating Arms Company plant in New Haven paid out its last paychecks to its 186 remaining workers and closed its doors, probably forever. However, the City of New Haven and the State of Connecticut are unwilling to let the poor, 140-year-old company die a dignified death.

Governor Jodie Rell has pledged to save everyone’s job, and New Haven Mayor John DeStafano, Jr. has invited other gunmakers to inspect USRAC’s corpse. Apparently Smith & Wesson and Savage (which itself nearly died in the early 1990s) have taken a look, but have been unwilling to put the electric paddles to the Big Red W.

Who can blame them? About 20 years ago when Colt got into terminal do-do, the City of Hartford and the State of Connecticut and whatever union was involved tried to save the enterprise, but that combination could kill off kudzu. Colt continues to limp along, sort of, but it’s never been turned around. Old machinery, incompetent management, and a dated product line will do it every time. Just ask General Motors.

Back in the 1970s, an acquaintance of mine was hired as P.R. director at Colt. The poor man was not merely incompetent, he was crazy, and ended his short, unhappy life in a mental institution. When you see people like this being hired, you know it’s time to pee on the fire and call in the dogs, ‘cause the hunt’s over.

Gun cleaning is like scooping the kitty litter box; it’s not uplifting or exciting, but you'd better do it (them kittycats believe in payback).

The key ingredient in all gun cleaning is the rod. Boy, have I seen some lousy rods out there. The worst ones let all the abrasive stuff that accumulates in your bore embed itself, which turns the rod into a file, and then they bend, which guarantees they’ll scrape against the rifling. Years ago, I saw a .22 with a chamber that was actually worn egg-shaped by misuse of a cleaning rod.

If you’re looking for a good rod, the best I’ve seen are made by Neil A. Jones in Saegertown, Pennsylvania. They’re spring steel; they will not bend, they will not let stuff embed, and they come in three diameters. You can flex one almost double and it will snap back straight, probably taking your eye with it. The one thing these rods will do is rust, so you are advised to keep them someplace dry when not in use. www.neiljones.com.  Lots of neat stuff on that website.

I buy a lot of my gun stuff from Cabela’s, and since many of you are probably customers, I thought I’d pass this along.

Some years ago, a friend of mine ordered a pair of Malone pants (which are heavy wool pants) in the springtime, took them out of the package and put them away until fall. When hunting season arrived, he put them on only to find that they were way too big. So he sent them to Cabela’s with a whiney note complaining that they’d sent him size 46 when he’s ordered 42, and could they please get it right this time?

After a few days he received a Cabela’s package with a pair of size 42 Malone trousers and a note:
“Dear Mr. T*****g: Enclosed are your size 42 Malone trousers. We hope you enjoy them. By the way, the pants you sent us came from L.L. Bean.”

As he puts it, “For the price of a pair of pants I’m theirs for life.”

If the U.S. government operated with the efficiency of the Cabela’s catalog service we would have rebuilt New Orleans, won the war in Iraq, gunned down Osama, and George Bush would speak English. However, I’ve found that doing business in the Cabela’s retail stores is different, and I’m interested to hear what kind of experiences you’ve had. Let me know.

Robert B. Parker is an absolutely terrific mystery writer (hell, he’s an absolutely terrific writer, period) whose long-running Spenser series has no greater fan than I. However, like most all the detective writers I’ve read, Mr. Parker’s knowledge of guns is, to put it kindly, limited.

In a recent book, Cold Service, one of the principal characters is ambushed. I quote:
“Somebody…shoots me three times with a big rifle. Good shooter, grouped all three shots between my shoulder blades. Missed the spine, missed the heart, plowed up pretty much of the rest.”

And this character not only survives, but after some time in rehab, is back as good as new.

Now we’ve all seen what rifle bullets do, and I don’t have to tell you what a load this is. The movies and video games do it too—reduce gunshots to the status of stubbed toes. This in turn makes gun violence glamorous, since the messy consequences are ignored.

So I suggest to Senators Hillary, Chuckie, Barbara, and Diane that they propose a bill that would require all creative enterprises to realistically depict gunshot wounds--what they really look like, what they do, and their consequences.

As a ridge-running redneck who liked to shoot revenue officers once said of his victims, “They may get better, but they never get well.”