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S&W Hand Ejectors: 1896 to 1961 All 5-Screw & Vintage 4-Screw SWING-OUT Cylinder REVOLVERS, and the 35 Autos and 32 Autos


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Old 03-03-2015, 04:01 AM
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Smile "If Guns Could Talk" - Calling All Story Tellers/Fiction Writers

I was looking over a thread that I started a few years ago (Guns that Speak - Tales of Two Outdoorsman K-22s) and had a thought. We have some great story tellers here on the forum, many of whom regularly tell "campfire stories" about the guns that they post. So... I thought that I'd throw out a "prompt" and see what Skeeter Skelton type of fictional short stories we can come up with.

Here goes - Tell me the story of the Registered Magnum in the photos below (initially referenced in this thread TJ's Registered Magnum - What Should He Do? (NEW PHOTOS ADDED 11/29/2007)) and how it ended up like it is today: "The year was 1942..."







Happy writing...
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Old 03-03-2015, 09:45 AM
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It was a cold dark night... and someone put me away when I was still wet.
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Old 03-03-2015, 09:48 AM
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In a foam padded case........
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Old 03-03-2015, 10:07 AM
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All that matters in the long run is that my bore is spotless.
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Old 03-03-2015, 12:04 PM
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I don't know about anyone else, but looking at those pictures ... I'm already crying!
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Old 03-03-2015, 12:40 PM
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There was this fishing trip, and I was placed in this tackle box. Two years ago. And brought back to the basement. I live here now.
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Old 03-03-2015, 12:53 PM
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I have been warned many times about my over weight problem. However, working undercover, I had to conceal carry this gun taped to my armpit.
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Old 03-03-2015, 01:23 PM
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My owner shot himself and bled all over me. I've been sitting in this evidence locker for 43 years.
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Old 03-03-2015, 03:05 PM
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...I feel so useless, but perhaps my stocks could live on if someone sent them to jmace57...
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Old 03-03-2015, 03:06 PM
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The old rancher scoffed.
"Son, that is a lot of dern money for a handgun."
Billy Ray knew the gun was expensive but he
worked all spring and summer over at the BarZ ranch
doing extra chores so he could buy the Smith.

Besides, the sheriffs said it was the best revolver a man could
own and he use to be a FBI "G" man.
The revolver shot great and while Billy Ray was cleaning his
new Smith he could not help keeping his mind from the letter
he had received that afternoon.

At dinner Billy Ray said quietly.
"Dad, Mom...I have been drafted.
Looks like I will see my share of WWII."
His Mom's eyes filled with tears and his Dad could only reply.
"It's is a Man's duty son. You will be fine. Listen to your officers".

"I will Dad ya'll don't worry.
I'm going to find a safe place for my Smith til I get home".

18 months later a telegram arrives at he ranch.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. William Raymond Walker Sr.,
"It is with great regret and remorse that I must inform you
that your son Private First Class William Raymond Jr. was
killed in the line of duty...

October 1972..

They were the 4th generation of the Old Walker Ranch.
At the urging of the wife they had finally decided to remodel
the original ranch house into a "guest house" for visitors.
Early Saturday morning Emily Walker came into the old kitchen.

"Ray, look what I found under a loose floorboard in Uncle Billy's
old room."
He reached into the near rotten small canvas bag and felt..
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Old 03-03-2015, 03:09 PM
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This Revolver was caught on a Fishing Trip in the Gulf Of Mexico in 1957.
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Old 03-03-2015, 03:19 PM
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Xfuzz,
Very good, poignant and believable.
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Old 03-03-2015, 10:08 PM
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It was 1942 and I was a young Marine LT, serving under the legendary Lewis B "Chesty" Puller. My father, an FBI agent in Richmond, didn't much like semiautos, so he gave me his Smith & Wesson .357, plus a crate of ammo.

My unit, the 1st Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, or 1/7, as it's known in the Corps, trained at New River NC, later to be called Camp Lejuene. I practiced at the range whenever I could. I shot a lot of .38s through Dad's revolver, both specials and a bunch of .38 Long Colt rounds that the gunny found for me.

First we went to Samoa, while the rest of the division went to an island called Guadalcanal. Finally, it was the 7th Marines turn to "see the elephant". The first night on the 'Canal, my guys dumped a lot of '06 rounds into the jungle. While the other Marines laughed at us, the Sgt Major told me later that when they landed, they did the same.

Me, I think I killed a coconut with a .357 round.

When we did meet the enemy, I got one with the Magnum. He wouldn't be the last one either.

My dad, who had served as a WW I Marine under Cliff Cates, had lucked into a 1917 S&W and that had started a love affair with large frame Smiths. He sure picked a fine sidearm for me to take to war.

Unfortunately, me and my Magnum took a dunk in the ocean, mostly due to a wound I received from a sniper. When I came to in sick bay, the .357 was gone. Boy, I was sick, and not just from that Jap bullet.

I wound up back in North Carolina, reassigned to Supply. My infantry days were over. As the war wound down, my former platoon sergeant rotated through Lejuene. He happened to have a present for me. Yes, it was the .357 Dad had given me. The sarge had tried to get it back to me for some time, but there turned out to be a number of lieutenants and captains in the Marine Corps named Davis, who happened to be from Ole Virginny.

I guess I could have cleaned up my Magnum, maybe even have it reblued, but I chose to keep it as I got it back, a reminder of my days as a young Marine officer.

Semper Fidelis.
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Old 03-05-2015, 05:42 AM
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Back in Reno in 35

I was a shinny new modern super revolver, belonging to some magazine dude named keith, where he lost me in a poker game to a real old time cowboy.

I rode on the cowboys hip, high in the Sierra Nevada range, back in the late thirties, until his death in 54, was with him constantly, riding in a cowboys holster, no city slicker hide your gun rig, like them so called gangsters use.

most of the time it was of horseback, he didn't much care for them automobiles, they spooked his old horse, and he werent going to walk no where that he could ride , unless it was to rest that darn horse.

, I swear that old owl-hoot took better care of that old horse, than he ever did me. even the time I shot a big rattlers head clean off, that dang horse dumped us right on top of that snake , just because that old snake shook his tail at us.

I remember that night just like yesterday around the fire, him a rubbing down and talking to that dang horse, and what do I get! You ask! He rubs some bacon grease on me, to get it off his hands after cutting some for his supper. He was always talking to that dang horse talking about places they had been, like someplace called the hole and the roost and other such places, not a word to me in 20 years, but he talked to that dang old horse everyday.

I was a gun, and a gun is a tool, and I am proud to say that the old cowboy was a man's man to ride with, at times he used me for other things than just shooting that caused some hard scrapes and bruises.
but he would take them cartridges out every night and get that piece of string tied to that old oily rag and wipe all my holes after supper, until there at the very end.

We rode together for nigh onto 20 years true partners, he new if he needed me I could and would speak loudly, but most times it was a quick chance at something a running, hopping or a flying for his supper, not one setting rabbit ever, he always say "naw that aint sportin".


we were high up on Shasta mountain, in the bunk of a old half dug-out cabin during a early fall blizzard in 1954 ,him a nursing a bad back after that danged horse dumped us over a ten foot drop, that was the last time I've spoke until today.

That was the day I killed that young panther that jumped us, then I spoke my last shot, I put down the horse, (there was plenty of times I had wanted to through the years , but when it came right down to it, I hated to do it, but that old horse was bad hurt and it was scared and suffering.)

We where there in that rickety old bunk when the roof caved in on us and a rafter went right thru his chest, we were there for almost a month before another rider came along.

He dug us out, buried the old cowboy with his boots on but then he got all his money and the papers he had in his saddle bags (even was an old wanted poster with a drawed face on it, that looked a little like him, except it was for some peach faced youngster) so it couldn't have been him I believe he was growed man when his momma birthed him)

Anyway the rider stashed away the old worn leather rigging, and sent a letter along with me his other papers to a sister in some place call San Francisco .

She spent the money, threw away the papers and put me on a shelf in the root cellar( at least it was close to a window, and I could set and watch them big steel fish that could swim on top of the water).

that was the last time I ever saw her.

then yesterday some guy with a yellow hat (that looked like half a melon ) on his head ,picked me up and took me with him,

I have only two wishes from my next owner !


#2 I always wanted to shoot a setting rabbit just for fun, (its hard work hitting them thing at full stride) at any distance
,
,
,
/

/

,
,
#1 I hope he aint got no DANG HORSE!

Last edited by ky wonder; 03-05-2015 at 07:24 AM.
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Old 03-05-2015, 07:43 AM
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this thread is a great ideal and you have some interesting stories beginning to come in, and hopefully more of our members might take up this challenge, and even inspire some of the lerkers to sign up and add theirs.

with enough this could be turned into a pocket paperback that could be published and sold to support the site, and if mine was deemed suitable l'd be the first to give my permission to the owners of this site for such a venture with a caviat that someone edits my work.
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Old 03-05-2015, 01:03 PM
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Muley Gil, ky wonder,& Xfuzz,

You fellers would be durn fine company settin' around a campfire, sippin' on a jug of "Stump Blower" and swappin' lies.

Great stories.
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Old 03-05-2015, 01:31 PM
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Some years ago there was an article in one of the old Gun Digest editions about a talking Winchester Model 94 telling stories about itself, somewhat like #14 above.
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Old 03-08-2015, 03:34 PM
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Norm called the four of us into the lunchroom a few minutes before our daylight shift was to start. We didn't mind. Early January in Western PA is always cold and snowy, especially by the river, and we liked the warmth of the room. It was close to the furnace. Coal was scarce even in '39.

"Have a seat," Norm said, "we have a visitor." The plant door opened and in walked the owner. He took off his hat and coat and sat down with us at the lunch table and said, "I asked for you boys to meet me here because we have been asked to help and I can think of no folks better fit to carry it. We have a war coming."

He continued, "The government needs someone to build big guns for the Navy. Big bores and long barrels and heavy and machined right the first time all under one roof. We have the machines and people and skills. And not much time."

We all were quiet. Reggie, from the machine shop spoke first. What does that have to do with us? That stuff is across the pond."

The boss said, "that will change in time. We need to be ready."

With that he opened his brief case and pulled out some sketches of heavy weapons for big ships for all to see. From his right hip he drew a revolver and laid it on the rolled up paper and it held the paper flat. Our jaws dropped at the sizes of the weapons & ships.

Norm, held down the one flap with an anchor tattooed left arm and spoke up, "and when do we start and when do we need to be done?"

The boss, picked up the revolver, stuffed it back behind his hip and said "we started six months ago when I was in Britain and we need to be ready by January 1942. I will tell you more when you need to know."
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Old 03-08-2015, 04:07 PM
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The reason the revolvers finish ended up like this was from the saltwater in the Pacific islands. This is a great little powerful gun for searching out the naps hiding in the caves. This 357 revolver was a heart breaker, life taker during the war. The reason I'm still here is because s&w manufactures such an awesome quality revolver. The war was similar to being in the old western times were a gun kept you alive. You depended on a quality firearm to work flawlessly every time.
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Old 03-08-2015, 04:15 PM
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Great story:
My RM looked bad, but not like the salt-water marine gun….No, mine looked like someone needed a hammer…. It shot well, but I could not stand it….had my gifted local gunsmith do some repairs and refinish. It is the finest shooting .357 I have ever owned…..

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Old 03-08-2015, 05:35 PM
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"The reason the revolvers finish ended up like this was from the saltwater in the Pacific islands. "

Saltwater exposure in the Atlantic is just as bad. I have experience.
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Old 08-13-2018, 10:39 PM
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Sometimes spring comes early in WPA; sometimes it comes late. Now, it was early. The Mon River had thawed and coal was flowing freely. Norm and the Boss, Jim, stopped in at shift's ends in mid afternoon to say to us the forgings would be here in early summer. Hauled up from Pittsburgh. The tree panning tools were set to arrive about the same time.

The Leblond lathe was being refurbished and the Churchill O.D. grinder too. We would use the 100 ton crane and 50 ton crane together to walk the forgings into the shop. The War Department was paying. Really, we said? We thought FDR was a a loose screw.

Little did we know.
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Old 08-14-2018, 02:03 AM
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The year was 1942. War was raging all over Europe and Africa. People were flocking to Casablanca. It had an airport and that airport meant passage to Spain or Britain. All a desperate soul needed was an exit visa. But they were hard to come by.
Ilsa snuck into the dark rooms above Ricks Cafe, hoping to acquire an exit visa. The room was dark and smoky. She made out the figure of Rick sitting in a chair, smoking. There was an open bottle in front of him on the table. Next to the bottle was a revolver, a big American made Smith. Then she saw the body and she let out a gasp. “Who is it, Rick?”, she asked, terrified.
“It’s Colonel Moeller, Gestapo” Rick answered as he took a hit from his French cigarette. “He was following you all day today. It’s his job to see that you and especially that patriot husband of yours don’t leave Casablanca”.
Rick stood up and Ilsa saw the blood on the gun and on Ricks jacket. He picked up the gun and walked over to the bookcase. “The stupid Krauts will never think to look here” he said, opening a Bible. The inside pages of the Bible were cut away, making a hiding place. Rick put the gun in the Bible, shut it and returned the book to its place in the bookcase.
“ Ilsa, I broke a few commandments tonite. I killed Moeller. He had it coming anyway. I stoled one million francs from the cafe. I helped myself to two letters of transit. And I’m about to take another man’s wife to America. What do you think of all that?”
Lovely Ilsa smiled a wry smile and said “ Rick, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship”.
“Here’s looking at you, kid”....
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Old 08-14-2018, 09:05 AM
S&WsRsweet S&WsRsweet is offline
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Join Date: May 2017
Location: TTown Alabama ,Roll Tide
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I'm a big gun a Registered magnum my first owner was a tank commander in WW2 ,carried me in a leather holster over his shoulder .We saw some things ,things that you don't want to dwell on had a few tough scrapes .I been through Italy,France all across Europe had a fella with one of them fancy little Police Pistols jump from behind a doorway and point it at my first owner but he was quick ,real quick and I was accurate that little police pistol is in my new owners trophy case now .My new owner he was the old mans kid when he got called up .They ran him thru basic he lost 15 pounds of fat and gained 12 pounds of muscle ,he came home on his first leave after basic and the old man gave me to him .I was so proud the old man did t talk much about our service but he told the kid how I had saved his life as he handed me over. He said kelp it clean and keep it close .We got back and they sent us to a place called Vietnam man was the kid green the first week there I thought he is going to get killed and I am gonna be in a trophy case somewhere but some of the other guys took the kid in and taught him the ropes and I don't know how but we survived .Man it was wet and hot and dry all at the same time and cold and scary .The kid had this plastic thing they passed of as a rifle ,we were out on a listening post on night and the whole world lit up the kids rifle jammed and he pulled me from my holster just as quick as his old man and I did my job .He fired reloaded over and over my muzzle flash lit up faces of guys running at us but it was over in seconds but it seemed like hours .The kid was give out but he carefully reloaded me and put me back in my holster .The kid lived ,brought me back home with him that was nearly 50 years ago ,since I have been in lawenforcement ,a little night security work around the holidays plus done bedside duty for the kid ( well I guess he isn't a kid anymore) .we taught both of his sons to shoot and three of his grand kids .He don't talk much about what it was like over there just like his old man .His oldest asked him why he did t send and have me refinished but he just smiled and said no that old revolver is like me it's older and shows it but inside it has the heart of a warrior right on .I was so proud .Both of his sons were in service now little Katie just joined the first girl soldier in the family she asked the kid if someday she could have me as her bedside gun ,man did that make me feel good with all these new automatic fancy sighted things out there passing for guns I am still relevant .The heart of a warrior.
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