First engraved 4 inch 44 magnum turns 64 years old on the 15th. Very fortunate to have it in the collection and enjoy it often as possible. A marvelous piece with tremendous presence. The barrel roll stamp is quite a bit forward on this revolver as an interesting features. I wonder if a 6 ½” was cut to make this one or if the stamp was just placed forward? I have to thank Mr. Dye at Salt Lake Collectables for facilitating the movement my direction, and Dr. Cross for all the invoice information and discussion on our favorite topic!
The “J” stamp for Jarvis engraved.
Another story:
College was not a ton of fun and this time many years ago, rather than smelling like doe estrus and pursuing Boone & Crockett bucks around the forest, I was buried in books. Giant texts on pharmacotherapy, monstrous volumes on pharmacology, pyramids of biopharmaceutics, and a litany of subjects now lost to antiquity were right in front of me on the dining room table. Pouring over this information in a desperate attempt to osmotically absorb as much as possible prior to the next exam was paramount. Concentration was peaking as the brain was overriding musculoskeletal aches and bladder protests. I was in the ZONE, and heavy information download was in progress. Then I hear singing? Nope, rapping, “Cause the party ain’t jumpin like it used to, even though this might bruise you, let it burn, let it burn, gotta let it burn!”
One of my four other roommates jets down the stairs and sock slides across the hardwood floor into the dining room, waving his hands in front of his face like David Bowie and dancing like Michael Jackson while spewing Ushers, “Let it burn.” It’s gone, all my concentration has been polluted by dance club Chris’s public display of full body convulsions and guttural grunting of lyrics. Chris says, “Hey man, I’m all done studying, ha ha! Now I’m gonna make a pizza! It is going to be so yummy!” My disapproving Cro-Magnon brow stare only insights more commentary from the peanut gallery. He continues, “Yo, you shouldn’t have waited so long to study, you know there was lots to go over for these next tests. Then you could be ready to be going out to the bar tonight.” Well, thinking to myself, I’m a slow learner as it always has taken me multiples to gain knowledge, rather than someone (roommate antagonist) who can read it once and know it forever. He enters the kitchen to my left, his right. It is a sad Spartan space, no decor. Fridge, microwave, electric stove, dirty counters, dish drying rack, a few cabinets missing doors here and there, and the most important implement, a stainless bar style pizza oven.
We were on iteration number 2 of the pizza oven. The original was destroyed in a horrible fire accident caused by Chris placing a rising crust DiGiorno’s in there, and then absent mindedly reefed the rack out to drop the carbon based food directly on to the heating element as it was too large (due to crust expansion) to come out of the slot opening. Essentially, the equivalent of loading a canoe on top of a truck inside of a garage and subsequently backing it out of a standard garage opening. It strips the canoe right off and deposits it directly on to the slab. Except the pizza ignited, and now there was a real fire emergency!! Chris was screaming for help as flames jetted out all four stainless sides. I grabbed an oven mitt, pulled it off the counter and wall socket, and with great urgency, shot putted it into the front yard snow bank. It was about as classy as the Uncle Lewis cigar Christmas Vacation explosion aftermath. Anyways, Chris placed the appropriate non-rising crust pizza in the oven, and turns to me and says, “I’ll see you in ten for this deliciousness.” Ensuing and remaining Usher lyrics disappear upstairs. The prankster in me bubbled to the forefront as the psyche to suppress it was now absent. I confidently got up, removed the frozen pizza from the oven rack, placed it back on the factory cardboard disk, and sat back down.
DING! Ba dum, bad um, bad um, Chris came down the stairs. “Man, this is going to be so gooooooood.” He points and shuffles past me. There was a long pause. I suppose he was trying to process why the pizza he supposedly place in the oven, was on the cardboard. He turns to me, “didn’t you see me place this in the oven? I think I’m losing it. I could have sworn I put it in there. How could this happen?” I calmly David Bowie’d hands in front of my face and said, “I don’t know, man, I was over here studying.” He goes, “Uh, uh, I’ll try this again.” This time he stands there without fanfare while it cooks.
Not much time needed to pass before the next opportunity presented itself to convince my roomie he had dementia. The next night, all five of us were in the kitchen. It is a tight space. Andy was boiling spaghetti noodles, I was taking up space and impeding food prep progress along with Brian, Chris was going to boil water for mac & cheese, and Simon was eating hummus and pretzels. Chris places the pot of water on the burner and rips it to hi heat. I look at Big Brian (NCAA champ wrestler) and say, “I need a distraction.” In a true Larry, Curly, and Moe fashion, Brian grabs Chris’s wooden spoon out of his hand and slaps him on the inner thigh. Chris howls and falls on Simon, and they both go to the ground. I wink at Brian and Andy, remove Chris’s pot from the high heating element and place it on an unused stove element. WrestleMania continues for a few more minutes with Brian, again, easily triumphing overall. Sore and bruised, we get up. Andy’s noodles are done and he’s preparing to strain them. Chris is stunned. He is locked in on the stove. One burner is glowing red, and the others (including his sedentary pot) an ice cold black. He stammers, “How the, what the, it cannot be, I, I placed it here and turned on the heat. It should be boiling now.” I slap him on the back and say, “No o’l boy, you put it here and turned this burner on
.” He was really confused.
The coup de grace was two days later. Chris announced he was boiling one dozen eggs for meal preparation. Well, have you ever noticed that at first glance there is absolutely no difference between a hardboiled egg and a fresh egg?? Brian and I removed two hard boiled eggs, and replaced them with two uncooked eggs and stirred the bowl after Chris left. Honestly, I could not tell which was which. It was an exciting game of egg roulette. Serendipitously, it was the first egg. He grabs two out of the bowl. Brian starts to snicker and Chris asks, “What’s the joke?” Then the flood gates open. Brian loses it! Hysterical in anticipation he has to go outside, out of egg view. By the time Brian composes himself, Chris is spinning the eggs on the table, playing with his food. Again, too much for Brian, and he is coughing and laughing as he round the corner out of sight. “SMACK!” Wet goo all over Chris’s hands. He goes, “how the, what the, this cannot be… I cooked these myself. These are cooked. This cannot happen. I think I have to check myself into the behavior health unit down at the University. I really have lost my mind.” Brian heard this and was laughing even louder off in the distance!
I fessed up to Chris about the pizza, pot placement, and eggs. He was relieved. But there were consequences as he:
1. Buried my truck in snow before I had to be at school.
2. Placed Christmas cookie frosting decoration beads in-between my bed sheets – you cannot feel them and the colors bleed onto the skin in spectacular colors. I looked like Barney, the purple dinosaur.
3. Removed my bathroom door from the hinges
4. Created an elaborate obstacle course from the entryway to my private space for me and my S.O. to navigate – this included shooting our way through the gauntlet with Nerf guns and jumping over road barrels.
There we some good times.
Da Boyz –
- BTW – Chris is the one ruining the picture. Also, Andy is absent because, that night, he held the noodle strainer by the base and poured he scalding water/noodle mixture over it. He was convalescing in the hospital at the time. Later he quit the pharmacy program, got accepted to medical school, and is now a surgeon in Texas. FYI...
The OP with a gun show preview–
44 Magnum Birthday
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