Although I had a rifle (Winchester 69A bolt gun .22) since I was 11, it was not until I turned 21 that I could legally buy a handgun in Arizona. That's when I purchased my first pistol.
When I was kid in the early 1950s, my dad and I were out shooting my rifle on the desert not far from where we lived. A man also came out there and began shooting a .22 pistol. It was one of those new Ruger .22 semiautomatics. He invited me to shoot a magazine through it, and I was thrilled to do so. It was the first time I had ever fired a handgun. While I was an excellent shot with my rifle. I discovered that I wasn't worth a hoot with a handgun. The front and rear sights were way closer together, and my one-hand technique was nowhere near steady. Bummer.
Well, I had turned 21 in 1960, and was then legal to buy my own handgun. My mom and I were shopping at a local Fed Mart (look it up - a lot like Walmart in those days) and they had some Ruger .22 pistols for sale. They had both 4" and 6"-barreled types for sale. The price was $37.50 - for either - Bill Ruger had kept that same price for 11 years! I had the cash, so I took the plunge and selected the 6" model. I figured it would be more accurate and with the slight additional weight, easier to hold steady. I was already familiar with the gun, having fired that other example when I was younger.
I was in college as a junior then, and I took the new pistol down to the ROTC .22 rifle range, which was then under the stadium at ASU's old football field. As a member of the rifle team, I had free access any time. I put up a target at 50 feet, loaded up a magazine, and with my best imitation of a competition one-hand stance, let fly.
The first thing I noticed was that the gun was WAY louder than a rifle chambered for the same round, and the noise was enhanced even further because of the concrete floor, walls and ceiling. Those were the days when we were all somewhat ignorant of the permanent damage loud noises could do to our eardrums.
I also discovered that I still stunk as far as accuracy was concerned. A Master Sgt. instructor was on hand, and I asked him to help. He was helpful in explaining the fundamentals of pistol marksmanship to me, and I immediately began my journey towards being a good pistol shot.
I took the gun back to my room at the fraternity house, and learned how to take it apart for cleaning. It was not unusual to keep firearms in dormitories and fraternity houses then, and my roommate often kept his '94 Winchester in our closet there.
Well, I practiced regularly, and became a fairly decent shot. I remember going with friends for plinking out on the desert south of the campus, and once walking into a bank to get some cash with the pistol in a holster in plain view. No laws against that then, and no one blinked an eye.
Well, I was going into the Army as a brand new lieutenant in about a year, and felt that what I really needed was a 1911A1 pistol of my own to pack when I felt the need. I wandered into my favorite gun store (Pinney and Robinson) and there in a display case was a surplus Ithaca example. Problem was that I didn't have the ante to buy the gun.
I did have my .22 Ruger, though, and we bargained a trade and some cash. I walked out with the .45, and it has been my companion throughout Army service to the present day.
Eventually it gnawed on me that my very first handgun was relinquished, and I would never have it again. In those days, I had to exchange a gun to get another I wanted more.
And then, many years later, at a gun show, I saw an exact duplicate of my first handgun - a 6" Ruger standard pistol. I scooped it up in a heartbeat, and I felt somewhat whole again as a consequence. It has the look, the feel, and the performance of that first handgun, but will never replace it in my mind. It was one of the ones that got away in my younger years, and I regret losing it still. Here's a pic of its replacement - and I still get a twinge of nostalgia when I see it.
John
