I am somewhat surprised by the popularity of this story, nobody here in Left-wing Liberal Artist San Miguel would give a hoot. On the other hand, perhaps I should not be, usually the greatest patriots are the gun-owners, and it doesn't seem to matter from what country they come from. You all might remember that I was one of Canada's original IPSC Coordinators, so you will understand that I got to know large groups of shooters in a working environment. Here in Mexico, working with Mexican Shooters and Clubs that are trying their best to work within an incredibly restrictive system, I find that the attitudes of the people are exactly the same. It doesn't matter whether you are talking about my friend John from Manitoba, Canada, or my friend Juan from here in San Miguel, their love of the sport and the excitement of the Gun World are the same. Canadian and American shooters are FAR more developed, obviously, as they have access to a complete World of firearms that are prohibited here -- but the Mexicans do the best they can with what they have. It is amazing the similarity one finds amongst people who share a common interest.
I don't have many more stories about the M27 that was Phil's and is now mine. I remember Phil told me once that he went to some Consular Halloween Party thrown here in San Miguel by his friend, Colonel Phil Maher who was American Consul for many years, dressed as a Motorcycle Cop.
"I just wore the Model 27", he told me with a big smile. "Unloaded, of course. I think everybody thought it was a fake gun or something because nobody asked me about it." I remember getting a laugh out of that. Both Phil Roettinger and Phil Maher were Colonels in their respective services -- although Phil Maher PERHAPS was actually a Lt. Colonel (Airforce) wereas Phil Roettinger was a full Colonel (Marines). Maher tended to treat me like some sort of kid-interloper -- although HE was the one really interested in IPSC Shooting and techniques, so he certainly was very friendly to me. I always called him "sir" or "Colonel". I remember once -- after Phil Roettinger had died and Colonel Maher and I were left to ourselves shooting alone out in the desert before we got our little club going here in San Miguel, that the Colonel told me; "Cal, you know, when no one is around, you can call me Phil...".
I replied with a line out of The Wild Geese by saying, "Yes, sir, I suppose I could, sir." Which brought a smile to his face. Maher liked to be called Colonel, and the pomp and ceremony of his office. This is not to say he wasn't an effective consul, he was, he was EXCELLENT. The man of the hour. I say that without reservation. People who are perhaps interested in the contributions of Phil Maher as Consul can read more about him at;
http://www.atencionsanmiguel.org/arc...an_05_eng.html
Phil Roettinger and I, on the other hand, were genuine friends. I called him Phil, and he called me "boy" or "kiddo" or Cal. Roettinger talked to me with an ease that threw away the 40 years difference in our ages. Maher talked to me like a Colonel might talk to a favored Sergeant. There was a definite line between us neither of us would cross, and I think Maher always sort of resented the open friendship extended to me by Roettinger. Resented is perhaps too strong a word...as I said earlier, everytime the three of us got into a discussion of something and I made a telling point, Maher would point out that, "Cal wasn't even BORN when we were in that war..." and Roettinger would laugh that off by pointing out that I was the best shot out of the group. Friendly rivalry, I guess, was the spirit between the two of them in regards to me. I was lucky they took me in.
Someone pointed out earlier in this thread that perhaps foriegners (Americans, Canadians) can retire or move to Mexico and make a life here. Well, I'll tell you, it helps if you are rich (I wasn't and am not). But what helps more, is to "get connected" within the Mexican Community. Over the years, I have been able to do that but the MOST IMPORTANT THING, I think, was that these two old vets sort of "took me in" and kept an eye on me. It sure helped to know that if I had problems I could call up the U.S. Consul (there is not Canadian Consul in San Miguel and the Canadian Embassy in Mexico is farcical), and he would help me if he could. The only thing I really ended up using his help with was getting my gunpermits here, which obviously was invaluable to me, but it was nice to know he was there.
I remember one night, I think it was the night we all went to Stan Levine's birthday party (the guy who landed on Tarawa, Iwo, and Okinawa) that after a few drinks, Maher asked me; "Do you know WHY San Miguel is such a popular place for Americans and Canadians to come to?"
"Well," I replied, never missing a chance to kiss ***, "because you're the Consul here, sir!"
Maher sort of rolled his eyes, and Phil Roettinger said with a smile, "the library." I knodded my head at that. San Miguel, the legend goes, was originally populated by W.W.II and Korean vets who came here under the G.I. bill because the Spanish Schools were APPROVED, and disabled vets could retire here on their disabilities and live a comfortable life. Add to that, these disabled vets -- who may have lost a leg or an arm -- found that their Mexican maids (which they could afford on their limited disability payments because of the huge difference in the U.S./Mexican economies of the time) were often HOT looking women who saw NO PROBLEM in marrying a man with that disability cheque even though he might be missing a limb or two. AND, they wrote home to tell their friends who might have been similarly disabled or injured.
So the town started to grow, and an EXCELLENT English language library was installed by some benevolent U.S. organization, and the town took off. It became a center for Art, and later the hippies, and later, more Artists and Spanish Language Schools...and ended up the artsy-fartsy San Miguel of today. A budding baby-boomer Mexican/American Retirement Community.
"We put the library here," said Phil, looking at his glass of Jack Daniel's with a grin. "At least, the whole English side of it."
"Huh?" I asked. This didn't fit into any story I had ever been told.
Turns out, the C.I.A. in the '50's put EXCELLENT English Language libraries in Guadalahara, Mexico City, Guatemala City, Panama City, Tegucigalpa, Managua, and San Miguel.
"What we really wanted," Phil explained, "was EXCELLENT reference libraries for our agents working in Central American and Mexico at the time." Remember, we are talking the '50's and early '60's. Long before the Internet and fax machines. An agent who needed to research something needed the material to BE THERE, on the spot.
"What an excellent idea," I thought to myself. So CIA.
"We didn't want to arouse suspicion," Roettinger continued, with Maher looking on, "so we put in WHOLE English Language libraries. Fiction, Children's books, Educational Material, what-have-you, but top-notch reference material as well. We used fake companies and charities that we set up to fund the operation, and nobody ever caught on to it to this day."
I always get a laugh out of that; Artsy-Fartsy San Miguel, full of what many of my Canadian shooter friends would call "faggot liberal artists" actually was bred out of a CIA Cold War operation. Anyone I've ever told the story to here always looks at me like I just stepped off a ship from Mars or something, it is so contrary to "San Miguel Urban Legend".
After Phil Roettinger died, Maher and I continued to go out shooting whenever the Colonel could go. He imported a Dillon Press and lots of components for me (reloading is "prohibited" in Mexico) via his "Diplomatic Pouch" method, and I loaded for both of us. Maher -- like Roettinger, actually had permits for 9 m.m. and .45 ACP guns, but the best they could do for me was the standard .38 Special or smaller guns allowed under Mexican Law. I can live with it, it's better than nothing. Besides, I HAVE the M27, although I can't legally take it out.

A break in the story here; Mexico is considering a Pilot program to allow .45's and 9 m.m. handguns on a extremely limited basis to "sport shooters". As an original IPSC Director, I have managed to get myself a very coveted spot on this list, and we will see if over the next 6 months a dozen of us or so end up with permits for a .45 and a 9 m.m. for "sport shooting". This is Breaking News here in Mexico, believe me, but the negotiations look solid. I wish the two Phils were still alive to know how far along we have come.

Anyway, Maher and I continued to shoot after Roettinger died. One day I was helping him from his car, holding his arm.
"I can manage!" he told me angrily. I did not release his arm, and continued to help him along and said, "Yes, sir, I know you can, sir," but I noticed he did not pull away either. This was last summer, the last time we went shooting together. He was about 86 then. A man who flew P-51's off of Saipan and Iwo Jima, a man who killed a Japanese Sapper on Iwo with a M-97 trench gun.
"You are taking good care of Phil's revolver?" I remember he asked me.
"Yes, sir."
"Well," he continued, "hang on to that one. It's very valuable." I mean, I knew that, but coming from him just made it more so. Before this whole thread started, I knew the gun was valuable -- more so because it belonged to my friend. Still, after all this, I guess I appreciate it more now. Maher died in January, or so, this year.

Only about a month ago, Phil Maher's wife called me to come up to their house to "help her" with his guns. She did not know what to do with them and feared the Mexican Army or Police would simply "take them". I went through the guns with her, and some were legal for civilian ownership here in Mexico and I arranged for people I knew to come and get them and pay a fair price for them. The Colonel's S & W 669 (which he always wore) and his service 1911 were a bigger problem.
I made an arrangement with some good friends here to get the 669 smuggled in pieces up to the U.S. where the Colonel has a son who would appreciate having it. The 1911 will remain here -- close to the 1911 of his good friend Phil Roettinger -- registered as a .22.
"You know," his wife told me as I was sorting through the Colonel's possessions with some reverence, "Phil was always very fond of you. He always spoke highly of you. He would be very pleased that you came to help me with this. I think he would have expected it."
I waited a second before speaking so my voice wouldn't crack, and said, "yes, I know that, Ma'am."

I guess there isn't much more to tell. I was so lucky to have somehow managed to earn the friendship of these two great men, men who -- like my father -- in every way had the qualities we admire so much when we talk about "the Greatest Generation". These men LIVED. By God, how they lived, and I just shake my head sometimes when I think about what they did. I don't think they make them like that anymore -- but then again, there are a lot of young Americans in Iraq and Americans and Canadians in Afganistan who maybe ARE like that -- maybe we just have to look harder now in a Society that is so "me" oriented that Service and Duty are just words and Honor is somebody who sits on a bench in court.
I once made the mistake, when we were sitting together having a drink, of correcting Phil Maher on something to do with one type of gun or other he happened to be talking about.
"Back in my day," he said, chomping around his big cigar, "BOYS spoke when spoken to!" He said it with a serious face, and I SHUT UP.
Phil Roettinger looked at me, smiled, and then said, "He's an Airforce Colonel. He needs his fresh linen. Marine Colonel's aren't so touchy." Maher just gave Roettinger a glare and shook his head, but I chuckled and felt relieved that I hadn't committed any capitol crime by speaking up in the first place.
I guess I've rambled on and on without being able to enlighten you much more about the Model 27. To me, the gun represents an era of being able to associate with two great friends who were "wayyyy out of my league" and only the weird circumstances of being "strangers in a strange land" brought us together and allowed me the privilege of being able to befriend them. When I look at the Model 27, I think of my two friends -- now both gone -- and remember what it was like to be there with them and it makes me feel so proud to have been there and to have known them.
Sorry for the rambling, but that's the story.
Cal