The year was 1950. I was a boy then, and the proud owner of a brand new .22 Winchester Model 69A bolt action repeating rifle. My dad and I loved to go shooting with it, and I practiced often enough to be able to shoot the center out of a penny at 25 yards using the rifle's open sights. Showing those disemboweled pennies to my friends at school moved me up a lot of notches on the "cool guy" scale, for sure! The place we most often chose to shoot was a range created by nature. Just north of Phoenix was a prominent peak known today as Lookout Mountain. Although today subdivisions cluster about its base, at that time it was out in untouched desert. Its slopes made for natural backstops and an ideal place to target shoot undisturbed. But one day another shooter was there when we arrived. We started to turn the family car around to find another suitable spot, but the stranger waved to us and beckoned us to come join him. When we approached, he grinned and said, "Wanted to show ya somethin' special!"
With that, he removed the magazine from the pistol he was pointing down range, and locked its action open. Now I had read about the new Ruger .22 semiauto pistols in the American Rifleman magazines I was fond of reading in the school library (yes!), but I had yet to see one. Now the stranger was proudly displaying one that he had just bought (in those days for $37.50). He demonstrated how it worked and proceeded to let loose nine rounds, emptying the magazine. He locked the bolt back after the last round. "Ain't she a hoot?" he asked. Dad agreed, but all I could do was to stand there bug-eyed and think 'Wow, you can fire off 9 shots just by pulling the trigger! And it looks so neat! Just like a Luger!' All my nerves were screaming "I really wanna shoot that gun!" Wonder of wonders, the stranger said that if my dad agreed, I was welcome to try it out. Dad nodded his head, and I was shown how to load the magazine. I loaded it up with nine rounds and inserted the magazine into the grip frame until it clicked home. The stranger showed me how to load one into the chamber by pressing down on the safety that also doubled as a bolt hold-open latch. Pointing the pistol downrange with one hand and aligning the sights, I carefully squeezed the trigger and let fly with 9 rounds in quick succession. Good news and bad news. Good news: the little gun was FUN to shoot. Bad news: I was missing the target all over the place! Being used to a rifle that could be held steady in a variety of ways for accuracy, I was unaware of how much skill it took to suspend a pistol in midair with one hand and get it to shoot anywhere near the target. We all allowed that target shooting with a pistol required a lot of practice. Be that as it may, on that day, I hungered for a Ruger .22 pistol of my own. It was to be 10 years before that came to pass.
Fast forward to 1960. I turned 21 years old in that year, and had just completed college ROTC summer camp at Fort Lewis, Washington. We shot a familiarization course with the issue sidearm of the time, the .45 caliber 1911A1 pistol, and it whetted my desire to own a pistol of my own. Upon my return to Phoenix, I had gone shopping at the local FedMart store, and had spotted a number of bright red boxes emblazoned with a black eagle. Sure enough, the store was offering Ruger .22 pistols with barrel lengths of either 6 or 4 ¾ inches. The price was still $37.50 for either one. Being old enough to own a pistol and buy it myself then, I chose the 6-inch model, reasoning that the added barrel length would give the bullet more velocity and make it a bit more accurate with its longer sight radius. As I had been a member of the Arizona State University rifle team and was a senior in ROTC, I had access to the school rifle range. I could hardly wait to get down there and try out my new purchase. When I arrived, the old retired Army Master Sergeant who supervised the range gave me some valued pointers on pistol shooting, and we set up a target at 25 feet. Now ear protection in those days meant stuffing rifle patches or pieces of Kleenex in your ears…if you wanted to. We were not then aware that permanent damage to your hearing was possible when shooting in an unprotected manner. At any rate, on that concrete-enclosed range, shooting a .22 pistol instead of a rifle was a shock. The muzzle report was LOUD! I promptly got a couple of rifle patches and put them to use. As I shot more and more with that little Ruger, I got better and better with it, learning the fundamentals of grip, sight alignment and trigger control. Unlike my first showing with a Ruger .22 ten years prior, I was actually proficient!
I cleaned and kept my pistol in my college fraternity house. It was not unusual then to keep firearms around on campus. In fact, my first exposure to a number of other firearm types was back then on campus, courtesy of friends who owned them. It was legal then (as it still is in Arizona) to openly carry a handgun in a holster. I remember specifically going into a bank with one of my friends to withdraw some cash on our way to go shooting in the desert. I carried that Ruger on my hip, thought nothing about it, and it didn't raise an eyebrow among the bank staff. How things have changed.
It became my habit to carry the Ruger in the glove compartment of my car when I was out and about. When this was done, the magazine was loaded but not the chamber, making it perfectly safe yet instantly ready by retracting and releasing the bolt. I thought it wouldn't hurt to have a gun available…just in case. That attitude paid off late in 1960.
My girlfriend and I were parked one evening out on the desert. The moon was full and beautiful. All was tranquil and pleasant. And then it happened. Like a bolt of lightning, a truck loaded with several men came roaring up to my car, its headlights and auxiliary light rack bathing us in brilliant illumination on my side. I think these guys were four sheets to the wind, and I could hear empty beer cans rattling around in the truck bed. "Let's get 'em!" exclaimed one as he dismounted from the truck. Still in the bright lights of the truck, I quickly reached into the glove compartment and withdrew the Ruger. Holding it up so they could see plainly, I jacked a round into the chamber. "Hold it!" yelled one of the thugs. "He's got a gun!" The guy who had jumped from the truck jumped back in it. "Come on, let's go!" shouted another of them, and the truck peeled out in a cloud of dust. As the dust settled and we found ourselves alone again, my girlfriend and I heaved sighs of relief. I hate to think what might have happened had I not had that pistol available.
Early in 1961, approaching graduation, marriage and induction into the Army, I decided that I wanted a pistol with more power. Trained on the 1911A1 pistol, I thought that if I could find a surplus specimen, it would be just the ticket. On a visit to the Pinney and Robinson sporting goods store in Phoenix, I spotted a decent condition 1911A1 made by Ithaca during WWII. Interestingly, it had British proofs, giving it a bit more historical color. The only problem was that I didn't have enough money for the purchase. The store clerk asked me if I had anything to trade. I uttered the words I regret to this day, explaining that yes, I had a Ruger .22 pistol, and could that work as trading material? In a few minutes, the deal was done. My Ruger and a bit of cash were traded for that 1911A1 and a box of war-surplus .45 ACP ammo. Alas, my first pistol disappeared into the morass of the marketplace, never to be seen again.
In later years, as my finances allowed, I bought a number of other Ruger .22s, including one (illustrated here) that closely duplicates that first pistol. My favorite was a Mark I bull barrel target pistol that I shot for many years in competition. I also found a 1950-vintage "red eagle" pistol, a duplicate of the first one I ever shot out by Lookout Mountain so many years ago. But in my heart of hearts, I wish I had kept that first pistol. I learned a bunch about pistol shooting and life by having it. It was fun and economical to shoot, and it probably saved a couple of skins just by being available. I'm glad I bought it, and I'll regret forever that I let it go. Only the memories remain.
John
