Quick story for the crowd, well maybe not so quick. Around 1985 or so the police department I worked for converted to less than stellar 9mm semi-autos. We were given the option of purchasing our duty Model 66's back for a song. The revolvers had our department door shields stamped into the sideplates and they looked pretty sharp. I bought mine back and it came with my old holster and HK speed loaders. Mine was they very last "new" Model 66 the department had in inventory.
About a year or so later I got a call from a retired sergeant who was my first field supervisor. He was a great guy, or so I thought and asked me if I would be so kind as to sell him my Model 66 as he couldn't buy one from the department as he was officially retired. He wanted one bad and begged me to sell him mine. He had moved to Dallas, Texas after retiring and opened up a service station. I caved in and sold him my old Model 66 and off it went. He was happy I was sad. Call me a sucker...
A few months later I got a call from a still active trooper that was a good friend of the sergeant I sold my revolver to. He asked if I might still have the serial number for the gun and I said sure, but why did he need it. He told me the retired sergeant I sold the pistol to, gave it to his kid for protection when he moved out of the house and into an apartment in Dallas of all places. Sure as shootin' my trusty old revolver, my trusty M66 was stolen in a burglary. I was let's say HOT! Not just because the pistol was stolen, but the circumstances around how the kid came into possession of my pistol really added fuel to my fire. And as if this all wasn't enough, I later found out the retired sergeant managed to convince an active employee to buy the sergeants old pistol back for him. So he did get his old gun back, but he never called or wrote to tell me I could have my old pistol back. This all took place well before mine was stolen.
I haven't heard a word from that retired sergeant since he bought my revolver from me back in the 80's. I still have to wonder whatever happened to that pistol and I hate to think it made it somehow into Mexico. I was on a teaching assignment many years later and had to stay in Dallas. While I was there I popped in at the service station that the retired sergeant owned. As I walked in the front door of the place I saw someone exiting the building at a fast pace. I asked the attendant if the owner was in and he said I just missed him. I left my department business card with the attendant and asked him to have the owner call me. I never got a call from him. Like my dear old Dad used to say, be nice, but not too nice.
Rick H.