The Fourscores always celebrated birthdays, it was time of feeling a little special, at least for a day. My Mom always baked a cake and usually had corn starch frosting with a little flavoring. We occasionally had ice cream as well, a special treat. Gifts were always there but nothing extravagant. I remember for my 7th birthday I got a bicycle, one that my Dad had repaired from several old(er) ones and painted it some sort of red. No fenders so it wasn’t so great on a wet day but at least I could tag along with my older brother. Anyway, we had learned by then that money was scarce and thrift was a way of life. We were comfortable enough and our parents were hard working honest people.

As my eighth birthday approached I wasn’t thinking much about it, another  milestone. I was a June boy so I was going to be in third grade when school started back up in September. We  had the usual celebration, the cake made from scratch, the regular frosting probably, I don’t remember the ice cream. Anyway, after supper (Fourscores ate supper, not dinner) I was waiting for my disappointing gift, my Dad went out to the garage and brought in something wrapped up and handed it to me. Man, it was heavy! I opened it up and couldn’t believe it! It was a gun, a real rifle!

Not any ordinary rifle but a model 61 Winchester .22, a pump gun. It was used but still pristine, as far as I was concerned. A top of the line rifle, I was ecstatic. I learned later that he’d paid $40 for it, somehow my folks had saved up that money to buy a special gift for me. My dad said I’d have to take care of it myself. I already knew how to shoot so I was wanting to try it out. Well, I’d have to wait ’til we went out in the country  somewhere.

 

As time passed I was allowed to shoot under supervision. Gradually I was able to ask/tell my Mom I was going to shoot some gophers or other dangerous critters, with the parental advice to be careful and shoot safely. By 10 I didn’t have to ask but rather could take the gun out alone as long as my folks knew about it. It was a heck of a time to be a young lad. Ammo was always a problem but once a year, in the fall, my Dad would come home with a brick of Gamble’s special. Ten boxes, 500 rounds,long rifle. My brother had a gallery model, a Winchester model 62 but it only shot .22 shorts, I could shoot his ammo but he couldn’t shoot mine.

As I got a little older I wanted a shotgun, my Dad and oldest brother could shoot ducks and grouse but I was stuck with a .22. Somehow, my Dad found someone that was willing to trade a shotgun for an antique Gothic style radio that we rarely used. Ahhh, now I was the proud owner of an Iver Johnson Champion, a single shot 12 gauge and I was ready. Twelve years old, skinny and that gun could thump me pretty well but I wasn’t shooting skeet, I was after the occasional bunny or whatever crossed my path. I had a paper route delivering the Minneapolis Star (evening) and the Tribune (morning) so I had to pay for my own shells. That was OK as long as I could keep my brothers out of my stash, which was held by my parents.

 

 

Things were going pretty well, junior high, employed and a couple guns of my own. Then one day my Dad came home from work and told me about the kid that worked at the gas station where they got their company gas. The kid had 2-.22 pistols for sale, a Ruger and a High Standard, both auto loaders and like new condition and he wanted $15 for each gun. I really got excited, told my Dad I wanted the High Standard and had the cash saved. My Dad smiled and said, “I already bought it” and gave me the gun and I paid him. Talk about making a young Fourscore happy. I was ready for anything, except deer. A serious hunter doesn’t take a 12 gauge single shot for deer, at least not intentionally.

 

 

Finally the day came when it was decided that I could deer hunt with “The Boys”.

I was fourteen but I still needed a gun. On a Saturday my Dad took me shopping at the pawnshops. I wanted a lever action ’cause it seemed like the serious hunters used a lever gun. We found one after looking in a couple places, a Model 94 Winchester, it had been re-barreled and looked nice. My Dad pronounced it fit for a young hunter, I dug down and came up with the $40 asking price. No tax in those days. Now I had the full range of hunting equipment, I could handle anything the Minnesota woods could throw at me.

 

 

Time goes by and high school graduation arrived and with it  a JC Higgins 16 gauge double barrel, gifted from a family friend. It was made by Stevens, a model 311 knockoff. Had the nylon stock and forearm and had an adequate recoil. It was twice as much fun at the old 12 gauge single shot. A year later the army got my attention and I left my armory with my Dad while I went off in my new green wardrobe. I didn’t get home often during hunting seasons but on occasion I would have a chance to shoot one or another at some tin cans.

 

 

My Dad’s health was failing, my folks had an auction sale and moved to a smaller house, taking my stuff with them. I was in Spain, we had a really good Rod and Gun Club and I was able to buy some quality equipment at reasonable prices.

My Dad passed away and eventually I ended up in Texas on a more permanent basis and recovered my stash from my Mom, except for one missing piece. The High Standard pistol was missing and she didn’t know what had happened to it.

I ended up back in Minnesota and shortly before I retired my Mom left us. Then a few months later my step father died and I’d pretty much forgotten about the missing pistol. Sometime later, a few months or so, the last caregiver called me to ask what I wanted from the estate. I told him about the missing gun and he said, “I got that gun, come by and I’ll give it to you” I was like a kid again, like the day my Dad had bought it for me. It was still wrapped up in the same old towel that I’d last seen it in,  about 40 years earlier, when I left home.

Along the way I sold the JC Higgins, for grocery money. I turned the Iver Johnson into a wall hanger and gave it away. I gave my son the Model 94, what happens after that I’ll never know. A number of guns have came in and out my door since the early times but I still have my first one, that old Model 61, it still out shoots me, the open sights haven’t changed but my eyes have. The High Standard is within arms reach, wrapped up in the same towel.

Even an old boy never forgets his first gun, his first car or his first girl friend. That .22 has outlasted a number of cars and girl friends and still works as well as the first time I saw it.