Mustangs Rule
Well-known member
- Joined
- Feb 4, 2021
- Messages
- 1,216
There can be some warning signals that go off when you first meet someone who will become a solid and true lifetime friend. Maybe not whistles blowing, bells ringing, or lights flashing!
None of that big stuff, just an “inkling”, a little tug inside that says “Pay Attention”.
I was at a shooting range, had recently moved and I asked if there was a good gunsmith nearby.
One guy said, “We don’t have a good one, we have a great one”! Another fellow agreed. The gunsmiths names was “Big Jim”.
I wanted my new K frame 357 S &W revolver tuned. I was told he was the gunsmith that police officers used competing in Practical Police Course competitions. This was over 45 years ago, cops were mostly all carrying wheel guns.
I had just sold an Old Colt Trooper, (Same action as a Python) Neither had a great double action. Those Colts start off easy but the pull “stacks” towards the end and gets heavier. S &W’s are the opposite. The double action pull eases off towards the end, a competition necessity. This was by design.
Police duty revolvers were not allowed to be tuned. Liability required that that they stay as they came out of the factory, but for competition those double actions could be honed amazingly smooth and light, if the gunsmith knew what he was doing. Big Jim did an incredible job on my 357 S &W Model 13, which at that time was standard FBI issue.
I brought more firearms to Big Jim, and we planned my first custom rifle, a 7x57 on a commercial Belgium Mauser action. Then my second custom rifle, built many years later was a 35 Whelen built on the famous 1909 Argentine action. Pretty quickly, I was invited by him to go beyond his front desk into his back room. There was a huge gun safe there. My rifles had the privilege of being in it with so many of the most beautiful custom rifles ever made.
After the Korean War, in which he was decorated with both the Purple Heart and Silver Star, he used the GI Bill to attend gunsmiths school.
Big Jim lived near a major sea port, and he made the most incredible custom rifles for hunters going to the “Big Three A’s “
From the late 1950’s to well into the 1960’s, rich hunters were taking his rifles with them by steamship to parts unknown in Africa, Central Asia and Alaska. He became locally famous, yet with smile he would repair old clunker firearms that a young dock worker would bring in.
As he aged, he limped more. His knees were shot up in the Korean War. He was a machine gunner, who though badly wounded, crawled back to his position to defend his men from the human waves of enemy soldiers that were attacking them.
Machine Gunners fall under concentrated fire by the enemy.
In his shop he had a stock making machine and a man who knew how to use it, a Norwegian named “Ollie” who loved women with "Big Boobs” verified by the pin-ups hanging in his section of the shop.
Stock blanks from the finest woods around the world were on open racks
Depending on where you were in his shop, the smells of wood being milled or metal cutting tool oil dominated.
In his section of the gun shop Jimmy had a photo of wife. He kept the photo turned away from Ollies’ pinups.
She died young of cancer. They had no kids and he never married again. Losing her was one of two great sadness’s in his life. The other was killing so many enemy soldiers. He knew they were just forced at gunpoint into these suicide charges.
After 5 years of friendship, I moved a hundred miles away into the mountains with my new bride. This was the Jimmy’s old hunting grounds where his dad taught him how to hunt and fish. He was constantly giving me tips about sweet spots. Even if they were all used up, I told him they were still great.
I still saw him several times a year. My wife’s parents lived not far from Jimmy and I brought him meat from my kills and native trout from the same creeks he and his dad fished starting in WW2.
His Dad was Lt. Commander in the USN during WW2. Whenever his ship came into port for some refitting they spent a few days afield with each other.
No father and son ever loved each other more.
Jimmy did not take care of himself. He developed heart problems and could not come to my new home at high elevation. He was drinking too much wine and finally the owner of the large Sporting Goods store that housed his shop, as kindly as possible asked him to leave.
For decades he dined at this family owned restaurant. Kindness met Kindness and he was invited to set up his gun shop in a dark, windowless, big room at the back of the restaurant. He was barely working anymore. His last project was my 35 Whelen. It took forever, no matter. I enjoyed visiting him even though his teeth were so decayed, getting close the smell of his breath was almost overwhelming.
The highlight of being there was that huge gun safe. How they ever got it in there I do not know.
Anyway, opening that safe was a gun owners delight. In it Jimmy had a lifetime of the most beautiful rifles any hunter could have ever dreamed of. Quiet a few for the trip to Africa he never made. His original shop was filled with photos of hunters killing BIG game around the world with rifles he made.
Also, in there was the most darling, darling, darling, little custom 7x57 I had ever seen in my life. Everything was not just right about it, everything was perfect.
I had watched him build it from the beginning. Took four or five years.
Jimmy died about 15 years ago. He was way behind in his rent, was eating for free at the restaurant for years. He left everything he owned to the owner of the restaurant and his son.
In the course of our friendship, Jimmy had given me his fathers knife. It was a pre-WW2 folding Remington Bullet Knife. This is America’s most highly valued factory knife. I have seen only a few for sale ever, and one went for $1,500. He also gave me his Dads’ brass compass.
Before he died, he told the son of the owner of the restaurant that he wanted me to have his knife. His dad bought it for him when he was 13 years old in WW2.
It was several years before I got down there, but when I did, the son took me right into Jimmy’s shop, the safe, all covered with dust was opened and there was his knife among the most beautiful collection of custom rifles imaginable.
I only picked up the 7x57. I offered to buy it for 10% over any professional evaluation. He said he would think about but never called me back.
That was 15 years ago. Every five years or so I call him again with my offer. He thanks me and says he will call me back but never does. I remind him to keep a dehumidifier going in there.
The ocean is only a few miles away.
MR.
None of that big stuff, just an “inkling”, a little tug inside that says “Pay Attention”.
I was at a shooting range, had recently moved and I asked if there was a good gunsmith nearby.
One guy said, “We don’t have a good one, we have a great one”! Another fellow agreed. The gunsmiths names was “Big Jim”.
I wanted my new K frame 357 S &W revolver tuned. I was told he was the gunsmith that police officers used competing in Practical Police Course competitions. This was over 45 years ago, cops were mostly all carrying wheel guns.
I had just sold an Old Colt Trooper, (Same action as a Python) Neither had a great double action. Those Colts start off easy but the pull “stacks” towards the end and gets heavier. S &W’s are the opposite. The double action pull eases off towards the end, a competition necessity. This was by design.
Police duty revolvers were not allowed to be tuned. Liability required that that they stay as they came out of the factory, but for competition those double actions could be honed amazingly smooth and light, if the gunsmith knew what he was doing. Big Jim did an incredible job on my 357 S &W Model 13, which at that time was standard FBI issue.
I brought more firearms to Big Jim, and we planned my first custom rifle, a 7x57 on a commercial Belgium Mauser action. Then my second custom rifle, built many years later was a 35 Whelen built on the famous 1909 Argentine action. Pretty quickly, I was invited by him to go beyond his front desk into his back room. There was a huge gun safe there. My rifles had the privilege of being in it with so many of the most beautiful custom rifles ever made.
After the Korean War, in which he was decorated with both the Purple Heart and Silver Star, he used the GI Bill to attend gunsmiths school.
Big Jim lived near a major sea port, and he made the most incredible custom rifles for hunters going to the “Big Three A’s “
From the late 1950’s to well into the 1960’s, rich hunters were taking his rifles with them by steamship to parts unknown in Africa, Central Asia and Alaska. He became locally famous, yet with smile he would repair old clunker firearms that a young dock worker would bring in.
As he aged, he limped more. His knees were shot up in the Korean War. He was a machine gunner, who though badly wounded, crawled back to his position to defend his men from the human waves of enemy soldiers that were attacking them.
Machine Gunners fall under concentrated fire by the enemy.
In his shop he had a stock making machine and a man who knew how to use it, a Norwegian named “Ollie” who loved women with "Big Boobs” verified by the pin-ups hanging in his section of the shop.
Stock blanks from the finest woods around the world were on open racks
Depending on where you were in his shop, the smells of wood being milled or metal cutting tool oil dominated.
In his section of the gun shop Jimmy had a photo of wife. He kept the photo turned away from Ollies’ pinups.
She died young of cancer. They had no kids and he never married again. Losing her was one of two great sadness’s in his life. The other was killing so many enemy soldiers. He knew they were just forced at gunpoint into these suicide charges.
After 5 years of friendship, I moved a hundred miles away into the mountains with my new bride. This was the Jimmy’s old hunting grounds where his dad taught him how to hunt and fish. He was constantly giving me tips about sweet spots. Even if they were all used up, I told him they were still great.
I still saw him several times a year. My wife’s parents lived not far from Jimmy and I brought him meat from my kills and native trout from the same creeks he and his dad fished starting in WW2.
His Dad was Lt. Commander in the USN during WW2. Whenever his ship came into port for some refitting they spent a few days afield with each other.
No father and son ever loved each other more.
Jimmy did not take care of himself. He developed heart problems and could not come to my new home at high elevation. He was drinking too much wine and finally the owner of the large Sporting Goods store that housed his shop, as kindly as possible asked him to leave.
For decades he dined at this family owned restaurant. Kindness met Kindness and he was invited to set up his gun shop in a dark, windowless, big room at the back of the restaurant. He was barely working anymore. His last project was my 35 Whelen. It took forever, no matter. I enjoyed visiting him even though his teeth were so decayed, getting close the smell of his breath was almost overwhelming.
The highlight of being there was that huge gun safe. How they ever got it in there I do not know.
Anyway, opening that safe was a gun owners delight. In it Jimmy had a lifetime of the most beautiful rifles any hunter could have ever dreamed of. Quiet a few for the trip to Africa he never made. His original shop was filled with photos of hunters killing BIG game around the world with rifles he made.
Also, in there was the most darling, darling, darling, little custom 7x57 I had ever seen in my life. Everything was not just right about it, everything was perfect.
I had watched him build it from the beginning. Took four or five years.
Jimmy died about 15 years ago. He was way behind in his rent, was eating for free at the restaurant for years. He left everything he owned to the owner of the restaurant and his son.
In the course of our friendship, Jimmy had given me his fathers knife. It was a pre-WW2 folding Remington Bullet Knife. This is America’s most highly valued factory knife. I have seen only a few for sale ever, and one went for $1,500. He also gave me his Dads’ brass compass.
Before he died, he told the son of the owner of the restaurant that he wanted me to have his knife. His dad bought it for him when he was 13 years old in WW2.
It was several years before I got down there, but when I did, the son took me right into Jimmy’s shop, the safe, all covered with dust was opened and there was his knife among the most beautiful collection of custom rifles imaginable.
I only picked up the 7x57. I offered to buy it for 10% over any professional evaluation. He said he would think about but never called me back.
That was 15 years ago. Every five years or so I call him again with my offer. He thanks me and says he will call me back but never does. I remind him to keep a dehumidifier going in there.
The ocean is only a few miles away.
MR.
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