1911A1: The First Time*

I still remember when my ol' Pappy took the grip panel off his WWII Remington-Rand 1911A1 and gave it to me to teeth on; the salty taste of the sweat on the wood, the woody taste of the panel itself, the grease and Hoppe's #9 on the back side of it...

Later Pappy gave me empty .45ACP casins to play with. I piled them into tiny pyramids, used them for ammo in my slingshots (my sister said they stung like hell), and left them around on the floor for Mam and Pappy to step on. Pap gave me a thrashin after he slipped on them one night when he was on his way to the toilet.

When I got older Pap made me do all his reloadin. This was when I was about 10 or so. Pap taught me how to do it, watched me closely for a week until he was sure I wouldn't screw it up and double-charge it, then left me to it. I got pretty good at it, but Pap never wanted nothin but standard loads with plain hardball bullets. Pap had his own target range set up out in the back yard, with iron plates 12" in diameter placed 5, 10, 20 and 50 yards out. Pap would set on the back porch in his rockin chair with a glass of bourbon in one hand and that Remington-Rand 1911A1 in the other and empty the gun at the targets. As he drank his aim would get worser and worser until he could only hit the 5 yard plate, at which point he would go to bed, not before makin me pick up all his brass, even the ones that went through the cracks in the porch boards and under the house.

My first gun was a .22, and Pap taught me to hunt squirrels and such with it. It was okay, but I wanted Pap's Remington-Rand 1911A1. I was 13 and cleanin it now, Pap had me not only field strippin it but also detail strippin it every 6 months or so for a real cleanin. Pap still wouldn't let me shoot it, said I had to wait until I was 15. I said yessir and kept on with the reloadin and policin of spent brass. Pap wouldn't let me drink till I was 15, either, not bourbon anyhow. He let me drink cider but no more than would fill a pisspot. He didn't use the pisspot to measure it, though, for which I was real grateful.

Pap's brother Jarrel died in a tractor accident and since Jarrel weren't married Pap got it all. Pap used the money from Jarrel to get the house painted, got his old Ford Galaxy runnin again, and bought himself a brand-new Colt 1911A1 with nickel platin that didn't have to be covered with oil and grease to keep it from rustin. He laid aside the Remington-Rand, put it up in his closet, and told me it was mine when I reached 15.

Finally I was 15, and Pap made me wait most of the day till he "remembered" that it was my birthday. He dragged the Remington-Rand 1911A1 down from the closet and made me clean it real good, then dragged a chair out beside his rockin chair on the back porch. He gave me a single box of cartridges that I myself had reloaded and invited me to sit down, have a sip of bourbon, and cut loose on the 5-yard target. I missed the first two shots, mainly cause the bourbon was makin my eyes water and I was coughin and such. Finally I was hittin the 5-yard target pretty good, and Pap told me to try the 10-yarder. All this while Pap was ringin the plate at the 50-yard mark with his Colt. Pap kept my bourbon glass full and I never did get to shoot at the 50-yard target, and only remember hittin the 20-yarder a few times before Pap called it a night.

I puked up most of the bourbon when Pap made me crawl under the house to fetch the brass we had shot. Anyway, that was MY first time with the 1911A1.













*just thought I'd poke a little fun at the 1911 love-fest going on in the gun blogosphere. My own first time was in Navy boot camp in Orlando, Florida, shooting 1911's with .22 conversion units atop. Later I shot the real thing off the fantail of the USS Deyo (DD-989), also shot 12-gauge riot guns and M-14's. I've owned 2 1911's, a Series 70 in brushed nickle and a 1991A1. Don't currently have one. Might pick up a Springfield Mil-Spec in stainless, if I can find one and get the money saved.