An Actual Christmas Story, circa 1973

I was about 11 or 12 years old and found my life incomplete, I needed a “DEER” rifle. My grandfather had graciously “given” me his Stevens 5100 16 bore double, conditional that I kept it at his house. He had taken a nice buck with it while squirrel hunting using hi-brass #4 shot. While it validated the purple shell’s lethality, it was very illegal, but accepted at the time, (late 1960’s) provided it was all used for table fare. Somehow justifying, the elders glossed over the immorality of some special things. I was impressed #4’s did the trick as I thought only buckshot or slugs would kill a deer. Later it was revealed it was only about 25 feet distant, running from dogs and happened upon Grandpa still against a tree looking for bushytails. Of course, I wanted a lever action. I had begged and worked enough to have been gifted a “lever” action Ithaca M66 .410 the Christmas before, but that didn’t scratch the itch. A coveted pack of .410 slugs no matter. My sense of deadliness had worn thin. I needed a real deer rifle.

The very best gun store in town was “James For Guns” above the Western Auto Store. A very gruff and serious fellow ran the store and unless you had an adult in tow he disapproved younger folk’s coon-fingering the merchandise. If you had your dad, you got a pass, presumably a potential pending sale. He had many used guns, and most were very nice, not second rate or store brands. One memorable Saturday I conned dad into taking me to look, I spied THE one. It was an early M94 Winchester (pre-64 in retrospect) with a chromed receiver contrasting nicely. Most uniquely it sported a Weaver side mount complete with the steel tube Weaver K3 post/crosshair scope. How it hung off the side and still worked was an engineering puzzlement to me and the fine horizontal crosshair with tapered post intersecting from the 6 O’clock position was foreign to me as well. But it was a well-polished and thought out exotic “rig”, that much was obvious. I worked the oiled glass action without fear, dad was with me, with blissful satisfaction. This was IT, only $125 asking. Surely dad could haggle him to $100 and put it under the Christmas tree. The praying and the agonizing plotting began. Just like that movie where the little boy wanted a BB gun. I faced the same type of obstacles. It will carry the bullet for 3 miles, too dangerous, on and on. Dinner table hints, leaving magazines with Winchester ads open in the bathroom and den, balancing the working on mom or dad as progress was measured. You may understand or remember the drill. I went back a week or so later by myself and it was gone! Mr. James gruffly said it had been sold but didn’t say to who. Was he in on a surprise for me? Did Santa come through? I had been on my very best behavior. Long story short, no. It was a disappointing Christmas morning with my concealed hopes completely dashed. Slowly it sank in someone else likely was enjoying the real deer rifle for Christmas. I must not have deserved it after all and that was not what Christmas was about anyway. Good for them, really. I began to be thankful for everything I had and prayed thanks for all my family and grandparents, cousins etc. that I loved so much. My sadness that morning quickly evaporated. That was THE ONE that got away. It was a Merry Christmas after all.

But by golly I’ve made up for it later in life! LOL Merry Christmas!