Why am I a gun nut? a gun collector?

Nancy asked why and how come I like guns.
It can't be an inherited trait because Daddy never hunted almot never and hated war having heard of rumors of war all the time while a growing up in Lokve Croatia--. World War one was started in Sarajevo when the King was assasinated. Up till then there was "war talk" and it was not long after being invaded the last time by Turkey. Daddy told of atrocities committed by Turks. So he had a built in abhorance to war--and that means the use of guns. They were made for killing people. BUT I saw him kill pigs and animals. A way of life
On my mother's side though all of her brothers were avid hunters and marksmen.They, nearly all, brothers had a few guns. Now and then Grampa Bednar, a little guy maybe only 5 feet tall, brought a box of .22 short shells for John . They would go out side and practice shooting at a target they'd placed on the door of the shop. When we--now you see that I use "we"--that means Donald and I would try to get a close up look at them shooting, my grandfather would tell us to to go " Do something" and he'd add the words as if he had a mouth ful, "You chicken shits"--. So we'd hide in the wood shed and peek thruogh the cracks to watch Grampa coddle John--with a half hug--I didn't know then that John was my half brother--that's why the different treatment--John was "the" one in the family. I resented to high heaven my Grampa calling me a 'chicken shit'.And as I said he knew very little English and his pronunciation of chicken shit was as if he had been chewing chicken shit--.
So my mother allowed John to send for a new .22 from the catologue which was a Springfield single shot bolt action. Once in a great while John would let me shoot a shot and you had better NEVER touch that gun when he wasn't there or else!! I vowed then as now, that I could own any gun I could afford and want. I made guns that looked real out of wood. When the neighbor boys would come over we'd play "cops and robbers" running in and out of the barn and hollering, "I got ya".
Also my Dad made a gun for me after begging him. He went to the Elder berry bush which still exists and cut out a piece between limbs. The elder Berry stem is hollow--with a corky center which he bored out with another stick until the bore was smooth. Then with his knife he whittled a slot about 4 inches long and smoothed the edges to lessen friction. Into this slot he place a bent twig which was like a spring. He had to find a certain piece of brush which could withstand the 180 degree bend. Then He whittled out an arrow--there's a name for this type of arrow, a 'bolt'----these were like darts with the front whittled to a point. Now placing these darts( one at a time) down the barrel and squeezing the spring ( the bent twig) then letting go the dart would fly out of the barrel to make a flight of up to twenty feet. How about that? Once I made one for the grandkids to see what one was like, when we had a reunion there at the old place.
The neighbor boys ( Roseburgs, Bob an Junior) were more affluent. They some how acquired a beat up .22 and after they finished using it now having a new Remington single shot.22, they sold the gun to me--for .50 ccents--I have to say "US" here too because Donald had access to anything I had automatically. It wasn't the same relationship we had with John and we could not understand the preferential treatment--ever. Till as lagte a high school.
This .22 , a Page Lewis, was made when shells were loaded with black powder which is very corrosive if the gun and bore was not cleaned regulary. The result from many rounds fired caused the chamber to corrode so that when a shell was fired if became a rivet and expanded so that the ejector wouldn't eject. All this made hunting for grouse more like using a blackpowder muzzle loader. After shooting a shot, you would then have to extract the casing with a pocket knife and I later used a rod made of wire and as a black powder gun, rammed the casing out and reloaded. Once we ( see? "WE")( because Donald was always at my side).I was two years older than he was therefore more 'mature' y'know. We got 4 blue grouse that day !!Yes! Our mother was so proud of us and she made a great big kettle of Grouse stew. That paid for the .18 cents the box of shells cost. It was a rare event that we ever got another box . Ma would admonish us--"Now listen!!, no more chipmunks".
Johns really first gun was an air rifle--a lever action which he rarely let us shoot.He was so stingy that way lording over us his preferential treatment. We never knew that Ma was just filling a void since John's real father died in a mysterious circumstance--maybe what I know is not really true so I wont expand on that.
John and I also buddied a lot. I remember once when John shot at a very great distance at a Blue jay in the top of a very tall Pine tree. By golly he hit the Blue Jay and it tumbled to eath still flopping and seemingly dying. I wanted to pick it up and John being 'boss' said , "No No let it die right there." BUT--the bird recovered its senses and flew off. I had one over on John for a moment.
I really don't know what ever happened to that BB gun, but we acquired a BB gun from the cousins in Roslyn. It had a broken stock but it fired as well as Johns BB gun. We had no money for bbs so our enginuity told us that small rocks would do the same as BBs. We did that --but they were very inaccurate. Once we dared to shoot each other to feel the sting. We didn't consider a BB gun to be dangerous.
In the kitchen while Ma cooked on the stove we'd aim at each others bare foot taking turns. Now it was Donald's turn and he fired a small rock at my bare foot which I held up for a better target. He missed the foot and the rock just missed my left eye. We never did that again. We learned. At least I did. You see -I always say, "WE".
I remember now that we traded that worn out .22 to my cousins for th bb gun. I have since wondered who finally owns that gun and I'd like to have it back--just for nostalgias sake. I did finally buy my Uncles almost new Page Lewis .22 for $2.oo and John bought his damascussed barrel double barreled shotgun for $5.00. I still have that .22 and have hunted rabbits and squirrels with it and bagged many a grouse with it. Being new the ejector which is a unique design works well. I have altered the sights many times to improve my accuracy and that brings up another story.
The peep sight was becoming the rage and it seems every one was changing his gun to use 'peep sights'. So I attempted all kinds of sights on the .22. One final attempt was really the last one--here's why.
I made a rear sight out of a Washinton state tax token--they are collector's item now and the first tax on purchases--a token was worth 1/10 of a cent. I attached the sight to the rear of the bolt and then fired it to establish accuracy. Later the gun was hung on the nails in the kitchen beneath John's Springfield. I was so proud to have a gun up there and to be on an equal status as John.
The next morning we were all milling around in the kitchen waitng for our 'pecking order' to get the basin to warm water and to wash. Ma was cooking breakfast and making lunches. I was admiring my .22 and had to fondle my work of art before I got the wash basin. I aimed at a post way way down in the field--aiming thru a window. I pulled the bolt back which cocked the firing pin--I pulled the trigger--and guess what---I left a round in the chamber--. BANG!! and the house was still. I expected Daddy and Ma both to jump on me and whip the tar outa me for such a dumb trick. We were to NEVER EVER to have a gun loaded like that--but somehow I did it --wouldn't you know it was me? The black sheep of the family? But I didn't get a word out of Daddy or Ma. But Daddy went up to the window and placed his finger on the perfect hole. He was thinking of the costly repair. Then Daddy said, ( remember he spoke gluttural English)"Norrrman, next tine yoo shoot troo da voot" ( next time shoot thru the wood.
This isn't the only time though a shot was fired in the kitchen. John used Daddy's single shot Meridian 12 guage shotgun for hunting rabbits in the winter. He was sitting in the kitchen with the gun in his lap and talking to Ma hoping to have her say that it was okay to go out and hunt for rabbits. John always sought an okay from Ma and she always encouraged him.
So John loaded a round in the chamber and snapped the shotgun shut. This time there was a firing pin mal function and the round went off spraying the kitchen with buckshot and digging a great big trench in the floor a few feet from the barrel. Luckily the barrel was aimed down. There was not a word said--but that shotgun got traded off at Quilicos SPORTING GOODS or at Perry's second hand store. I think we got the WINCHESTER PUMP in trade which was worn out and there's another story about that gun.
John's mis fortune sorta absolved me of my mishap even though it was at different time frame.
Daddy owned a Nickel plated .32 revolver which we sneaked a look at now an then. Luckily he hid his Ammo for it. There were a lot of sad memories regarding that weapon. I wonder where it went.
In answer to Nancy's question about how I became such a lover of guns. I like the mechanisms and marvel at the ingenuity used in the opperational firing. I realized the danger early when I saw the butchering of pigs and cows and goats and sometimes a dog would go wild with worm infestation--Daddy had to shoot them. Ma too was fully capable of shooting. I bought for her a .410 shotgun for her defense while she lived alone after Daddy died. I later took out the firing pins so she couldn't really use it to kill.
When I went in the Army, I was first placed in a platoon of musicians who were also taking infantry training. I thought I had it over some of the city boys. I cleaned my first rifle which was a 1917 Enfield. I got gigged because it was too well oiled. I was appalled. So we had to wash off in soap and water all the oil. They wanted it dry. The inspection was done with usually a clean white glove to detect dust ot oils. I found that to be a stupid requirement. It didn't happen on the front lines where it really counted to have a smooth working action. In your kit for rifle cleaning was a supply of oil.
I stumbled over all kinds of german and Italian fire arms. Also while in France I saw a lot of French guns which I had to pass up. I did send a few weapons home. I was allowed to come home with one weapon on board the ship when we were returning so I 'farmed out' two pistols. When we went through customs I made sure I got my other pistols from those who helped me. One GI who carried one pistol had won $3000 in a crap game and asked me to be his body guard. I didn't want to be involved so I declined.I didn't need the money he offered. For half maybe I would have taken the job.
In my souvenirs is one prize. I got it on the first day of the break out from ANZIO. I took refuge in a German dugout and they had left all their weapons in disassembled fashion. Scattered. I grabbed three P38 and strapped them on my belt. I got chewed out for that so I gave two away. The next day one was gone--the Lieutenant I gave it to, was killed in friendly fire--two spit fires ( English) strafed his column and he was killed in his Jeep--many others--a sad day when we learned of that incident which we watched happening only a few 100 yds away across a small knoll. We cheered because we too thought they were staffing German retreating forces.
So when we got to Rome on June 4th ( which is two days before the Normandy landing)--the order came down that there'd be no foriegn weapons allowed. I had to keep this souvenir so I broke down the pistol and I surrounded it with a bunch of medals I took from a pile of Italian decorations. This was to thwart an image of a pistol if exrayed. I made a strong wooden box and wrapped it with telephone wire. It came home in about 3 months or more. I got a letter when we were in France that my "Pooshka" (pistol) came home. Others were gigged because their packages resembled a pistol. I tried that trick again but I got caught trying to send a pistol which would fit in a watch pocket. I was called to see the commander and he gave me a verbal lashing because it was his signature I had to have in order to send the box of souvenirs. We were near Strasburg in a town named OBERHAUSBERGEN-at that time preparing for the winter fight in the Vosges.
Once some one from our platoon was to be selected for R&R in England. We drew straws. The winner gave his chance to a small guy name Mc Pherson. He had a brogue in his speech and he begged us to let him go to visit relatives is Scotland. My brother John was now in England at a replacment camp (we called it a 'repl depo') and those personell were called 'repl depo commandos'.
I asked Mc Pherson to do me the favor of taking my Luger which I "liberated" from a Captain in southern --to take to John. Also I added the little watchpocket sized revolver I looted. I made a nice package and he departed for his R&R. He took the R&R seriously and never came back till the war was over with. The MPs brought him back to our unit under guard. They put him in a stockade with other laggards. I heard about it and his where abouts so I somehow got a jeep driver to take me there to "visit' him. When we got to the block wired fence we could see a bunch having a gabbfest in the middle of the yard. I hollered throught the block wire, 'HEY MAC"--and he came running to the block wired fence. When he got close I reached through the wire and I grabbed him by the neck--my favorite hold--and I asked using GI language, what he did with my guns--because I knew that John hadn't gotten them because we wrote letters back and forth. I almost choked him and gave him enough air to tell me. " THE f---- MPS took them from me--honest" . So I let him go knowing that the drunken bum sold them for a pretty penny to finance his Awol. Now some one owns that Luger for which action I was awarded the Bronze star for Valor.
As the years went by as a married farmer there was no money to buy guns except when I was offered one at a really low price. The girls bought a rifle for me from their proceed of pears they picked off the ground after a big windstorm--They sold the pears and bought a Swiss straight pull army rifle from Montgomery or Sears. The price was $17. or $19.oo. It's worth a lot more now. At that time the swiss government was changing arms --it was bought new for about $700.
The stash of old weapons grew and now that I am almost 87 I am still a gun nut but worried now what will happen to the collection. That goes for my other stuff I've collected. Max Benitz, a legislator friend was a gun collector and before he died he told me that buying old guns was beter than buying gold. So now, do I have a treasure of gold?