This is a bit long, so I apologize in advance.
As a kid, one of our neighbors was a cranky old guy named Joe. He was a dear friend to my dad, and in fact we called him Uncle Joe even though he wasn't really a relation. He was really cranky, gruff, and frankly quite scary to a little kid. Turns out he really was an old softie with a heart of gold, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Joe had some guns. When he found out I was into guns and hunting, he would have me clean his guns from time to time. One of the guns he had was a Belgian 20 gauge A5, a Magnum 20 with a 26 inch IC barrel. I loved that gun from the first time I ever handled it.
Now we lived in a very populated suburban town. Discharging of firearms is of course prohibited. But to a cranky old guy who grew up during the Depression, that is a mere technicality. And when a rabbit is eating your garden, well by god you shoot that rabbit! Of course then you need to get the gun out of sight quick.
Any how, one day back in the mid 80s (I really can't recall the exact year) I'm working out in the garage. I hear a "BANG" and about 10 seconds later a stream of profanity from Joe's property, about 200 yards away. About 10 minutes later Joe shows up, looking very glum. "Patrick, I broke my gun" he says. Turns out he shot at a rabbit, and in his haste to get his gun stashed, he dropped it on his flagstone walkway. Two pieces broke off the toe of the stock, one about 3 inches, and a tiny one about 1/2 inch from the very tip. He couldn't find the tiny piece. Even then I was farting around refinishing and fixing stocks, so he asked if I could do anything. I said I'd try.
Well, if i do say so I did a pretty good job. I glued the piece back on, cut the stock and fitted a 1 inch pad to make up for the missing piece. I then refinished the stock and did a pretty decent job of matching the forend. To say Joe was pleased was an understatement. He insisted he had to pay me for doing that. I refused, telling him how much I enjoyed doing it. He persisted more, getting more and more angry and agitated. Remember, he was cranky and stubborn, even when he was ecstatic.Finally, I tell him this. I say "Joe, you don't have any kids. How about some day, when you are done with it, give me the gun. I'd love to have it some day, I'm in no hurry and that would mean far more to me." Bear in mind, he was in his 60s at the time, I was in my late teens or early 20s. He thought about it for a second, then said OK. Well, that was all that was ever said. Every 4 or 5 years since then, I would clean the gun for him. I would shoot a round or two of skeet, clean it, and give it back. I don't think he ever shot it (other than at rabbits in his garden, that is.) And that has gone on for about 30 years.
Fast forward to the present. Joe passed away this summer. And since my Dad (the only one who I thought knew the story) passed about 4 years ago, I figured that was that. Imagine my surprise when I received a letter from Joe's attorney. He had actually put this in his will, that I was to receive this gun! I was really blown away that he did that. This really was a story 30 years in the making. This gun now resides next to my 1966 Sweet 16 A5 and is a very cherished addition to the family.Sorry this was long winded, but I thought some of you might enjoy the story.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Here she is
And the family. That's the 1966 Sweet 16 alongside it
And here are two shots of the repair to the stock toe
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