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Pinetor
Jackson MS, USA
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June 1, 2010 - 12:42 pm
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While I love the pictures and the wealth of knowledge the member here have, I have think that our affection for our choosen gun is based on more than it mere ownership. Its a tool that does as advertised, and I have personal experience in its proof:

 

My DW Story

 

While I love the ole Dan Wesson Revolver as a unique firearm, I really love it as a special tool, it’s value to me must be proven in its use.

 

My wife and I had been married about 4 years, and we finally felt we could support bringing a new life into the world. I was working for the state in computers while my wife worked for the Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians as a dental assistant. The pay and benefits were very good, but the drive was horrible. About 50 miles each way out to the reservation. It was the summer of 1991, hot and humid as usual with dogs scratching the dirt for a cool spot, and the leaves of the oaks, turning a dry pale green in oppressive heat of the Mississippi summer. The tribe was gearing up for yet another Indian Fair, as they did every year. It was to be our first experience with such. It turns out, that as an employee of the MS Band, my wife was required to work one day at the fair.  Her being late in her pregnancy did not get her out of it. I was none to happy with the whole idea and decided that I would also spend the day out at the fair, more or less with her. Her duty was not as bad I had feared and they set her in a ticket booth at the front gate. With the wife safely in position, I decided to try my hand at the very FIRST Indian Fair Pistol shooting competition, put on by the Reservation police.

 

The reservation had its own police department staffed by the tribe with full authority in their jurisdiction. The Chief of Police was a very large and good natured looking person, who seemed only slightly put out at something I am sure was not his idea, nor to his liking. Back at this time money was still very tight, and the Indian Fair accounted for a huge percentage of all revenue brought into the reservation. So it was that, while none of really wanted to be there, we were all just making the best of the situation. The competition was held at the police range behind the station. Basically an outdoor range for about lanes for paper targets and another one person “knock-down” station.

 

It did not help much that too few “competitors” showed up, or that the competitors had not been told what was required to compete. The competitors were: a big burly guy with a Ruger .22 auto, a cop with an S&W .38, a former military now cop with his bight new S&W 9mm, and me with my DW .357. The competition was to be a basic “police” style competion, with each shooter drawing and firing in a given time at a given distance. AS the distance got shorter, the time got less and less. Also, re-loading was a part of the timed event. So magazines and speed-loaders would be needed to really compete.

 

Turns, out I owned none such equipment; no holster, no speed-loader. They let me compete anyway, sticking the gun barrel in my belt and pulling each round one by one out of my shirt pocket …. like some well known TV deputy did back in the black and white TV days. First line up was at 25 yards, I forget the particulars. Start with 5, draw and shoot 5, reload and shoot 4 .. something like that. The two autos were required to only have 5 rounds in the magazine to start. I am sure I did not do as well as the .38 or the .22, but the 9mm kept jamming. So I was a solid 3rd place. My shots were as good as the others, but consistency was low, as I was not use to shooting with a time limit. One thing I had over the .38 were my target loads. I had them special made by a former highway trooper. Bullseye powder behind a 158 grain .38 special, full wadcutter. My request was they the bullet just clear the barrel, and that’s what I got. I suspect my rounds were exiting at less than 800 feet per second. Smooth and consistant each round reminding me of my days spent shooting my DW .22 target. While the .38 had his barrel flipping every which way, the .22 and I just squeezed off easy rounds. As we moved up the poor 9mm was near a tantrum state. He had this brand new, state of the art 9mm, which jammed constantly. I don’t think he cared about the competition, this was his carry weapon, and it was failing. By round three, he had had enough, and left for good. I was getting better shots but with the time allowed dropping, and me not having a speed loader, I was definitely having to hurry to make my shots.  I recall the last round was at 3 feet. Seems the gun was empty. Draw, load 3, fire 3.

 

The paper target was given to the .22 Ruger. With .38 in second, and me a close third. We were given a break and told the next round was the knock-downs. Really? Knock-downs? I went over to take a peek. Back in before I dated, much less before I was married, I had wasted may a round on the 6” knock-downs. It was somehow more exciting to see the plate fall. I use to love controlling the speed of the fall by shooting high or low on the plate. In fact if you shot too low, even with a .38, you could hit the plate and not knock it down. The fun part was shooting it so that the plate just fell, or to shoot the very top edge and watch the plate fall nearly instantaneously with the bullet  contact. But there was one problem, and it was a big one. There were not 6” plates. These were 4 feet solid iron silhouettes! I have never seen one before, much less shot one. Well, that did it for Mr. .22, There was no way, he could hope to knock a plate down short of just throwing his gun at it. As leader of the  paper target round the cop with his .38 went first. While he took his turn, my mind was spinning. First thing I did was replace my wimpy .38 target loads with some tweaked .357. I hoped it would not matter that in doing so I was dropping form 158 grain to 125 grain hollow points.

 

True to his training, Mr. .38 shot in what I take is perfect police training style. His first shot on each plate was low and left, the second higher and center, the third about heart placement. Three shots per plate, with re-loads every other plate. While I can’t give you a good visual clue…. It sounded like this:

 

Bang…..Ting

Bang…. Ting

Bang… Ting……..clang

Bang…..Ting

Bang…. Ting

Bang… Ting……..clang

 

It was like it actually took the momentum of all three shots to finally knock the big ole plate down.

 

Time was called before he could knock all the plates down. But other than that, he had not missed a shot. I would not want to be on the wrong side of his gun. While he was still shooting and seeing the energy that was needed to drop those huge plates… I swapped out my 6” barrel for the 8”. I wanted everything I had. Stepping up, I did hear a cat call about Dirty Harry, and some laughter. The police chief settled them down though, and counted down my turn.

 

Bang.Ting.clang

Bang.ting.clang

Bang. Miss

Bang.ting.clang

Bang.ting.clang

Bang.ting.clang

 

Time!

 

5 for 6 headshot… everyone. It seemed real quiet. Maybe it was because the .357 report, had simply overshadowed every other rounds report that morning. But I suspect that me choosing to hit the much smaller target, the head, and making almost every single one with the fantastic response of the plate not just tilting over… but slamming to the ground… had a good bit to do with it. No one was laughing, but everyone was smiling. The line was open for all to shoot. I was invited to stay, but I wanted to get back and check on my wife.

 

The latter part of the day found me wandering alone, from exhibit to exhibit, mostly looking for good food to eat. I was stopped about 3 pm as I threaded my way back towards the front of the fair to pick up my wife and take her home. I pretty little Indian girl told me that the police were looking for me. My immediate concern was for my wife so, I went looking for them. I found the deputy (one of the laughers) and asked what was up. He handed me a large trophy, and drove off, I don’t even think he spoke. My daughter was born barely a month later. They never had another pistol competition, but that’s no matter now. 

Soap Box, Ballot Box, Ammo Box

in that order.

4 Monson Model 15's

1 Palmer FB 15

1 Rossi 357 Model 92 (lever)

1 CZ 75B

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lbruce
Georgia
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June 1, 2010 - 1:54 pm
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Great story, The only thing that sounds louder than the boom of a magnum and the clang of steel going down, is the silence of a crowd of spectators in awe!Smile

LB

Wisdom is merely the realization of how little one knows, therefore I am wise.

                                                                                                                             

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mox-ct
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June 1, 2010 - 5:20 pm
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Happyness is a Hot DW and a pile of used brass!!! Rich

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Charger Fan
Northern Utah

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June 1, 2010 - 11:10 pm
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Great story.Laugh

I would have loved to see some of the faces in that crowd, as the last plate fell.Surprised I bet you would have fun trying your hand at IHMSA competitions. BANG...clang!Range Time Cool

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SHOOTIST357
Colorado Springs, CO

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June 2, 2010 - 8:41 am
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Slapping them down is fun--If you've never seen the difference in hitting a 6" falling plate with a 9mm vs a 45, it is pretty amazing.

SHOOT

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jaggman
Emmaus, PA
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June 2, 2010 - 11:31 am
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What a great read.   It stirred the DW in me. I could see it happening with every word. You have a way with the written word to make the event a visual experience even not having been there.  Great contribution to the legacy that lives today!  Thanks!

 

Glad to hear you have a healthy daughter!

 

Ed           DWF Sign

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Blacktop
OHIO
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June 2, 2010 - 7:26 pm
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Pinetor,  You have quite the narrative skill. Would love to read more !

 

 

-Blacktop

+DW.jpg

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IHMSA80x80
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June 3, 2010 - 10:43 am
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