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CLT65

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I got a new (old) pistol, in the worst way possible. It didn't cost me a dime, but the cost was high; I sure wish it hadn't come my way just yet. It was my Dad's gun.

So anyhow, it's a Colt 1908 Vest Pocket .25 acp. I know, tiny little gun in an obsolete, ineffective caliber. According to the serial number info I found online, it was made in 1914. A buddy and I shot a few rounds through it today. We had a 10" steel gong set up out at around 35 yards. That's a fairly easy target for a decent pistol shot with a reasonably accurate pistol. We were ringing the gong regularly with our other handguns.

My buddy wanted to try the little Colt. I told him I'd be impressed if he could hit it with that tiny pistol. I'll be darned but he hit it, 3 times out of 6! I tried a magazine, and also hit it 3 shots out of 6. I know a 10" gong at 100 feet is no terrific feat of marksmanship, but it seemed pretty good for off-hand plinking with a 106 year old pocket pistol with microscopic sights. :) (I know, too bad someone refinished it...)

IMG_9461[1].jpg
 

Howard1955

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Condolences on the loss of your father. My Dad died in 2006. I sure wish I could sit and talk with him again.

About your little pistol: It is an anemic round - but it can be lethal.

I often think of this story when someone dismisses the .25acp as being a toy.

*****


Hi Rich and Gang;

Rich thought this might make an interesting thread, as he knows me very well. We've been friends for a long time, and he knows the whole story, as well as some things I'll take to the grave. Anyway, the story,

I own a one man pawn and jewelry store in Crystal River, Florida. On September 26th, 2000, a South Korean came into my store to pick up a revolver he'd paid for the preceeding week. Due to my county's three day wait period, he had to wait until Tuesday to pick up the gun. He was waiting on the step when I arrived to open at eleven. ( yeah, I know banker's hours)

When I called the gun in, FDLE said it was a 'conditional refusal', and that allowed them three more days to make up their mind. Well, the customer wasn't too pleased about it, and said he wanted the gun NOW. "Nope, can't have it until FDLE clears you." That wasn't what he wanted to hear, so he sulked out the door. I got his phone number before he left, and assured him I'd call when the information was relayed to me. After the verbal exchange we had, I decided that there was NO WAY I was going to transfer a firearm to this guy , period !

A little while later, a good friend of mine came into the store to BS awhile, and said there was a guy "stalking around" in the bushes of the building next door. I went out the back of my store, and there was the customer "stalking around" in the bushes of my next door neighbor's resturant. huh? I asked him what he was doing, and he replied he'd lost something. Ok, I can somewhat understand that, as I've done the same thing. However, not in my neighbors bushes.

My friend left the store at approximately, 1:15pm, and before he drove away, he came in to tell me the guy was still on the other side of the building just looking around. At this, I decided to call the local police, and dialed their non emergency number.

Within a few seconds of my friend's car leaving the parking lot, in comes the guy, walking real fast down the main aisle of the store. I'm still waiting on the phone to ring, when he suddenly produces a 3 ft Ninja Sword from behind his back and states " This is a Ninja Sword", and sticks it into my right shoulder very deeply.

At the instant I 'sorta' realized what was happening, I pushed hard against my desk, as I was sitting down in a roller equipped chair. That propelled me backwards at a rapid rate, until the wheels reached the edge of the protective plastic cover over the carpet. When the wheels reached the carpet, the chair stopped, and my fat a** was launched backwards onto the floor. Instantly, I was upside down on my back, bleeding like a stuck pig, and wondering what in the hell was going on with this?

My Glock 19, that I carried religously, was lying on top of my file cabinet under my desk. I passed it by rather quickly when I was propelled backwards by arms and fear. I wasn't able to grab it, and never got back to it again.

Anyway, the jerk with the sword had run around my desk, and I was finding myself fending off repeated stabs to me by using my hands and arms as parrying instruments. Not recommended behavior. I'm starting to get a headache while writing this. It is not pleasant to recall.

When I had finally struggled to my feet, I'd been stabbed another couple of times, but nothing as serious as the first one. I was bleeding profusely by now from all of the minor and major cuts. The only thing I could think of at the time, was to distance myself from the blade, as my arms just weren't long enough to combat this threat.

I cutoff the battle, and made a dash to my office door, which was about five steps away. He was right there with me as I opened the door. I fought my way inside the door, and slammed it as hard as I could on him. The sword came all the way through the steel cased door, so I guess it was fairly sharp :)

Next, I ran to my desk, as I knew there was a loaded 38 Chief's Special in the desk drawer. As I got to the desk, I tripped on some of my usual junk in the floor, and sprawled out on top of the desk, destroying my computer and everything on top of the desk. At that moment, I realized that the 38 was in the drawer, but hell, not only was it not loaded, it wasn't even in one piece. I'd taken it apart the other day or so to clean it, and it was still in pieces. haha, jokes on me :)

Got up from the desk, and turned to face my attacker. Then, the jerk gave me the worst of it, as he stabbed me in my left abdomen, right above the belt line. It went all the way in , within a half inch of piercing my other side. Hurt like hell. But, I was pissed, so I kept on fighting anyway. By this time, I was starting to fade, as I'd lost a lot of blood, and my hits on him didn't seem to be having much of an effect. In actuality, I was going fast, and was pretty demoralized, as I realized that this was probably it for me, and this jerk was going to get the best of the situation.

We waltzed around my office for a minute or so, while I was trying to pull out the sword with my left hand, and he was using both of his hands to try to push it in deeper. I had bruised marks on my left joints of my fingers for a couple of months, where I had a death grip on the damn thing.

At the moment when we danced to the front of the office, I realized I had a way out. I finally remembered my little Beretta 950SB in my right pants pocket. Yep, a lowly 25ACP, with rounds in it, that I hadn't even bothered to purchase. A friend of mine gave me a box of 25 ammo ( cheap Winchester hardball stuff), and that is what was in it. NO ONE will EVER realize the way I felt when I realized that I was not going to go alone. People talk about an epiphany, but that doesn't even begin to describe the feeling when someone gives you the ability to fight back. I pulled it out very deliberately, and thumbed the hammer back. All the while, my attacker was still trying to stuff the sword in deeper, and I was doing my best to keep him fromsucceeding.

I knew using a sub caliber firearm center mass would be a joke, so I pulled it up in front of my right eye, while thumbing back the hammer. When he realized what was about to happen, his eyes became REAL large. That was what I aimed for, his left eye. I only thought I'd fired about two or three times, but in reality I fired five rounds. That was a surprise to me when they told me that.

I hit him four times in the left eye, and the other round was taken into one of his hands, and went through my front office door fifteen feet behind him. The door is a steel cased door, and the bullet penetrated all the way through, out into the parking lot.

Two of the four bullets that went into his head penetrated all the way through, and fell spent, on the ground ten feet behind him. The last two bounced around in his head, one lodging in the upper cervical region of his spine, and the other in his grey matter. He dropped like a brick, and made a lot of back and forth motions on the floor, like someone having a seizure. Yeah, I guess it 'was' a seizure.

I stumbled out to the show room, and bent over the desk holding my guts in while dialing 911. I stayed on the phone until some kids came into the store before the black and whites showed up. I told them they really ought to go, as this was not a good time to shop :) The B&Ws grabbed them as they were getting ready to drive out of the parking lot, so I had to stumble out front to tell them the kids had nothing to do with this, and not to shoot them.

I was glad to see they did not get shot in the process. Sometimes kids will do strange, unexpected things, and I was concerned with all of the adrenalin flowing in the cops, they might get anxious with the kids. No sweat, as it worked out ok.

The meat wagon showed up in a few minutes, and I was finally allowed to lie down on the gurney. That alone, was worth the wait. It had been a long fifteen minutes since my friend had left.

They plugged the holes a little bit, and gave me oxygen. The local airport is about a half mile down the road, so I was taken there to be "slicked" away to St. Joseph's in Tampa Trauma Unit.

I stayed there for a total of ten days, with the first three in intensive care. For the first eight hours or so, they didn't know if I'd make it or not. Obviously, I did.

The perpetrator's plug was pulled the next morning, as he was brain dead. I talked to the para's a while later, and they stated he was only breathing about four times a minute when they pulled him from the floor. I still have a huge stain in the carpet to remind me.

Lessons learned:

1. ALWAYS have your choice of firearm on your person. An arms length away can be too far. Mine was.

2., ALWAYS have your firearm ready to go-- chamber loaded, safety on or off-- your choice. I kept my Beretta chamber loaded, and hammer down as it is a single action gun. All that was needed was to thumb the hammer back. My Glock is even better, as all that is needed is to pull the trigger. Nothing is faster to bring to bear to fire. NOTHING.

3. ALWAYS think of a way out, no matter where you are. My success in this incident was due to a lot of different things that came into play for me.

a. I was of a stronger will than my opponent. I had more reason to live , so I was motivated and pissed as well.

b. I was well versed in pistolcraft, and practice frequently with what I carry--- including my backup. I know full well the limitations of my backup, as well as my primary piece.

c. I was extremely lucky, as luck would have it. If the jerk had been a true 'messenger of death', then I'd have been stabbed in my left chest, and died at the desk. He wasn't, and I wasn't. Therefore, that opened up an opportunity for my self defense.

I fought fiercely and relentlessly. I offered no quarter and gave none. This was for my life, and I was not going to go peacefully.
I did not.

Aftermath and Current Status:

Well, things haven't gone all that well since , but I'm still walking upright, so I have no desire, or reason to complain. My digestive system is in shambles. I'm wearing out my butt , as I have to run to the bathroom a LOT of times during the day. That's ok, as I find I suffer from PTSD, and try to do something about it. Thanks to a couple of people I've met on the 'net', I've been diagnosed with acute PTSD, and my friends are trying to find a good counselor for me close to home. I've talked to a few people, and they have been alright, but I still haven't found that 'one' person that can help me the way I need. There are seventeen symptoms to PTSD, and I've been told I have all of them. After seeing the way the mind goes sometimes, I believe it. haha

My business has been closed within the past week, as I can no longer deal with the public. Again, PTSD kicking in, as I've been told. My beautiful wife, Jane , was diagnosed with breast cancer this year, so we've had to deal with that as well. Everything about my life has been really hard to deal with the past three years, but my wife has stuck by me all the time and I feel loved. I have great friends, that understand I'm 'not quite right', and are very supportive. This PTSD thing is new and strange to me, so I'm still not sure how to handle it all, but I keep on plugging away.

But, I do know, that if I were not a fighter, that I'd be pushing up flowers somewhere right now, and I'd have NO chance to get better from all of this. Becoming better, is something that I 'can' do. It is rather hard to get better from the grave.

Whatever you carry, carry every day as if your life meant it. One day it might. When it comes, it will come fast, ruthlessly, and from a determined opponent that wants something you have--- be it your life, your possessions, or your soul. NEVER give up. NEVER give in. Make them pay for everything they get. It really isn't all that important to win, though losing is not a good option. But the important thing is to give it everything you have to 'try' to win. That is all that is required, is to try. If one trys to the best of their ability, then it will be a memorable fight, even if one is lost.

If this helps someone, or gives us something to talk about , great. If not, sorry to take up so much band width. Thanks to Rich and Connie for helping me in the past three years. I don't think I could have made it without you two.
 
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Sorry for your loss. Thats very good accuracy at that distance the colt and browning were top quality ,not comparable to the hundreds of brands of saterday night specials that were 25acp.
 
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.25 ACP is a lethal round. I think the idea that there is a velocity and power difference compared to a .22lr with similar barrel length has been debunked. That being said, these mouse guns are awkward to handle, you should be proud of those accuracy results!

EDIT: I forgot to extend my condolences. I'm dreading finding out what you are going through is like. My Baby Browning .25 was given to me by my mother a couple years ago after she was diagnosed with cancer and had to temporarily move out of state for chemo treatments. She just had a relapse and is back in treatment...
 
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CLT65

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Thank everyone. I had posted about my dad passing a couple weeks ago, just thought I'd share about this little gun. My dad wasn't a gun guy, didn't particularly like them, but he had several and was a strong 2A supporter.

I remember when he got this one, back in the '80s. A gun dealer sold it to him as the ultimate pocket piece. It's amazing how far pocket pistols have come in the last 30 years. As I sit here and compare it to an LCP in .380, the LCP is lighter and only a little larger dimensionally, and packs a heck of a lot more punch.
 

CLT65

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Your dad would be smiling if he could see you enjoying this pocket pistol as much as he did. My condolences on your dad's passing.

Thanks, I appreciate that, but truth be told, he always hated that I was into guns. He liked having nice guns, but didn't really like them for what they were. He saw them as tools, and unpleasant tools at that. I could never "talk guns" with him, and he hated the fact that I had so many; he was always afraid that I would have my "house raided" because I had so many. He had no idea how many people have more that me; believe me, I'm an amateur compared to many of you guys. :) He'd have flipped if he knew of the various times that I've had both state and federal law-enforcement officers pawing through my safe, examining my guns! (Just personal friends, showing off the collection) :)

His views and worried about guns, as well as his need to have a few around, stem from something that happened to him a long time ago, that forever changed him. He was assaulted inside his own home, by a trespassing plain-cloths deputy who made a mistake. Instead of owning up to his mistake, they covered it up by arresting my dad and charging him with a bunch of scary felonies, with the intention of making it all go away with a plea bargain and a tiny misdemeanor. My dad was very proud and insisted on a trial instead. The jury threw it all out when they saw through the false police reports and testimony, and he later had the arrest expunged. The ordeal left him damaged and bitter, though, and he never really got over it. He was a man of strong integrity: honest, ethical, and proudly law-abiding. It was devastating for him to have been assaulted, arrested, and falsely accused like that. I've never posted about it before, just on the extremely unlikely chance that he might see it. Now I guess I can.
 
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Those Colt 1908 Vest Pockets got some real style.
Like a minature 1911 almost, most factory .25 acp has been underloaded for decades because of all the cheap and not as structurally sound pistol made for it.(like Bryco,Jennings, ect...) The cartridge out of those vest pockets was supposed to be moving about 1,000 feet per second vs most factor loads today at 750 fps or so.
If I had a .25 auto I'd reload for it to achieve the original ballistics.
 

CLT65

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It looks like yours was parkerized.

Yep. I wish whoever did it had just left it alone, but it was done well over 30 years ago, and it looks like they did a nice job anyhow. I'll take well-worn original bluing over nice parkerizing, any day.

My first thought was how nice the finish was, but then I realized that it was too nice, considering the condition of the grips. That, and the fact that they were never originally parkerized (that I know of).
 
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Yep. I wish whoever did it had just left it alone, but it was done well over 30 years ago, and it looks like they did a nice job anyhow. I'll take well-worn original bluing over nice parkerizing, any day.

My first thought was how nice the finish was, but then I realized that it was too nice, considering the condition of the grips. That, and the fact that they were never originally parkerized (that I know of).


It was born blued with Case Hardened trigger, safety and squeeze safety.

The way these guns are carries doesn't usually help the finish.
 
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Its a good thing they make those guns so Small.

When you shoot someone with it all your going to do is piss them off and when they shove that mouse gun up your bubblegum it won't hurt as bad as a real defensive firearm.
 
Thank everyone. I had posted about my dad passing a couple weeks ago, just thought I'd share about this little gun. My dad wasn't a gun guy, didn't particularly like them, but he had several and was a strong 2A supporter.

I remember when he got this one, back in the '80s. A gun dealer sold it to him as the ultimate pocket piece. It's amazing how far pocket pistols have come in the last 30 years. As I sit here and compare it to an LCP in .380, the LCP is lighter and only a little larger dimensionally, and packs a heck of a lot more punch.

I'm sorry for your loss. My dad passed just over a month ago. I did inherit his guns, but I'd trade them all for more time with him.
 

CLT65

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I'm sorry for your loss. My dad passed just over a month ago. I did inherit his guns, but I'd trade them all for more time with him.

I completely understand. It's a weird coincidence; I have multiple friends who have lost their fathers just within the last few months. My wife says it's just that part of life when you reach a certain age, but it sure is an odd coincidence.

I'd never lost anyone so close before. You always know it's coming one day and that it's a natural part of life, but I hate it. I had a real good conversation with him two days earlier, which was unusual because he could be difficult in that regard. I went to call him back two days later and my mom said they couldn't talk because they were with a doctor in the hospital. A couple hours later he was gone. :(

I feel weird about inheriting stuff. I inherited my grandfather's Colt Govt. Model some years back, and it was years before it felt like it was really mine. I asked my mom about a couple pistols and she gave them to me, but I felt really weird about it. I don't know what she'll do with all of his other guns. He only had nice stuff, no junk.
 
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