With the knowledge of Wes Knodel doing his gun show at the Expo, simultaneous with Collectors West doing Vancouver, The grand plan was to do both. The plan failed. I got out of the house early: or so I thought. Arrived at Portland Expo at 0827H: The line outdoors to get in stretched for a quarter mile, all the way to the Tri-Met stop at the farthest south building (show was in the old livestock building at the north end). As a GI, I do not abide standing in line. I stood in line for 30-35 minutes. Kudos to the Expo staff and security to keep the line moving, facilitate ticket buying, and making it barely tolerable to a Vietnam-era vet who WILL NOT stand in line to eat anymore, no more. I found out today, I will stand in line for a gun show. Once in the door, It was very easy to see that every table that had plastic and matte or ammunition on it was crowded: horribly crowded. Dealers with phones in their ears waiting for their (granted by the King) access to allow a new citizen his written Constitutional Right. Wait times were rumored to be over an hour. However: Walnut and Blue tables were pleasingly accessible!! To borrow from my father, "Disneyland!!" Halfway through, I spotted on a table with only three guns (two of them junker military), a nice old Remington Bolt. 722 Short Action. ("Woah"!). Good Shape (Big "Whoah"!). .300 Savage Caliber (Light years ahead of its time, and the very Genesis for all Short Magnums: BIGASS Whoah!). Table guy with a phone glued to his ear (waiting for Constitiutional Rights to be dispensed from above:not inalienable). Mouthed to him what he was asking. He mouthed back $200. I tried to keep my eyebrows down, but to no avail. I asked to pick it up (sorry, but gunshow etiquette I was taught as a child). I inspected it. Flawless, except for a fine high-dollar Redfield peep that had been installed some date back, and done absolutely professionally with the chisel inlet in the wood beveled so as not to chip later. A microcosm of 1956: Whomsoever bought the gun then for two weeks wages, cared for it as their only child. Bluing oiled from day one, and none missing. Magazine follower (they were blued in them days, boys), still blue. Aluminum Remington buttplate. I walked away. 90 Minutes later, after seeing the rest of the show, I came back. I wanted off the hook. I wanted to leave empty handed, but the gun was still there. I pulled the only card I knew to get me out of the jamb: LOWBALL! Table guy is still on the phone. I mouth to him "ONE-SEVENTY-FIVE"?, as I touch the gun. A grimace, and an agreement. I am sunk. There is no redemption. I must fill another syringe for my illness. I advise him that if he is on the phone for an "instant check", that he can add mine on to the same call. He pulls his head away from the phone, gives me a once-over head to toe, and invites me behind his table. At this point, I will only say that all pertinent paperwork was presented, all appropriate paperwork for a free nation with firearm posession a right not to be INFRINGED was completed to the satisfaction of all parties present. I walked away with Remington's best, kept in mothballs for 60 plus years. The old gentleman whose estate this came from bought the very best, and put the very best sight on it (in that era, scopes were not to be of absolute trust). He cared for it as he would his child. A gun I had no idea I wanted or sought. The gun FOUND ME (as has been the case over so many years and so many guns). Worst gun show in the world at the outset. Best gunshow in the world at the end.