Unfortunately, my story about my dad does not have a happy ending. My father was a WW II Marine (Saipan, Guam, Okinawa -Purple Heart recipient) who brought home his Model 1911 .45 pistol. When my parents divorced, my father before leaving filled a closet in the den with many of his things (including vintage baseball cards and valuable sports memorabilia from his post war career which I really could be a millionaire now, but that's another story). This was 1966-67 timeframe and sometime in 1968, my mother started going through his boxes while I was at the park playing baseball with my friends. When I got home she exclaimed with horror that she found a gun from the Marines in one of my father's boxes! Where is it? I called the police and they came and got it. My scream upon hearing that is still echoing through time immortal.
One day I will have to tell you the one about Raymond driving backwards through downtown Beeville like he owned the place! Yikes. It was an adventure...one of MANY through the years. Gotta love the "Dirty Bee". So many good childhood stories.
Ok, I'll tell you the one about going to a Houston gun show with Raymond and Dad in Raymond's car, and watching in horror from the back seat as Raymond read the San Antonio Express News all the way to Victoria while driving up highway 59. :)
Okay to add to the Dad stories mine was drafted in WWII, stayed and did 18 months as part of the frozen choosen, then two tours in Nam. From there, he brought home a ChiCom 47 which sits in my gun safe to this day. But my granade story is while going through granade training on Ft Benning we were all in a pit practicing throwing live granades when one of the shorter guys went to throw and failed to clear the pit with the granade bouncing back. There were more A**Holes and elbows clearing that pit than you could shake a stick at. The saving grave was the training granades were timed for 7 seconds rather than the 3 second combat granades.
I tossed a grenade at Benning. Fun times. The apocryphal rumor going around at that point in our training was that in the previous cycle a private had dropped his grenade in the trench and the drill sergeant jumped on it and saved their lives, dying, himself, in the process. A hero story. Not sure if anyone really believed it. 😂
Ah,when folks were more rational and less phobic about things that go boom. I wonder if having a larger percentage of the population who actively served was part of the difference.
I just checked in with a certain 90 year old man that knew the subjects of this story very well. To my surprise, he denied any knowledge of this. And followed with, “the good old days”. Thank you, David. I miss those guys.
The 70’s in Beeville were times I took for granted and cherish now. Learned how to hop a train in that town, which wasn’t terribly hard. The get-off was another story.
Hah! I well remember the night you and Danny hopped that train out by your house and Brown and I drove over and picked y'all up behind the Whataburger! LOL.
Unfortunately, my story about my dad does not have a happy ending. My father was a WW II Marine (Saipan, Guam, Okinawa -Purple Heart recipient) who brought home his Model 1911 .45 pistol. When my parents divorced, my father before leaving filled a closet in the den with many of his things (including vintage baseball cards and valuable sports memorabilia from his post war career which I really could be a millionaire now, but that's another story). This was 1966-67 timeframe and sometime in 1968, my mother started going through his boxes while I was at the park playing baseball with my friends. When I got home she exclaimed with horror that she found a gun from the Marines in one of my father's boxes! Where is it? I called the police and they came and got it. My scream upon hearing that is still echoing through time immortal.
Holy cow, when I started reading this I thought you were going to tell me the gun went off and killed her. Whew.
Lol, it wasn’t loaded. I had found the leather holsters, one belt and one shoulder type stamped US and used them for my cap guns
One day I will have to tell you the one about Raymond driving backwards through downtown Beeville like he owned the place! Yikes. It was an adventure...one of MANY through the years. Gotta love the "Dirty Bee". So many good childhood stories.
Ok, I'll tell you the one about going to a Houston gun show with Raymond and Dad in Raymond's car, and watching in horror from the back seat as Raymond read the San Antonio Express News all the way to Victoria while driving up highway 59. :)
Why does that not surprise me AT ALL!!
You’re still around, and no-knock warrants are popular with the Feds. Be careful...
Okay to add to the Dad stories mine was drafted in WWII, stayed and did 18 months as part of the frozen choosen, then two tours in Nam. From there, he brought home a ChiCom 47 which sits in my gun safe to this day. But my granade story is while going through granade training on Ft Benning we were all in a pit practicing throwing live granades when one of the shorter guys went to throw and failed to clear the pit with the granade bouncing back. There were more A**Holes and elbows clearing that pit than you could shake a stick at. The saving grave was the training granades were timed for 7 seconds rather than the 3 second combat granades.
Whew!
Chosen...grace
I tossed a grenade at Benning. Fun times. The apocryphal rumor going around at that point in our training was that in the previous cycle a private had dropped his grenade in the trench and the drill sergeant jumped on it and saved their lives, dying, himself, in the process. A hero story. Not sure if anyone really believed it. 😂
Heard that one too.:)
Boys will be boys regardless of age? That's a good memory to have, David.
What a great story! Definitely the good old days. Your secret is safe with us.
Ah,when folks were more rational and less phobic about things that go boom. I wonder if having a larger percentage of the population who actively served was part of the difference.
I just checked in with a certain 90 year old man that knew the subjects of this story very well. To my surprise, he denied any knowledge of this. And followed with, “the good old days”. Thank you, David. I miss those guys.
Fabulous story, David!
Love that story David. Thanks for sharing.
The 70’s in Beeville were times I took for granted and cherish now. Learned how to hop a train in that town, which wasn’t terribly hard. The get-off was another story.
Hah! I well remember the night you and Danny hopped that train out by your house and Brown and I drove over and picked y'all up behind the Whataburger! LOL.
Wow! David, thanks for sharing such a cool memory.