I Love Corey, Chapter Nineteen

It was a Colt SAA in Colt forty-five caliber. The only other thing I should mention about it is that it was a flattop Bisley model. Colt only made ninety-seven of them. I suppose the condition could be graded as good, maybe even very good. While I didn’t know how much Dad had paid for it, he always said that the fool who sold it to him needed to get his head examined. I took that to mean he thought he had made a good buy on it. I did know he had purchased it when he was in high school. The last time I’d looked, it was worth somewhere around ten thousand dollars. I debated. Should I let him shoot it or not? Why couldn’t he have chosen a different one? There was a very good DWM Luger in thirty Luger caliber I’d always enjoyed shooting and, if you wanted a small caliber, there were a couple of twenty-twos. There were also a couple of twenty-five caliber semiautomatics, along with several other large caliber revolvers. Dad had always liked large caliber revolvers and I tended to agree with him on that. The Model Twenty-nine was my favorite.

“Why do you like that one?” I asked.

“It fits my hand the best and the hammer thing is easier to reach.”

I thought about it some more.

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“You don’t have to. This one’s all right.” 

So much for that idea. Oh well, I’d never really been that much of a collector of things. I’d always thought that things should be useful. If they weren’t, why would you want them? 

“Okay, we’ll get some ammo and go to the range Wednesday evening and try them out.” We’d also have to get him some ear protectors and a pair of shooting glasses. One thing about it, I figured the Colt ought to make several of the regulars at the range sit up and take notice. I’d never taken it down there as it was just slightly small for my hand and I didn’t shoot it that well. In fact, I doubted if it had been fired in almost fifteen years. 

We spent some time cleaning the old Colt and talking about gun safety. I figured I’d need to go over the safety part again at the range but I’m a firm believer in the fact that if you go over something several times there is a much better chance that it will stick. You have to make sure and not just repeat the same words. If you do that, your student will tune you out. If you can phrase it differently or present it in a different order you have a much better chance of success. 

By the time Wednesday evening rolled around I found I’d been busy. Between buying ammo and safety supplies, getting the window repair started (hiring a contractor), telling Bob Asher that Corey wouldn’t be available for an art lesson on Wednesday, and getting ready for the game on Thursday I hadn’t had time to do much of anything else. 

The art lesson turned out to be no problem, in fact, Bob wanted to join us. He said he used to shoot quite a lot but hadn’t done much in recent years as the last school he had taught at wasn’t close to any kind of a range. We agreed to eat dinner at my place and go to the range after dinner. The normal hours were seven-thirty to ten and by the time we could get there it would be just about right.

When we arrived at the range, I spent some time chatting with the members and introducing Bob and Corey. Some of them I hadn’t seen in a couple of years. Finally the time came for us to start. Corey was taking his pistol out of its case when I heard Bob’s voice.

“Holy shit, a flattop Bisley!” 

There were about twenty of us there at the time and most of their heads snapped around like they were spring loaded when Bob said that. I didn’t need to worry about lessons after that. It seemed like all the members of the club wanted to help Corey. I think they just wanted to get their hands on the old Colt. I’d only managed to come up with a hundred and fifty rounds and that included the ones I’d had on hand and between Corey and the club members that was soon gone. One of the members had some more ammo and they soon shot that up also. After that, the members of the club kept letting Corey shoot their pistols. He didn’t do very well at first as he was nervous being the center of attention but as the evening went on he relaxed and began to enjoy himself. He wasn’t a great shooter, but as the evening went along he improved. By the time it was closing time at the club he’d managed to get to where he was almost acceptable for a beginner. I don’t think he’ll ever be a great shot but a few more lessons should make him reasonably competent. 

I told the club members I’d ordered some more ammo and we’d see them next week. I swear you could see them salivate at the thoughts of shooting the Bisley. The funny part of that is that all of them shot their own pistols a lot better than they did the Bisley. Guess there’s just something about shooting something considered a legend. The Bisley wasn’t even that popular when it was made. If it had been they would have sold a lot more of them. They only sold about a thousand of them in all calibers out of a little over three hundred fifty thousand Single Action Army pistols. If fact you can still buy a Single Action Army from the Colt custom shop. You just can’t buy the Bisley version in either regular or flattop. 

On the way home Corey was bubbling over. He couldn’t stop talking about how much he had enjoyed learning to shoot and wondering if he could get better. I told him with lots of practice his skills would improve. Then he came up with a question I found interesting.

“Why was everyone so interested in my pistol?”

“Well, it’s old and not many people have seen one.”

“Yah but, well, they all seemed to want to shoot it and look at it. Almost like it was something special, you know what I mean?”

“I know, they do think its something special. They probably all wish they had one.”

“Well, if they want one, why don’t they buy one?”

“In the first place I think there were only something like ninety-seven of them made. In the second place I doubt that most of them could afford to buy one even if it was available.”

“How much would one cost?” 

“Around ten thousand dollars.”

I heard him gasp. I couldn’t see very well because the only light in the pickup came from the dash lights but I think his mouth fell open. He seemed to run out of things to say after that.

When we got home I got out the cleaning kit and suggested we should clean both pistols. 

“Why not Corey? It needs to be cleaned.”

“I might hurt it. I didn’t know it was worth that much.”

‘I don’t think you can hurt it. It’s not alive. Only things that are alive can be hurt. As far a damaging it, I doubt that you’d damage it. Besides, it’s only a pistol, perhaps a little more valuable than some, but still, only a piece of metal. You never think any thing about the car or pickup and they are worth a lot more than the pistol. How about the house? It’s worth more than ten times the value of the pistol.”

“Yah, but…”

“But what? Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking that the dollars something might be sold for is a measure of value. If you don’t have any use for something, no matter how cheaply you can buy it doesn’t make it worth anything to you. By the same token, if you really need something, you have to pay the price being asked for it. In the case of the Bisley, I wouldn’t give that much for it. Dad bought it when he was in high school and he decided what it was worth to him at that time. I doubt that he gave over a few hundred dollars for it then. Since then, it has risen in value. When he died, I inherited it. I bought a shotgun several years ago. I bought it because I shot it well. While it isn’t worth as much as the pistol, it isn’t that far off. I bought it because it raised my scores. The cost of almost eight thousand dollars was worth it to me because of the fact it raised my scores. If you shoot the pistol well, the value is great. If you don’t it isn’t worth that much. We’ll just wait and see how well you do with it. Besides, all the guys liked shooting it.”

“Guns are expensive. I didn’t realize they cost that much.”

“Guns sell for all prices. You can buy, for example, new shotguns from a few hundred dollars to over a hundred thousand dollars.” 

His mouth dropped open. Somehow I didn’t feel I was explaining value very well. Oh well, I’d have other times to try to get my point across.

“Enough worrying about this. Let’s get them cleaned and go to bed. It’s getting late.”

I swear Corey handled the Bisley like it was made of glass. I finally grabbed it and went about cleaning it in my normal manner. He just sat there watching me and the expression on his face made me wonder if he though I was nuts. I finally couldn’t stand it.

“What.”

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll drop it?”

“For God’s sake, quit worrying about the price. It’s just a pistol.” I’d finished cleaning it and tossed it towards him. “Here, put it in its case.” 

It was Friday night before we had much time to talk. We’d won our game on Thursday and he’d stayed with his mother.

“I don’t think I ought to shoot that pistol anymore. I might break it.”

“So what, as long as it wasn’t intentional I wouldn’t mind. Besides, I’ll bet it’s a lot harder to break than you think.”

“But…”

“Corey, you seem to be all hung up on the value of that pistol. If it just lays in the gun cabinet and nobody shoots it, it’s not really worth anything to anybody. Sure, I could sell it for a bunch of money but, since I don’t need the money, I choose to keep it because Dad bought it and loved it. It’s, in one sense, worthless as I don’t like to shoot it. In another it’s priceless as it was my father’s. He shot it and enjoyed it and I’m sure he’d want you to do the same. What’s the use of having something if you can’t enjoy it?”

“But…”

That’s the way things went. I kept trying to convince him that the dollar value and the true value of things were frequently different. By the time we’d had dinner and done the usual things afterwards I think I was finally getting through to him. I’d had to promise him we would go to look at pistols and see if he could find one he liked better. Bed time was finally upon us.

“Corey, I think it’s time for a shower and bed.”

His eyes lit up and he got a sly look on his face.

“Just bed?”

“Well, maybe we can find something interesting to do when we get there.”

I’d have to say we did. After our usual showers, things seemed to rapidly become more fun. He was in the mood to be aggressive. I’d just barely gotten into bed when he was all over me, kissing me and licking me. Our night apart last night had apparently caused him to need loving tonight.

It started with some kisses that had a lot of tongue. We seemed to take turns sucking on each others tongue. I kept trying to suck it out of his mouth but with no success. His success on me was about the same. Nonetheless, we both got worked up trying.