Post by hoover on Jan 14, 2012 14:41:03 GMT -5
Having been in Law Enforcement the past 27 years, I’ve learned there are three sides to every dispute, or incidence, a version of each of the parties involved, and the truth. You’ve heard two versions already, so that now leaves lastly, the truth, or the “Real” version of Jug Johnsons Return to D.C.
After much pestering, by my good friend, “Doc” Barranti, I finally acquiesced, and agreed to let him visit with his family. They would be coming down from Pa., to do some sight seeing, over the Holiday Season, and a visit was planned, including dinner, at my house. “Doc” would be bringing his better half, Michelle, and 2 of his 3 boys, Ethan, and Frankie. It’s a well known fact that gun guys always marry up, and Michelle is a prime example of that. . Mike did great, and Michelle got the short end of the stick. She is a very attractive lady, a great host, charming, friendly, and most importantly, really knows how to throw a good spread when entertaining company. Several times, I have been fooled by eating her appetizers, thinking it was the main course, on my visits to their home. Not having any wrinkles in my stomach for years, it is capable of stretching to the outer limits of disbelief, and serves me well, to not offend any offerings from hosts.
Mike mentions Michelle’s lack of endurance for riding long in a vehicle. Let me tell you, I can totally commiserate with her, having ridden with “Doc” on several occasions. These endurance tests can tax the most patient of people. You see, “Doc” isn’t exactly the fastest driver. His 4 hour trip to my house, takes me about an hour. When traveling with “Doc” I’ve never heard a GPS “recalculate” with the woman sighing heavily, just for the estimated time of arrival. You see, the more “Doc” drives, the longer the arrival time gets. If “Doc” were driving in the opposite direction of the rotation of the earth, we would be standing still. Kinda like being on a treadmill, so I’m told…… It’s no wonder Ethan falls asleep, when all he has to look at is the same field of cows on the Pa. turn pike.
The week of Christmas found my entire family, and visiting In-laws sick, with the terrible cold that was making the rounds. Somehow, I had managed to escape it, until you guessed it, New Years Day. Doc, not being able to comprehend the “hint” that I was sick as a dog, couldn’t wait to come over for the chance to eat someone elses groceries, and drink their top shelf liquor. With Doc a half hour out from my house, and me, sick as a dog in bed, I receive a call from him. Still in disbelief that he is coming, I ask him if he would mind picking up the food for me. I tell him arrangements have been made with the grocery store, and all he has to do is pick up the food, it is already paid for.
Ruger and Cooper, start barking, and I see the familiar Dodge Durango pull into the driveway. Doc gets out, looking like the Michelin Tire Man, all puffed up. I go out to great him and shake hands, and give my good friend a hug. Rather than his usual warm hug, something is different. Doc feels cold, bulky, and kinda smells. Wondering if he is the victim of “Holiday Bloat” and traveling too long in the Durango, I keep my thoughts to myself. After everyone is greeted, and we ajourn back inside the house, I notice Doc isn’t carrying any grocery bags. Thinking he forgot to pick them up, as usual, I inquire if he had time to pick them up, since he is his customarily hour and a half late. Doc grins, “sure did partner”, as he pulls his shirt up, and pulls out 7 NY strip steaks. Proud of his feat, I ask if he remembered the shrimp. He then reaches down his pants, and pulls out 3 lbs of shrimp. This explains the partially cooked seafood smell I notice, and am relieved it is not a hygiene problem. As Doc retrieves the shrimp, I am thinking (hoping) that there are not any crabs, to go along with the shrimp. Remembering the chocolate cake I asked him to pickup, and seeing that Doc is running out of body space to conceal the cake, worry and disgust cross my mind, wondering where in the heck did he hide that cake?
Though he has no receipt to show me, Doc tells me he spent $97 on the food .I wonder why he didn’t just pick-up the already paid for groceries. Is Doc trying to Shanghai me
? I’m sure it was just an oversight on his part, of course I write him a check, from a long, closed out account of mine , just in case.
Doc and I head down to the basement to talk guns, show off things we received for Christmas, and do some leather work. Doc had made me one of his DA #5 holsters for a 4” Model 29-2, I had got from my wife for Christmas. It was obtained from good friend Rob Leahy. This will be one of the finest dressed S & W’s as it shares time with one of Rob’s Shark skin pancakes, which he included in the deal, along with matching ammo pouch, and Mikes #5 shuck. Mike needed to shape the shuck, and measure for the snap, on the retention strap.
Now here is where thing get a little blurry, or confusing. I don’t know if it was from some of the libations consumed, the cold medicine I was taking, or if “someone” slipped me a Mickey, but it was all a blur. Doc had gotten me some leatherworking tools, a partially made Signature Series NW Hunter Rig, from both him, and Brother Glenn Swaggart, and of course, the Ruger 3 screw Flat top, which Doc had supposedly traded from our great friend, Dick Thompson. I had 2 holsters I wanted to show Doc, that I was extremely proud of. The old Bucheimer that Doc talks about, was once owned by Elmer Keith, and the carved Lawrence, which Doc calls “economy line” was Skeeter Skeltons. I guess any shuck compared to “Docs” overpriced leather, is considered economy. When I called Brother Glenn Swaggart to thank him for the NW Hunter rig, he seemed shocked ! You see, he told me him and Doc had concocted this rig for my birthday 5 years ago, which is amazing, as I have only known them, 2 ½ years, but is typical of Docs time line.
Anyhew, after all is said and done, I have a nice Flat top, from our mentor, and hero, Dick Thompson, and Doc has some smuggled leather , once owned by two icons of the handgunner world !
By this time, it is time for dinner . Doc being an obsessive compulsive hand washer and germ freak, asks if I mind if he cooks the steaks. Not wanting him to whine, or fuss, I agree. Heck, I don’t care. I want him happy ! He just gave me a gun ! Doc does a fabulous job on the steaks ! They have a certain after taste I can’t quit describe, but is wonderful. Doc has raided my spice cabinet, and whips up a wonderful concoction. It is a combination of Spicey Italian, garlic, and onion, only stronger. Remembering where the boosted bovine meat was concealed, I wonder if it is possible that the plastic sealed meat had absorbed some of Docs natural odor ? I’ve herd of dry rubs, wet rubs, but never belly rubs, for grilled meat. When my steak was served, it had small, curly black “seasoning” on it, resembling belly hair, but figured it couldn’t be, and dismissed it.
It was a great evening, that went by too fast. As Doc and his family prepared to leave, he refused to shake my hand, or hug me goodbye. I just chalked it up to his germ phobia , and wished him well. His overloaded Dodge Durango groaned as it backed down my driveway, the leaf springs squeeking, as it did so. I thought, man, ol’ Doc must have really put away the groceries, with the load in that vehicle.
As Camille and I went back inside, we talked of the wonderful visit. Camille stated, how wonderful Mike was, picking up the food, cooking it, and even offering to clean up afterward. I couldn’t agree more. Wanting a drink, to keep the warm glow continuing, and reminiscing about the evening, I went to the bar. “Camille, where’s that Scotch” I asked ? “I’m not sure, Mike put it away” Closer inspection revealed half my top shelf liquor missing. Odd?
The next morning, while drinking my morning coffee, one of my work cohorts stops by, for a chat, and cup of coffee. He has a rookie in tow, with a fairly new computer. This new breed of cop is very computer oriented, unlike us dinosaurs, who were trained with clipboard, pen, and common sense.
I tell them of my visit, with Doc, and show them the flat top. My buddy tells me what a great friend I have, and I agree, when the rookie says ,”this gun is stolen” I respond sheepishly, some might say that, but it was a gift, with a lot of history, from friend to friend, to friend. The rookie responds, “No, you don’t understand ! This gun is stolen ! I ran the serial number on my computer. It was reported stolen 2 years ago by a guy in Soda Springs, ID., named Dick Thompson “ I have to seize this gun !” Son of a gun ! I can’t believe it ! But then, it all starts to add up. Doc shoving groceries under his clothes, my missing holsters. An inventory is done of the house. Besides the above missing items, 9 bottles of top shelf hootch, my lap top, a #16 Dutch Oven, 8 lbs. of coffee, a progressive reloading press, 61 lbs.of cast, lubed, and sized bullets, and 27 lbs. of powder.
Now I’m not insinuating Doc has sticky fingers. Maybe he was just borrowing that stuff. Or maybe Doc is a kleptomaniac, along with being an obsessive compulsive hand washing, germ freak. Whatever he is, I’m proud to call him friend, brother, and amigo !
Here's Doc, Sixshot, and me in Idaho, 2010
After much pestering, by my good friend, “Doc” Barranti, I finally acquiesced, and agreed to let him visit with his family. They would be coming down from Pa., to do some sight seeing, over the Holiday Season, and a visit was planned, including dinner, at my house. “Doc” would be bringing his better half, Michelle, and 2 of his 3 boys, Ethan, and Frankie. It’s a well known fact that gun guys always marry up, and Michelle is a prime example of that. . Mike did great, and Michelle got the short end of the stick. She is a very attractive lady, a great host, charming, friendly, and most importantly, really knows how to throw a good spread when entertaining company. Several times, I have been fooled by eating her appetizers, thinking it was the main course, on my visits to their home. Not having any wrinkles in my stomach for years, it is capable of stretching to the outer limits of disbelief, and serves me well, to not offend any offerings from hosts.
Mike mentions Michelle’s lack of endurance for riding long in a vehicle. Let me tell you, I can totally commiserate with her, having ridden with “Doc” on several occasions. These endurance tests can tax the most patient of people. You see, “Doc” isn’t exactly the fastest driver. His 4 hour trip to my house, takes me about an hour. When traveling with “Doc” I’ve never heard a GPS “recalculate” with the woman sighing heavily, just for the estimated time of arrival. You see, the more “Doc” drives, the longer the arrival time gets. If “Doc” were driving in the opposite direction of the rotation of the earth, we would be standing still. Kinda like being on a treadmill, so I’m told…… It’s no wonder Ethan falls asleep, when all he has to look at is the same field of cows on the Pa. turn pike.
The week of Christmas found my entire family, and visiting In-laws sick, with the terrible cold that was making the rounds. Somehow, I had managed to escape it, until you guessed it, New Years Day. Doc, not being able to comprehend the “hint” that I was sick as a dog, couldn’t wait to come over for the chance to eat someone elses groceries, and drink their top shelf liquor. With Doc a half hour out from my house, and me, sick as a dog in bed, I receive a call from him. Still in disbelief that he is coming, I ask him if he would mind picking up the food for me. I tell him arrangements have been made with the grocery store, and all he has to do is pick up the food, it is already paid for.
Ruger and Cooper, start barking, and I see the familiar Dodge Durango pull into the driveway. Doc gets out, looking like the Michelin Tire Man, all puffed up. I go out to great him and shake hands, and give my good friend a hug. Rather than his usual warm hug, something is different. Doc feels cold, bulky, and kinda smells. Wondering if he is the victim of “Holiday Bloat” and traveling too long in the Durango, I keep my thoughts to myself. After everyone is greeted, and we ajourn back inside the house, I notice Doc isn’t carrying any grocery bags. Thinking he forgot to pick them up, as usual, I inquire if he had time to pick them up, since he is his customarily hour and a half late. Doc grins, “sure did partner”, as he pulls his shirt up, and pulls out 7 NY strip steaks. Proud of his feat, I ask if he remembered the shrimp. He then reaches down his pants, and pulls out 3 lbs of shrimp. This explains the partially cooked seafood smell I notice, and am relieved it is not a hygiene problem. As Doc retrieves the shrimp, I am thinking (hoping) that there are not any crabs, to go along with the shrimp. Remembering the chocolate cake I asked him to pickup, and seeing that Doc is running out of body space to conceal the cake, worry and disgust cross my mind, wondering where in the heck did he hide that cake?
Though he has no receipt to show me, Doc tells me he spent $97 on the food .I wonder why he didn’t just pick-up the already paid for groceries. Is Doc trying to Shanghai me
? I’m sure it was just an oversight on his part, of course I write him a check, from a long, closed out account of mine , just in case.
Doc and I head down to the basement to talk guns, show off things we received for Christmas, and do some leather work. Doc had made me one of his DA #5 holsters for a 4” Model 29-2, I had got from my wife for Christmas. It was obtained from good friend Rob Leahy. This will be one of the finest dressed S & W’s as it shares time with one of Rob’s Shark skin pancakes, which he included in the deal, along with matching ammo pouch, and Mikes #5 shuck. Mike needed to shape the shuck, and measure for the snap, on the retention strap.
Now here is where thing get a little blurry, or confusing. I don’t know if it was from some of the libations consumed, the cold medicine I was taking, or if “someone” slipped me a Mickey, but it was all a blur. Doc had gotten me some leatherworking tools, a partially made Signature Series NW Hunter Rig, from both him, and Brother Glenn Swaggart, and of course, the Ruger 3 screw Flat top, which Doc had supposedly traded from our great friend, Dick Thompson. I had 2 holsters I wanted to show Doc, that I was extremely proud of. The old Bucheimer that Doc talks about, was once owned by Elmer Keith, and the carved Lawrence, which Doc calls “economy line” was Skeeter Skeltons. I guess any shuck compared to “Docs” overpriced leather, is considered economy. When I called Brother Glenn Swaggart to thank him for the NW Hunter rig, he seemed shocked ! You see, he told me him and Doc had concocted this rig for my birthday 5 years ago, which is amazing, as I have only known them, 2 ½ years, but is typical of Docs time line.
Anyhew, after all is said and done, I have a nice Flat top, from our mentor, and hero, Dick Thompson, and Doc has some smuggled leather , once owned by two icons of the handgunner world !
By this time, it is time for dinner . Doc being an obsessive compulsive hand washer and germ freak, asks if I mind if he cooks the steaks. Not wanting him to whine, or fuss, I agree. Heck, I don’t care. I want him happy ! He just gave me a gun ! Doc does a fabulous job on the steaks ! They have a certain after taste I can’t quit describe, but is wonderful. Doc has raided my spice cabinet, and whips up a wonderful concoction. It is a combination of Spicey Italian, garlic, and onion, only stronger. Remembering where the boosted bovine meat was concealed, I wonder if it is possible that the plastic sealed meat had absorbed some of Docs natural odor ? I’ve herd of dry rubs, wet rubs, but never belly rubs, for grilled meat. When my steak was served, it had small, curly black “seasoning” on it, resembling belly hair, but figured it couldn’t be, and dismissed it.
It was a great evening, that went by too fast. As Doc and his family prepared to leave, he refused to shake my hand, or hug me goodbye. I just chalked it up to his germ phobia , and wished him well. His overloaded Dodge Durango groaned as it backed down my driveway, the leaf springs squeeking, as it did so. I thought, man, ol’ Doc must have really put away the groceries, with the load in that vehicle.
As Camille and I went back inside, we talked of the wonderful visit. Camille stated, how wonderful Mike was, picking up the food, cooking it, and even offering to clean up afterward. I couldn’t agree more. Wanting a drink, to keep the warm glow continuing, and reminiscing about the evening, I went to the bar. “Camille, where’s that Scotch” I asked ? “I’m not sure, Mike put it away” Closer inspection revealed half my top shelf liquor missing. Odd?
The next morning, while drinking my morning coffee, one of my work cohorts stops by, for a chat, and cup of coffee. He has a rookie in tow, with a fairly new computer. This new breed of cop is very computer oriented, unlike us dinosaurs, who were trained with clipboard, pen, and common sense.
I tell them of my visit, with Doc, and show them the flat top. My buddy tells me what a great friend I have, and I agree, when the rookie says ,”this gun is stolen” I respond sheepishly, some might say that, but it was a gift, with a lot of history, from friend to friend, to friend. The rookie responds, “No, you don’t understand ! This gun is stolen ! I ran the serial number on my computer. It was reported stolen 2 years ago by a guy in Soda Springs, ID., named Dick Thompson “ I have to seize this gun !” Son of a gun ! I can’t believe it ! But then, it all starts to add up. Doc shoving groceries under his clothes, my missing holsters. An inventory is done of the house. Besides the above missing items, 9 bottles of top shelf hootch, my lap top, a #16 Dutch Oven, 8 lbs. of coffee, a progressive reloading press, 61 lbs.of cast, lubed, and sized bullets, and 27 lbs. of powder.
Now I’m not insinuating Doc has sticky fingers. Maybe he was just borrowing that stuff. Or maybe Doc is a kleptomaniac, along with being an obsessive compulsive hand washing, germ freak. Whatever he is, I’m proud to call him friend, brother, and amigo !
Here's Doc, Sixshot, and me in Idaho, 2010
