Rich Anderson
01-30-2011, 08:53 PM
My life began in Meridian, CT in 1906 when the talented Parker craftsman built me. I was special ordered by Mr. Tho F. Cobbs C/O British American Tobacco C. Ltd. Shanghai, China. Arthur DuBray was my salesperson and I am a Parker CHE 20. The specifics are all pretty standard stuff of the day but I did get a fully checkered forarm and Acme Steel barrels 28 inches in length and choked what you would call IC/M today.
I was probably the first Parker to shoot wild Pheasants in their native habitat. It was a hard life in China during the early 1900's riding in Ox carts and bouncing all over the place from one cover to another. I was only a couple of years old when in a careless moment I suffered life threatening injuries. Mr. cobbs set me against the Ox cart after a mornings hunt and as he departed I fell to the ground where upon another Yak stepped on me and severed my stock at the wrist. Tho got a replacement stock and try as he might to fix me it wasn't working. I was returned to Meridian, CT back to the loveing craftsman at Parker Brothers to finish the stock. The charge to Mr. Cobbs was $15.00. Parker sent me back to Shanghai and we stayed there a couple of more years until Mr. Cobbs returned to the United States via New York City.
It was here that I met J.P. Money bags a New York Industrialist and friend of Mr. Tho F. Cobbs. Mr. Moneybags was quite an upland bird hunter and took a shine to me right a way. After several spirited negotiations I was delivered by special currier to Mr. Moneybags NY office. It wasn't long and J.P. and I were on a train to Georgia. Mr. Moneybags was entertaining some investment bankers with a week long Quail hunt. I was in tall company what with the Holland & Holland's and Purdy's. These high class English guns were all 12 bores and here I was a little 20 but I was a Parker!
Ever the salesman J.P. pulled a few shots to make his "potential investors" feel better but as he got ribbed for using a "Ladies" gun his competitive nature took over. Soon doubles fell from the covey rises and no singles ever needed the second barrel as I stood my ground in his capable hands. We spent many winters in the South chasing Mr. Bob and life was good.
Early fall found us at Grouse Camp in northern Main. J.P. and several of his friends had a small parcell of land (3000 acers) devoted to Grouse and Woodcock habitat. I would hate to recall the total number of birds that have fallen befor my barrels as there have been many. We went to Main for almost 25 years for a couple of weeks and sometimes more than one trip was made. We ventured west also for Pheasant, Hungarian Partridge and Sharptail. J. P. was a bird hunter first and formost. He was known to skipp off on an early October morning if the frost looked good and cancell his apointments for the day.
The good days came to and end with what they call The Great Depression. I don't know what happened to J.P. but I spent years in my Leg O Mutton case. I was well oiled as J.P. took very good care of me but I never hunted with him again. I don't know how anything could be more depressing then spending over a decade in a case and not getting out to hunt but I guess there was.
Eventually I was sent to a new home in North Carolina to be used as a club gun on a Quail Plantation. Everyone who took me out just loved me and several attempts were made to purchase me but ole Tap wouldn't part with me. I had a good ten years or so on the Palntation and after each day I was cleaned, oiled and put in a leather covered gun rack. Then World War II broke out and I was once again exiled to the case and the closet.
After the war the returning GI's were more interested in something called a repeater. Ol Tap passed on and once again I languished unused and all but forgotten, lost to progress.
Somewhere around the early 50's I found myself in the company of a young Army Captain. His dad once had a Parker and he remembered him saying it was the finest gun he had ever owned. The good Captain and I hunted some Pheasants and were just beginig to get along when he got shipped to England for some kind of post war tour. Much to my surprise he took me along. When I arrived I had to go through something called Proof. Proof of what I'm a Parker by God! Well I did it and it's like a stress test and by passing I got marks put into my barrel flats. This is akin to getting tatooed but with a mallet and a punch. We did some "Rough Shooting" on several Estates and once again I had to deal with the Holland & Hollands and Purdy's. I was deemed to small for driven birds but that kind of shooting wasn't my cup of tea anyway. After his tour the captain and I returned home where he married and began a family.
With his new responsibilities the good Captain and I didn't get much action but he wouldn't sell me even when funds got tight and the Mrs begged him. His dad had a Parker and I was his Parker end of story. The captain had gone to Law School and became a prominant attorney and we made some trips together and even went back south for Mr. Bob. Just as things were looking up & retirement was just over the horizon and his oldest daughter about to get married he had a stroke. This left him paralized and we never hunted again. Two years passed befor he died and his wife gave me to his best friend.
James Edgar White was a teacher and could never have afforded me and The Captain new that and so I was passed on to a new caretaker. Mr. White wasn't much of a bird hunter and I didn't see much use while in his care. When he died I was sold as part of the Estate.
The next couple of decades I was sold, bought and resold so many times I began to feel like a Red Headed Step Child. Somewhere in this mess I got a new stock but can't remember why but hey I'm 105 years old give me a break! Somewhere along this road my beautifull SSBP was lost.
I ended up in the company of a beautifull Red headed lady who was well to do and she and her husband took me all over the country hunting birds. My favorite place was Old Mexico where once again I was paired against Mr. Bob. The lady was short statured and even though my new stock was only 14 inches LOP I was a tad to long for her. Her husband took a couple of inches off my butt. This would be like getting your leg amputated with a band saw. He was a smart guy however and saved the amputated piece. This would later prove a wise decision as it was later reattached. We had a good run the Red head and me but all good things come to an end. They divorced, he got the farm and she went back to city life and I went to the gun store.
It's bitter cold in Duluth, MN in December and there isn't anything to hunt other than for a new caretaker. One was found in Virginia and I made the trip in the Big Brown Truck of UPS. Master Charles was overjoyed in my good condition after all these years. He didn't mind my spliced together stock (it reduced my selling price I'm sure) and even with 3 1/2 inches of drop he and I went together like toast and jelly.
Master Charles and his lovely wife Miss Tiffany (she shoots some weird gun with two barrels one on top of the other) have a farm and again Mr. Bob and I got reaquainted. We also went to Kansas each year and hunted Pheasants. We enjoyed several good years but little did I realize that Master Charles isn't overly attached to his gunning equipment and when a friend of his in Michigan saw pictures of me on something called the Internet he contacted Charles and asked to be kept in mind should he decide to sell me. Mr. Rich has a nice DHE 20 but with 26 inch barrels and a 28 incher would be just the ticket for late season Grouse and Pheasants.
It wasn't long and I was once again on the UPS truck this time headed for Michigan. Mr Rich and I didn't see eye to eye. His comment to a gunning friend while on a Pheasant hunt with me was derogatory as to my future use/value. My stock was to short and there was to much drop. He had a hard time hitting the ground with me. I sat in the steel tomb called a safe for two years, neglected, unused.
Mr. Rich had done some heavy thinking regarding my future. He reconed that afterall I was a CHE 20 and where was he going to find another like me (there were only 64 made) and I was a bargin price wise. My stock wasn't original so what the Hell lets get another one. Mr. Rich favors a straight stock and a much longer length of pull. He found a craftsman in Pennsylvania to do the operation. My forend lug had come loose over the years so that was fixed, my tangs needed to be straightened so they were carefully heated and raised to accomodate the new straight stock. A beautifull piece of Turkish Circassion walnut was selected that closely matched my forend. My original trigger guard was cut and a piece spliced in for the longer one needed. I was reengraved had new screws made and 18 months later was delivered to Mr. Rich just in time for fall bird season much like my very first delivery to Mr. Moneybags so long ago.
Mr. Rich took me hunting every weekend of the season and we also shoot something called Sporting Clays. It's like golf with a shotgun. I think I have a long time home with my new caretaker. Life is good...again.
I was probably the first Parker to shoot wild Pheasants in their native habitat. It was a hard life in China during the early 1900's riding in Ox carts and bouncing all over the place from one cover to another. I was only a couple of years old when in a careless moment I suffered life threatening injuries. Mr. cobbs set me against the Ox cart after a mornings hunt and as he departed I fell to the ground where upon another Yak stepped on me and severed my stock at the wrist. Tho got a replacement stock and try as he might to fix me it wasn't working. I was returned to Meridian, CT back to the loveing craftsman at Parker Brothers to finish the stock. The charge to Mr. Cobbs was $15.00. Parker sent me back to Shanghai and we stayed there a couple of more years until Mr. Cobbs returned to the United States via New York City.
It was here that I met J.P. Money bags a New York Industrialist and friend of Mr. Tho F. Cobbs. Mr. Moneybags was quite an upland bird hunter and took a shine to me right a way. After several spirited negotiations I was delivered by special currier to Mr. Moneybags NY office. It wasn't long and J.P. and I were on a train to Georgia. Mr. Moneybags was entertaining some investment bankers with a week long Quail hunt. I was in tall company what with the Holland & Holland's and Purdy's. These high class English guns were all 12 bores and here I was a little 20 but I was a Parker!
Ever the salesman J.P. pulled a few shots to make his "potential investors" feel better but as he got ribbed for using a "Ladies" gun his competitive nature took over. Soon doubles fell from the covey rises and no singles ever needed the second barrel as I stood my ground in his capable hands. We spent many winters in the South chasing Mr. Bob and life was good.
Early fall found us at Grouse Camp in northern Main. J.P. and several of his friends had a small parcell of land (3000 acers) devoted to Grouse and Woodcock habitat. I would hate to recall the total number of birds that have fallen befor my barrels as there have been many. We went to Main for almost 25 years for a couple of weeks and sometimes more than one trip was made. We ventured west also for Pheasant, Hungarian Partridge and Sharptail. J. P. was a bird hunter first and formost. He was known to skipp off on an early October morning if the frost looked good and cancell his apointments for the day.
The good days came to and end with what they call The Great Depression. I don't know what happened to J.P. but I spent years in my Leg O Mutton case. I was well oiled as J.P. took very good care of me but I never hunted with him again. I don't know how anything could be more depressing then spending over a decade in a case and not getting out to hunt but I guess there was.
Eventually I was sent to a new home in North Carolina to be used as a club gun on a Quail Plantation. Everyone who took me out just loved me and several attempts were made to purchase me but ole Tap wouldn't part with me. I had a good ten years or so on the Palntation and after each day I was cleaned, oiled and put in a leather covered gun rack. Then World War II broke out and I was once again exiled to the case and the closet.
After the war the returning GI's were more interested in something called a repeater. Ol Tap passed on and once again I languished unused and all but forgotten, lost to progress.
Somewhere around the early 50's I found myself in the company of a young Army Captain. His dad once had a Parker and he remembered him saying it was the finest gun he had ever owned. The good Captain and I hunted some Pheasants and were just beginig to get along when he got shipped to England for some kind of post war tour. Much to my surprise he took me along. When I arrived I had to go through something called Proof. Proof of what I'm a Parker by God! Well I did it and it's like a stress test and by passing I got marks put into my barrel flats. This is akin to getting tatooed but with a mallet and a punch. We did some "Rough Shooting" on several Estates and once again I had to deal with the Holland & Hollands and Purdy's. I was deemed to small for driven birds but that kind of shooting wasn't my cup of tea anyway. After his tour the captain and I returned home where he married and began a family.
With his new responsibilities the good Captain and I didn't get much action but he wouldn't sell me even when funds got tight and the Mrs begged him. His dad had a Parker and I was his Parker end of story. The captain had gone to Law School and became a prominant attorney and we made some trips together and even went back south for Mr. Bob. Just as things were looking up & retirement was just over the horizon and his oldest daughter about to get married he had a stroke. This left him paralized and we never hunted again. Two years passed befor he died and his wife gave me to his best friend.
James Edgar White was a teacher and could never have afforded me and The Captain new that and so I was passed on to a new caretaker. Mr. White wasn't much of a bird hunter and I didn't see much use while in his care. When he died I was sold as part of the Estate.
The next couple of decades I was sold, bought and resold so many times I began to feel like a Red Headed Step Child. Somewhere in this mess I got a new stock but can't remember why but hey I'm 105 years old give me a break! Somewhere along this road my beautifull SSBP was lost.
I ended up in the company of a beautifull Red headed lady who was well to do and she and her husband took me all over the country hunting birds. My favorite place was Old Mexico where once again I was paired against Mr. Bob. The lady was short statured and even though my new stock was only 14 inches LOP I was a tad to long for her. Her husband took a couple of inches off my butt. This would be like getting your leg amputated with a band saw. He was a smart guy however and saved the amputated piece. This would later prove a wise decision as it was later reattached. We had a good run the Red head and me but all good things come to an end. They divorced, he got the farm and she went back to city life and I went to the gun store.
It's bitter cold in Duluth, MN in December and there isn't anything to hunt other than for a new caretaker. One was found in Virginia and I made the trip in the Big Brown Truck of UPS. Master Charles was overjoyed in my good condition after all these years. He didn't mind my spliced together stock (it reduced my selling price I'm sure) and even with 3 1/2 inches of drop he and I went together like toast and jelly.
Master Charles and his lovely wife Miss Tiffany (she shoots some weird gun with two barrels one on top of the other) have a farm and again Mr. Bob and I got reaquainted. We also went to Kansas each year and hunted Pheasants. We enjoyed several good years but little did I realize that Master Charles isn't overly attached to his gunning equipment and when a friend of his in Michigan saw pictures of me on something called the Internet he contacted Charles and asked to be kept in mind should he decide to sell me. Mr. Rich has a nice DHE 20 but with 26 inch barrels and a 28 incher would be just the ticket for late season Grouse and Pheasants.
It wasn't long and I was once again on the UPS truck this time headed for Michigan. Mr Rich and I didn't see eye to eye. His comment to a gunning friend while on a Pheasant hunt with me was derogatory as to my future use/value. My stock was to short and there was to much drop. He had a hard time hitting the ground with me. I sat in the steel tomb called a safe for two years, neglected, unused.
Mr. Rich had done some heavy thinking regarding my future. He reconed that afterall I was a CHE 20 and where was he going to find another like me (there were only 64 made) and I was a bargin price wise. My stock wasn't original so what the Hell lets get another one. Mr. Rich favors a straight stock and a much longer length of pull. He found a craftsman in Pennsylvania to do the operation. My forend lug had come loose over the years so that was fixed, my tangs needed to be straightened so they were carefully heated and raised to accomodate the new straight stock. A beautifull piece of Turkish Circassion walnut was selected that closely matched my forend. My original trigger guard was cut and a piece spliced in for the longer one needed. I was reengraved had new screws made and 18 months later was delivered to Mr. Rich just in time for fall bird season much like my very first delivery to Mr. Moneybags so long ago.
Mr. Rich took me hunting every weekend of the season and we also shoot something called Sporting Clays. It's like golf with a shotgun. I think I have a long time home with my new caretaker. Life is good...again.