The year is 1988, and I am living in Ohio. Early one Saturday morning, I leave for a Florida Thanksgiving holiday (ring in hand) where I plan to ask Nancy, my girlfriend, to marry me. After a week of enjoying the beach and Florida sunshine, I return to find that my house has been burglarized. My prized Winchester Model 101 Pigeon Grade is missing. Heartbroken, I contact the Miami Township, Ohio, police and give them the serial number of the stolen gun.
Each year for the next 15 years, I get a follow-up call from the police dept. stating that they have entered the serial number in a national database, but as of yet, they have not recovered my Winchester. Two moves (one to Wellington, Fla., and one to Crystal Lake, Ill.) and 18 more years pass with no word on my over-under. Then, on a cold Saturday winter morning in Crystal Lake, I receive a surprise call. “Hello, Jim” the Miami Township officer says, “I have some good news for you. Your shotgun has been recovered.”
The officer went on to give me the contact information for the Pennsylvania State Police, which had recovered the gun after an honest gunsmith checked the national database for stolen firearms and contacted the authorities. I then coordinated with the Pennsylvania State Police to receive my shotgun, and it was in surprisingly good shape.
So I trundled off to the local trap range, where I broke 24 out of 25 during my first round with the gun in 33 years. All is well. As a footnote, Nancy said “yes,” and we have now been married for 35 years.
—Jim Schollhammer
