Remembering Allen Taylor, stories and such.

[Tycer]

I just learned that Jim Tayor's dad Allen did some fascinating inventing and shooting. Jim, can you expound more on some stories you've posted about your dad? Sure sounds like you were Blessed with one great dad. Care to share more of your memories?

http://fiveshot.org/guests/gameguns.htm

http://www.leverguns.com/taylor/slipin/dad_bullets.htm

http://disc.yourwebapps.com/discussion. ... cle=141702

http://www.marlinowners.com/forum/444-m ... ats-2.html

[JimT]

Dad was one of a kind. He was always tinkering with things .. seeing how they were made .. how he could improve them. Some of his ideas are still in use. Gary Reeder experimented with Dad's throating and came up with the "Maxi-Throat". If you ask him he will tell you Dad's was the inspiration for it. Dad invented lots of little gadgets for the shooter/reloader. He came up with the tool to flatten the nose on the cheap round-nose .22's to make them kill better on small game than a hollowpoint. Ed Wosika and Paco Kelly refined the tool and sold it for years as the "SGB" (Small Game Bullet) Tool. Ed went and visited a well-known ammunition company and tried to interest them in purchasing the idea. They looked at it and said "No thanks". But within 6 months or so they had their own flat-nose .22's out named ... yep .. SGB. Pop just shrugged it off. It would have been nice if they would have sent him a case of ammo. They wouldn't even had to say why. But I guess that's business.

The Wesson boys were good to Dad. He had given them the Taylor Throating and they ran with it. They experimented and found out how well it worked and implemented it. The reason Dad gave it to them was during WWII Major Wesson helped Dad get into the MP's. Dad said it was a way to return the favor. A few years later Wesson Arms presented Dad with a .445 SuperMag. It was made of stainless steel and coated with titanium. It had both a long and a short barrel. The serial number was Dad's name. This was presented to him at the annual meeting of the National Rifle Association.

Dad was an extraordinary sixgun shot. He worked in Law Enforcement for some years and all his merit raises were based on his shooting. He won many many matches over the years. So many in fact that at times they asked him not to enter in order to give the other guys a chance to win! The first time that happened he asked "Could I compete if I only shoot left-handed?" They thought that would be OK. Dad took 2nd Place .. only 1 1/2 seconds behind the winner.

Most all his shooting was done double action. At the Shootists Holiday I can still remember people watching in disbelief as he doubleactioned the rams, standing up shooting offhand. He rarely missed.

Dad has been gone for several years now, but in reality he left about 10 years ago. Alzheimer's stole his creativity and his curiosity and finally his personality. I have missed him for a long time, even before his body gave out. We hunted together, rode the mountains together, shot, fought, laughed and cried together. I have hopes that across the Great Divide that separates the living and the departed, he is building a campfire and cooking some bacon and coffee for me. And one of these days we will ride the far ranges again.

[JerryB]

Thank you Jim, I have always enjoyed reading your stories about your dad and you. I finally got a Gunsmith to ream one chamber on my old single action .22, that one .22mag in there is nice to have. More tales any time you can.

[Hagler]

Tycer,

Thanks for posting those links.

*****************

Jim,

Would you have any pictures of those "slip-in" bullets? I have a handful of some wadcutter bullets, and I would like to know if I have some of your dad's design.

Shawn

[JimT]

No .. sorry .. I don't have any photos of them. The bullet is a full-wadcutter but is a variation of the 'heel' bullet. The base of the bullet in .38/357 is around .350" diameter and it tapers to the nose. The "driving band" on the nose is the same diameter as the outside diameter of the .38/357 cartridge.

The .38/357 bullet weighed 110 gr. if I remember correctly.

[junkbug]

The "Bull Durham bag" reloading tools look great.

Like yourself, I really miss my Dad. He has been gone 5 years now. He was never much of a shooter, but always supported me in my enthusiasm for it. His stories about his use of the M-1 Garand rifle during WWII is probably what got me interested in the whole endeavor in the first place. One of the first toys I remember was a plastic M-1 rifle.

Thanks for your photos.

Sean

[Hagler]

Jim,

Thanks for the information. Unfortunately, I do not have any of your dad's bullets. What I have appears to be some hollow-base wadcutters, like some that Speer has made. I made a reloading-amatuer's mistake.

Shawn

[Tycer]

Jim,

Thanks for the information. Unfortunately, I do not have any of your dad's bullets. What I have appears to be some hollow-base wadcutters, like some that Speer has made. I made a reloading-amatuer's mistake.

Shawn

Reverse hb wadcutters work fine so long at the data you used also works for solids.

[JimT]

No problem. Here is a story about my Dad ... all true .. happened back in the middle 1960's ...

The Old Man

A Short Story
by Jim Taylor

The kid had been on an extended trip to the Orient courtesy of Uncle Sam when his Dad (whom he affectionately called "the Old Man") had the little dust-up. The Old Man had not told the kid about it until more than a year after he returned to the States.. He did not want to worry the boy since, at the time, he was in a place where he needed to keep his mind on what was going on around him.

Seems the Old Man decided to make a trip into the Superstition Mountains. He and the boy had been going in to the rocky recesses for a number of years, prospecting and poking around. Usually they went together. Rarely did anyone go in by themselves. But at this time the boy was doing his duty in a far-off country and was not available to go with him. He knew the dangers, having been in the mountains when individuals had lost their lives or been seriously injured. Some were by stupidity, some by bad luck and some by bad people. He also found out (some time after the fact) that the boy had been in a gunfight and had been shot through the arm when he was by himself in these very same mountains. (that little fact having been concealed by the kid so as to keep the Old Man from worrying, or so he said. Likely it was to save his own hide from further punishment) In any event, the Old Man understood the risks.

And he knew the kind of people who lived in the mountains. Just earlier that year he had been in a prospector's camp when one of the men came back in, handed a .30-30 to the camp leader and said, "That red-headed *** won't bother us anymore!" The Old Man never asked any questions or even let on like he heard anything. Some things were best forgotten.

One dark morning he loaded his backpack and his gun into the truck and set out for the mountains. Light was just breaking in the east when he parked near the base of what is called Battleship Rock. He strapped on his gun, settled the backpack, and started out. He wanted to get up off the desert floor before the heat came on.

The climb was uneventful. The trail winds up the side of the mountain on a series of ledges, sometimes only feet wide. To one side is a drop-off of varying height. To the other side a cliff. Often the ledges are yards wide, in some places nearly 30 yards, and fairly thick with brush. Cattle, wild critters, and humans have made a trail that is easy to follow up the rocky slopes. Winding around through the brush and rocks each turn gives you a fresh view of the land and the wild mountain interior. As the Old Man made his way up and the sun climbed in the sky the country unfolded below him. He later related to the boy, "I was standing on a ledge looking out over the country, enjoying the view, when below me a few miles out, an airplane went by. It made you feel like you were on top of everything."

It was after noon by the time he reached the top and he stopped in the shade of a large outcropping rock for some lunch. After eating a bite he began to make his way across the top of the mountain. There were some Indian markings he wanted to check out and he wanted to see the view from several places. He spent several hours poking around and as he told the boy, "The time nearly got away from me." When he saw how late it was getting he immediately started his return trip down the mountain. He was not afraid to do it in the dark - he carried a flashlight as normal part of his gear. But he knew how easily a trip in the hills can turn bad and he did not want to risk more than was normal.

The Old Man always went armed. Everyplace. Today was no exception. His gun was an well-worn Ruger flat-top .44 Magnum 6 1/2" and he had it loaded with his standard load using the Keith semi-wadcutter bullet. The Old Man had used that bullet for years, over a dose of 2400 powder, and he was good with it. He had been carrying that same gun and load when some young punks pulled up alongside his truck one day and pointed a pistol at him. That they lived to regret doing so was due only to his kindly nature. He figured a good scare was better than hurting them. Besides, it was less paperwork.

Coming down off Battleship the Old Man took his time, not wanting to rush things and possibly have an accident. The first part of the trail down was fairly easy. Then there was a section that was heavy with brush. This area was fairly expansive. As he made his way through it the Old Man began to realize he was being followed.

He told the kid later on, "I was coming down the side of the mountain in that area after you go across the ridge tops. The ledges there are 20 - 30 yards wide and one section is maybe a quarter mile long going down the mountain. It's rocky and cut up some, but easy enough to handle. As I was going along I began to realize I was hearing someone behind me, moving through the brush off the to side. Well, I slowed down and so did they. When I would stop I would hear some movement and then they would stop. They did not move until I started moving again. You know how hard it is to be quiet in that brush, what with the catclaw grabbing at your clothes and scraping on the twigs and stuff? Well, they could hear me and I could hear them."

The boy wondered aloud if it was maybe a cow or some critter following. The Old Man said it could have been, but he was not sure. He did not think it was a Mountain Lion for they just don't make that kind of noise. And it "..seemed as if it was a 2-footed creature.." though he could not be positive about that. But one thing he did know. Every time he moved, it moved. And whenever he stopped it stopped.

Whoever or whatever was following him, they had no good intentions in mind. If it was a human you just do not do that kind of thing in that type of country! If it wasn't human it had no business stalking him.

This game went on for a few minutes until the Old Man had it fixed in his mind where the follower was in the brush behind him. Then, he told the boy, "I started to walk and as I did I slipped the .44 out of it's holster. When I heard the movement behind me I turned and fired at it." He said he aimed the gun so as to hit about waist level and that he fired 4 shots, moving the gun from left to right ever so slightly so as to cover an area about 6 feet wide as he fired.

He reloaded quickly and waited a bit, crouched down by the trail. After some time, and not hearing anything he then made his way on down the trail. He said he never heard anyone or anything behind him the rest of the way down the mountain. He got back to his truck after dark with no problems.

The boy asked him if he ever thought about going back to see if there was anything in the brush there on that mountainside. The Old Man was brief but absolutely clear in his reply. "I would rather not know." he said.

[Tycer]

Great story. As time permits, we'd love to hear more. The more I poke around on the net, the more I hear folks speak highly of your dad. I wish I knew more about mine. I grew up with him, but we were not buddies until I was in my 20s and we lived far apart.

[pwl44m]

Great read, couldn't put it down. Now We all want to know.
Perry

[Griff]

Good stories, Jim.

[JerryB]

Thanks Jim, still enjoy them.

[Rusty]

From a time when reloading wasn't always rocket science and every gun didn't have to be a magnum.

[Tycer]

From: http://fiveshot.org/11.html

The Last Hunt
by Jim Taylor

It was the second day of a two-day hunt in the mountains North of Tucson, AZ when the accident happened. They were after the diminutive Coues Whitetail Deer that inhabits this part of Arizona. Named for Elliott Coues (1842 -1899), one of America's most renowned ornithologists and historians, the little Whitetails are found only in the South-Eastern parts of Arizona and on down into Mexico. Mr. Coues was the first person to catalog them as a distinct and separate species of deer.

While most people pronounce the name "coos" it is actually pronounced "kouz" (sort of like "house") according to The Columbia Encyclopedia, Sixth Edition 2001, the name being of French and Norman descent. But no matter how you pronounce it, these little deer are one tough customer. Called "the gray ghosts of the desert” by some, they are very adept at sneaking, crawling, and even hiding while in plain sight.

The Old Man and the Kid were doing a horseback hunt in the hills and canyons near Oracle, AZ, trying to get the Old Man a nice deer. They had packed up an old gentle five-gaited mare named Stardust for the Old Man. The Kid was breaking in a new horse, an Appaloosa named Hud. Hud was a cantankerous character with a number of bad habits. He had run wild in the cienega's along the San Pedro River until being caught and gelded at about the age of five. They got him from Jack Kelly - a rancher on the San Pedro - to break for him and to use for Deer Hunting this particular year. All told they had taken six hunters out over the Mule Deer season and needed an extra nag for the string. Hud provided the extra... as well as some comic relief.

The Appaloosa was very sure-footed in bad ground, but had the annoying habit of running backwards at odd times... but only when you were leading him. If you got seated securely you were OK for the rest of the day. He might test you a bit when you first got started, but it wasn't serious and he settled down to the job quickly. But if you got off to lead him you could have troubles. The Kid supposed if he had run wild that long before being gelded it might do something to his personality also, so he put up with it.

The area where the Kid lived had both the Coues Whitetail and Mule Deer in abundance. Arizona had several Deer Seasons and one could get tags for both the Whitetail and the Mule Deer hunts. He had taken a nice Mule Deer buck during the Mule Deer Hunt a month or so earlier using his old beat-up Ruger Blackhawk .45. He had whacked a nice buck at about eighty yards. The Old Man had not hunted Mulie's but did have a Whitetail tag. The Kid figured it was a good time to load up the horses and spend a couple days in the hills. And he made another decision ... He decided to hunt with a single-shot handgun!

The gun in question was a Pachmyr Dominator which is a single shot barrel and action mounted on the Colt 1911 auto frame. It was an extremely strong setup, being chambered in many rifle calibers. Hal Swiggett had loaned the Kid his 7mm-08 Dominator and it was something in the accuracy department. The 12" barrel gave about the same ballistics as the 270 Winchester in a rifle. A Kleingunther Muzzle Brake dampened recoil, but the noise was horrendous! Hal had at least ten loads that would shoot around one half inch at one hundred yards from the scoped gun.

However the Kid was not using that gun. A good friend had won the particular Dominator he was carrying at an Outstanding American Handgunner’s Banquet in Reno, Nevada. It was a door prize and he walked away with it. Built in .44 Magnum it proved to be very accurate. He had it set up on an Essex frame with a Bushnell 3X scope on it. The Kid figured he might as well kill a deer with it. His handloads pushed the 300 grain Freedom Arms Heavy Jacket Hard Core bullets at over 1600 fps from the Dominator. An SSK Muzzle Brake that JD Jones had installed handled recoil.

And so the Old Man and the Kid rode off into the hills in search of game. The first day they rode the canyons and worked their way down into lower ground. They saw Mule Deer and some Whitetail at a distance, but never anything within stalking range. Both of them fell asleep that night tired and sore but eager for the next day.

The morning of the next day they worked around some large hills and climbed up back toward the high country. They were riding up a small valley and the Kid was in the lead when he spotted deer moving up the hillside in front of us on our right. There were at least four bucks. Whitetail! He signaled the Old Man and jumped off his horse, slipping his right arm through the reins as he unlimbered the Dominator.

He found the deer in the scope at about the time the horse snorted, though the Kid did not pay him any mind, concentrating on the deer. He pushed the frame safety off and unknowingly wiped the Dominator safety on (it worked in the opposite direction of the Colt-type safety). Lining up on a deer the Kid pulled the trigger and was rewarded with a CLICK! Fumbling and mumbling he got the safety off, lined up on the now-moving deer and jerked the trigger, missing the deer. And suddenly realized that he was standing there with an empty gun! He had violated his own rule.. Never Hunt With An Unfamiliar Gun!

If the Kid had his sixgun he would have just eared the hammer back and tried again. As it was he had to think "How do I unload this sucker?" and "Where is the ammo?"... and while fumbling and jerking around he accidentally smacked Hud in the nose with his elbow. The Appaloosa was some upset already and at that indignity went to running backwards, dragging the Kid along. He distinctly remembered the cactus... that stayed with him. And he faintly heard the Old Man's gun go off. The Kid had his hands full for a few minutes and was not paying a lot of attention to what was going on any place else.

When things settled down the Kid worked his way back up to where the Old Man was. He was standing there with his old Marlin.30-30 in his hands. The Kid asked him if he got one and the Old Man said he had shot one just after the horse dragged the Kid past him. Hearing that, the Kid tied up the nag to a tree and climbed up the mountain. About ninety yards up lay one of the nicest Coues Deer to ever come out of this part of the hills. The Old Man had nailed him with one shot - ofhand - at over one hundred yards.

The Kid cleaned the deer and then tied it on the gentle old mare for the trip home. He was tired of fighting the Appaloosa and figured he would lose if he continued. Instead he led the mare with the deer on her and the Old Man rode Hud. After they got back to the corral and unloaded the horses the Old Man remarked that riding Hud was like driving an old wore out truck that had no shock absorbers.

This was the last Deer Hunt for the Old Man. He never got out to hunt the mountains again. Life sometimes throws things at us that we have not planned on. But they had some great memories to draw on. The Kid was forever thankful for the great Coues Deer the Old Man took. It made the hunt all the more memorable.

[Tycer]

Another from Jim from http://fiveshot.org/16.html


THIEVES
The Old Man was living on the Spear S Ranch north of Phoenix, up near the New River country, when the thieves hit the place. The Spear S was an old ranch and typical of the times and the country, most everything was just left where it happened to light. Doors were not locked and trouble was not expected. Expensive equipment was parked in a barn that would have been futile to lock anyway, seeing as you could walk through the walls in places.
The Spear S Ranch proper was over 12,000 acres..... a small spread in this part of Arizona. It had almost 400 acres of patented land however that made it pretty valuable. There were good wells on the ranch as well as man-made and natural tanks. In a water-deprived country that was as good as gold.
In a good year the ranch would support about 400 head of cows. Most years weren't good. Some years you did not want to run 100 head on the place. The ranch had been sold off years before by the family and different "investors" tried to make a quick buck off it. One guy ran 600 head of Corientes onto the place and lost them all. Years later you could still see their carcasses and bones bleaching on the dry desert.
The Old Man had been living in town and was looking for a better place in the country. The current owner of the Spear S asked him if he would like to live on the ranch. He could have the run of the place and help keep an eye on it. Seems people had been raiding the ranch and just helping themselves to whatever they found. The cows were being worked by a couple of nice wetbacks by the names of Joe Rivers and Joe Brown (Jose Rios y Jose Moreno) from down Chihuahua way. They would disappear if any strangers happened to come onto the place, but were top hands when it came to breaking horses and doctoring the cattle. The two Joe's lived in a little shack near the barn, worked hard, and sent most of their money home. The Old Man and his wife quickly became close friends with them and sort of adopted them as their kids.
The first month on the ranch The Old Man stayed busy killing rattlers and scorpions. There were huge tall Tamarack trees around the house which shed their needles all the time. The needles had never been cleaned up and were 6 inches deep in places. Scorpions loved it as it gave them a warm, moist nesting place to raise their young. The first night The Kid came to visit The Old Man he was stung twice as sat in the yard talking.
And there were rattlers everywhere. The Kid shot 3 with his .45 Colt in the first week. One was between the front legs of his sister's Arabian mare. The mare was intent on eating her grain and when The Kid tried to move the nag she tried to kick him through the barn wall. Never one with a lot of patience The Kid just pulled his .45 and shot the rattler as it lay coiled between the horse's legs. The mare never flinched. She just laid her ears back and kept working on the grain. They waited until she was done eating to retrieve the snake.
There were several close calls with people and rattlers including one that struck at The Kid's wife. So The Old Man decided enough was enough. In town one day to collect the mail he found a young boy who was giving away kittens. He told the boy he would take them all. When he got home he found he had 14 cats and proclaimed it was a good start.
And it was! Within a short time the scorpions were gone. The cats ate them. They would play with a scorpion, tease it awhile, then kill it and eat everything except the last few segments of the tail... the part where the poison was. And it wasn't long that the rattlers learned to stay in the hills also. The cats would attack a rattler that came crawling into the yard. The Old Man never lost a cat to a rattle snake either. Several got bit. They would swell up and lay around for awhile but none ever died from it. For the rest of his stay on the ranch The Old Man never had problems with rattlers or scorpions!
It was the humans that caused the most problems. And he solved that also
The Old Man and his wife were met by "the Joe's" one day when they pulled into the ranch yard. Seems someone had come while they were gone and stolen a bunch of stuff from the barn. The boys had hid (as they normally did when strangers came around) but had watched what was going on. The thieves had taken equipment, saddles, tack, and other stuff, loaded it into a truck and driven off.
From the description of the truck The Old Man had knew who the thieves were. There was a motorcycle club in the town and while many of them were good folks, there was an element in the group that ran the wrong way. The truck described belonged to one of the guys in the motorcycle club... there weren't two like it in the country. The Old Man knew some of the leaders in the club and in fact, worked with them on some construction jobs. They knew him and knew what he was and what he stood for, and many of them respected him. His ability with a gun was well-known also. What they may not have known was that The Old Man believed in riding for the brand. If you signed on, you laid it all on the line for your boss. While he was not working the Spear S as a cowboy, he had taken on living there with the condition that he would keep an eye on the place. He took the robbery as a personal affront.
He waited until he knew that most of the group was at a particular place. Then he stuck his .44 in his belt and paid them a call. He drove up, walked up to the front door and the leader of the group called him by name and said for him to come on in. The Old Man said, "I am not here to visit. Someone stole some stuff from the Spear S Ranch. I know who it was. I am here to tell you that if it is all returned by tomorrow there will be no trouble and nothing further will be said. If it isn't back I will come looking for the ones that did this." and then he turned around and walked out and got in his truck without looking back.
The next evening "the Joe's" reported that the same truck came to the ranch and unloaded everything that had been taken. It was all returned and put back in it's place.
The Old Man worked on the same crew with the people involved for another 2 years and never said a word about the incident. As far as he was concerned it was past and gone.