CARRYING A CONCEALED CLASSIC
There was a time when blued steel and walnut ruled the planet; when “plastic” meant crappy things made in Japan; and when the FBI actually trusted its agents to carry personally owned firearms.
A TALE OF ‘DISAPPOINTMENT’
I was at work one day at The Gun Room in the very early 1980s, a storefront gun shop on Telegraph Road just a major league ball throw from the Detroit border. A woman walked in, looked around and marched up to the counter.
“I went next door, and no one was there. I heard a man’s voice in the back room.”
Next door was a florist’s shop, run by women, most or all of whom had experienced messy separations from their ex-spouses. This was not good.
Mike, another Gun Room employee, got on the phone to call the police department, and Dave (another shop employee) and one of our customers—an FBI agent—headed out the
