Back when I still worked for a living, I used to have a lunch break routine. I’d usually sneak a bit of food on-the-clock, and use my “lunch” to cruise the local pawn shops. There were six within reasonable driving distance of me, and I could hit 3-4 of them on my break. I’d rotate through them 2-3 times a week, hoping to eventually find something worth hornswoggling the shop out of.
“Hornswoggling” is an old word, but one I’d like to see brought back into use. The dictionary will tell you hornswoggling is synonymous for “cheating” or “swindling,” but that’s a half-truth. Cheating and swindling is something you should feel bad about, because it hurts other people. Corporations may technically be considered “persons” in a court of law, but they’re not people, and I’d argue that it’s impossible to swindle a corporation. And it’s doubly impossible to swindle a pawn shop. If nobody’s hurt by your conniving, you’ve committed hornswoggling, and not swindling. It’s a sin more likely to land you in purgatory than hell, and like most “half-sins” it’s quite a lot of fun.
I flatter myself with thinking that I did some pretty good hornswoggling back in the day. For example, one day I found a 1980’s “Jap Strat” for $250, hard case included. It was marked as a “Squire,” since apparently nobody at the shop knew guitar history. Squires are budget-brand guitars generally made overseas, so I imagine that the shop owner was quite proud of his hornswoggling abilities when he sold me the guitar for asking price. But I tripled my money on it after I (perhaps hastily) decided that it wasn’t quite my thing. I miss it sometimes, but the proceeds went towards a wedding ring, and I most definitely hornswoggled my wife into agreeing to come and live with me for the rest of her life.
I also picked up a $60, single-shot 20 gauge that I killed my biggest WMA buck with. The gun was pristine when I bought it. Ten years later and literal thousands of miles tossed behind a floorboard or tucked behind the stern seat in a boat…not so much. The company that made the gun went under shortly after I bought it, which means that I could probably double my money on that investment tomorrow, even with the wear and tear. Technically not quite a hornswoggle, but still a good buy.
My finest buy was a first-production-year 870 Wingmaster chambered in 16 gauge that was very nearly “the one.” It had a slight bend in the barrel, which I pointed out to the owner. He hesitated, so I asked him how he felt about his ability to sell a gun he couldn’t stock ammo for. $200 later, and we both felt like we’d hornswoggled the other. Sadly, I was never really able to get the barrel straightened, so it got passed along to somebody who planned on trying to source a straight barrel for it. I hope they found one.
Sometimes, though, even the best hornswogglers get hornswoggled. I once bought a Savage .22WMR that threw patterns instead of groups, and I paid damn-near retail price for the thing. I also bought an acoustic Washburn guitar for $75 that ended up with a severely lifted bridge. Didn’t catch it at the store because it wasn’t strung. But I managed to sell the case it came with for $50, and I made a friend by upgrading their guitar’s tuners with the Grovers it came with. Call it a draw.
Eventually, I got “out of the game.” Not because I didn’t enjoy it, but because I kind of acquired everything I wanted. I had a good shotgun, a good deer gun, a good squirrel gun, and more guitars than I could play at a time. I’m not a power tool or jewelry guy, so there was really nothing left for me in a pawn shop.
But last spring found me in a weak moment. I was in one of my favorite old haunts, looking for…something. Swedish-made Ambassadeurs, maybe? That or something else I definitely didn’t need. As I moseyed along the glass cases, I cast a casual eye towards the gun rack behind it. A pretty piece of wood and an engraved receiver caught my eye.
“Anything I can get for you?” the salesman asked hungrily.
“Nice try, but absolutely not.” I thought to myself. “I need another gun like I need a broken zipper on my pants.”
“Yeah, let me look at that automatic. Nope, two over. Yep. That one. Thanks.”
The gun didn’t look as good in my hand as it did on the rack. Up close, you could see some rust freckles on the barrel. Lots of scratches on the stock. The butt pad was dry-rotted and coming off in pieces. I lost interest almost immediately, but courtesy demanded that I at least shoulder it and work the action.
“That’s actually not that bad,” I thought as I sighted down the barrel. I closed my eyes and brought it up again. When I opened my eyes, both beads were perfectly aligned. I peeked at the markings on the receiver.
P. Beretta - Made in Italy - 28” Mod - Magnum
I racked the slide back and peeked at the bolt face. It was clean. So was the chamber. When I pushed the slide release button, it rammed firmly home. I pulled it back again, stuck the light on my phone up against the loading port, and peered down the barrel. Once again, clean.
Hmm.
I couldn’t help but warm up to the gun a little. The scrollwork on the receiver was nice, as was the checkering. Yes, it was scratched, but it wasn’t gouged. The wood wasn’t split. There was a little rust, sure, but the bluing looked pretty dang good overall. It looked very well used, but not neglected. Whoever had shot it last had definitely cleaned it well. Pawn shops, in my experience, never clean used guns.
The fact that it didn’t have swivel studs, sported a fixed-choke barrel, and marked a 3” chamber as a “magnum” chambering made me start to suspect it had a little age on it. Not “paper hulls old,” but older than I was.
I took a couple of quick pictures, thanked the salesman, and smiled and nodded as he told me all about the cash discount and layaway program. I walked out the door, drove around the corner, and popped into a coffee shop. Once I had a cup in hand, I settled into a corner table, pulled up Beretta’s customer service number, and made a call.
It took about an hour of getting transferred around and being put on hold, but I eventually learned what I needed to know. That model gun had only been made between ‘68 and ‘75. It was Beretta’s first foray into the American market, and was imported by Garcia Arms. The checkering, so I was told, was definitely by hand. The engraving? Possibly.
“Is it steel-safe?”
“Oh yeah! Anything you’ve got in your ammo bin; you can shoot through that gun.”
“Awesome. Thank you.”
I hung up and mulled it over.
“You don’t need another gun,” said my inner voice of reason. “Your Mossberg kills birds just fine. You’ve got a kid on the way, too.”
“True on all three points,” replied my id. “But, let’s not beat around the bush. You’ve been eyeballing a semi-auto for years now. It’s gonna happen eventually. A new one would cost at least double what they’re asking for this one, and it wouldn’t be half the gun. And do you really want to wait around, get through the pregnancy, and start gun shopping during an election year?”
I finished my cold coffee and set a reminder on my phone for two weeks out. I’ve learned two things about buying pawn shop specials. One, never go right back into the store to negotiate. That’s a surefire recipe for a hornswoggling. Two, a couple of weeks has a way of keeping you out of impulse buys.
”If it’s still there in two weeks, and if you still want it, and if you can get him down to…let’s say "$400…then you can have it.”
“$400 with tax or $400 out-the-door?”
“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
Two weeks later, and the gun was still there. The salesperson did remember me, so I had to settle for $400 plus tax. I honestly didn’t mind, since I was buying a wood-stocked Italian gun for less money than what Academy Sports wanted for a synthetic Yildiz.
I don’t know about the salesman, but I, for one, feel like a good hornswoggling was accomplished that day.
You just provided me a walk thru my husband's mind and it's was fun. Granted I don't think he has your patience. He's an impulse buyer when it comes to guns. 🤣