Category: All About Guns
Ted Nugent Shotgun vs AR-15
When I plucked the September-October issue of Smithsonian magazine out of my P.O. Box, the first article I turned to was “The Secret Life of Cormac McCarthy” by Richard Grant. As I skimmed it, a pull-quote leaped out at me: “He never left the house without a book. He never left the house without a gun. Both were equally unthinkable.”
“OMG,” I thought, “Cormac McCarthy was one of us!”

The article focused on the late Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist’s book collection, which ran over 20,000 volumes. It turns out many of those were gun books. The article includes a photo of one such, along with McCarthy’s hand-drawn plans for equipment to use to rifle one’s own gun barrels.
I looked first for the source of that pull-quote. Writer Grant was interviewing Cormac’s younger brother Dennis, who told him, “Cormac kept on ordering books after he was too sick and frail to read, because it was a compulsion, but until that point he would read for hours and hours nearly every day. He never left the house without a book. He never left the house without a gun. Both were equally unthinkable.”
Interviewer Grant asked, “Why was he always armed?” Dennis McCarthy replied, “He was a conservative country boy from the South who understood that the world is a dangerous place.”

Dennis McCarthy’s characterization of his brother as conservative will come as a surprise to many, since the author was famously reticent to discuss politics. “McCarthy’s writing can be read as either liberal or conservative, or as both simultaneously, depending on the politics that readers themselves bring with them to the act of reading the work,” David Holloway wrote in 2020 in “Cormac McCarthy in Context.”
Grant added, “He made money trapping muskrats around Knoxville and selling the pelts, and somehow also established himself as an authority on antique American rifles.”
The Guns of the McCarthy Novels
Cormac McCarthy knew how guns worked. What some call his masterpiece, “Blood Meridian,” was also without question his most violent book. Set in the year 1850, it focused on a 14-year-old boy, a runaway, who falls in with a murderous band of scalp-hunters led by a charismatic madman who some critics interpret as an allegory for Satan. McCarthy is said to have researched more than three hundred history books to get the details correct.

At one point the gang of killers comes into possession of a crate of Colt Dragoon percussion revolvers. Cormac McCarthy writes, “In his hand he held a longbarreled sixshot Colt’s patent revolver. It was a huge sidearm meant for dragoons and it carried in its long cylinders a rifle’s charge and weighed close to five pounds loaded. These pistols would drive the half-ounce conical ball through six inches of hardwood and there were four dozen of them in the case. Speyer was breaking out the gang-molds and flasks and tools and Judge Holden was unwrapping another of the pistols. The men pressed about. Glanton wiped the bore and chambers of the piece and took the flask from Speyer…”
McCarthy continues, “He charged the bores and seated a bullet and drove it home with the hinged lever pinned to the underside of the barrel. When all the chambers were loaded he capped them and looked about…”
Well, McCarthy knew how to load a cap-and-ball revolver, even if he didn’t care to hyphenate “long-barreled” or “six-shot.” But hell, we gun-writers differ as to whether it’s “sixgun” or “six-gun,” so I can’t pick on him for that.

If “Blood Meridian” is indeed the bloodiest novel in the McCarthy canon, “No Country for Old Men” has to be the “gunniest.” The movie, set in the year 1980, follows the novel quite closely. The protagonist is Llewellyn Moss, an ordinary guy, a welder and Vietnam vet who is out hunting antelope to start. The book is quite clear about what he’s hunting with:
“Moss sat with the heels of his boots dug into the volcanic gravel of the ridge and glassed the desert below him with a pair of twelve power german binoculars. His hat pushed back on his head. Elbows propped on his knees. The rifle strapped over his shoulder with a harness-leather sling was a heavybarreled .270 on a ’98 Mauser action with a laminated stock of maple and walnut. It carried a Unertl telescopic sight of the same power as the binoculars…The rifle would shoot half minute of angle groups. Five-inch groups at one thousand yards…The rifle had a Canjar trigger set to nine ounces…”
If “Blood Meridian” is indeed the bloodiest novel in the McCarthy canon, “No Country for Old Men” has to be the “gunniest.” The movie, set in the year 1980, follows the novel quite closely. The protagonist is Llewellyn Moss, an ordinary guy, a welder and Vietnam vet who is out hunting antelope to start. The book is quite clear about what he’s hunting with:
“Moss sat with the heels of his boots dug into the volcanic gravel of the ridge and glassed the desert below him with a pair of twelve power german binoculars. His hat pushed back on his head. Elbows propped on his knees. The rifle strapped over his shoulder with a harness-leather sling was a heavy barreled .270 on a ’98 Mauser action with a laminated stock of maple and walnut. It carried a Unertl telescopic sight of the same power as the binoculars…The rifle would shoot half minute of angle groups. Five-inch groups at one thousand yards…The rifle had a Canjar trigger set to nine ounces…”

Soon, a hit man is on his trail. While in hiding he buys a Winchester shotgun and a hacksaw with which to shorten barrel and stock. Describing the slide action and outside hammer, McCarthy leaves it to us to deduce that it’s some variation of an 1897 Winchester.
The movie rolls on. He is chased by a mysterious hit man named Anton Chigurh, whose signature weapons are a slaughterhouse pneumatic bolt gun and what Cormac McCarthy describes thus: “The shotgun was a twelve gauge Remington automatic with a plastic military stock and a parkerized finish. It was fitted with a shop made silencer fully a foot long and big around as a beer can.”
Here’s a scene of one of Chigurh’s kills that doesn’t make it into the movie. “The man was holding a small pistol at the level of his belt. Chigurh stepped into the doorway and shot him in the throat with a load of number ten shot. The size collectors use to take bird specimens.” He tells the dying man, “The reason I used the birdshot was that I didn’t want to break the glass. Behind you. To rain glass on people in the street.” All heart, that guy.
A central character in the book is Sheriff Ed Tom Bell, the “old man” of the title who realizes he’s gotten too old for what his country has become. We’ll talk about his service sidearm shortly.
The Guns of the McCarthy Movies
The book that won him the Pulitzer was “The Road,” a chilling story of a father trying to protect his young son in a post-apocalyptic landscape of robbers and cannibals with only a revolver and two cartridges, for which he desperately and unsuccessfully scrounges for more ammo.
A shooter’s nightmare, really. I haven’t read the book in years, but recall it being vague about the guns. In the movie of the same name, star Viggo Mortensen is armed with a pre-Model 10 Smith & Wesson Military & Police and, yes, two cartridges.
The book “No Country for Old Men” (copyright 2005) is much richer in gun description, and the movie version – which won four Academy Awards – is awash in weapons. UZIs. MAC-10s. (They mention finding .380 brass—should have been a MAC-11, but I digress.)

Sheriff Bell’s deputy carries a Pachmayr-gripped four-inch blue Smith & Wesson K-frame revolver with fixed sights, which would make it either a .357 Model 13 or .38 Special Model 10, the hammer spur being too short for a 9mm Model 547. The always useful Internet Movie Firearms Database website says it’s a Model 13.
Alas, some of the other guns would have had to come to that 1980 setting in a time machine. Chigurh’s imaginative Remington 11-87 wasn’t introduced until, you guessed it, 1987, and in 1980 no one made a working sound suppressor for a shotgun. McCarthy had probably envisioned a Model 1100.
In one scene in the movie Chigurh kills two men with what appears to be a Glock 19, which wasn’t introduced until 1988. I suppose we can forgive this; how many old cowboy movies did we enjoy that were set in the 1870’s and 1880’s where the actors were armed with 1892 Winchesters?
Let’s finish up with the sheriff’s gun. Ed Tom Bell is played by Tommy Lee Jones, armed (as Moss is early in the movie) with a 1911 .45. That’s true to the time and place. “No Country For Old Men” is set in Texas, where the Texas Rangers made the 1911 one of their signature guns almost as soon as it came out, and it is popular to this day among Texas lawmen who have a choice in the matter of their sidearms.
But one thing is glaringly wrong: any thinking cop with a 1911 would carry it cocked and locked and Sheriff Bell’s is worn hammer down, perhaps to allow for the dramatic cocking of the hammer in the one scene where he draws it.

This differs markedly from the book, where Sheriff Bell muses, “I still like the old Colts. .44-40. If that wont stop him you better throw the thing down and take off runnin.”
Now, even in 1980, a for-real Texas lawman who wasn’t in a ceremonial parade on horseback or something wouldn’t be carrying a Frontier Six-Shooter. He’d have at the least a double-action revolver, like the Colt New Service .44-40 Col. Charles Askins, Jr. finished some gunfights with when he was on the Border Patrol in the 1930s.
But we know that Cormac McCarthy meant him to be carrying the old single action Peacemaker. He wrote of the sheriff, “He took the pistol from the holster and flipped open the gate and checked the shells in the cylinder and closed the gate with his thumb…”
Yup. That’s the old single action revolver.
And, To Finish With a Spoiler…
Fans of the movie debate the enigmatic scene near the end of the movie when Chigurh gives Moss’s widow his trademark live-or-die coin-flip choice. The scene then cuts to Chigurh leaving the house and checking the soles of his feet. It’s left up to the viewer to decide whether or not he has murdered her and is checking for blood on his shoes.
If the viewer is wondering, the reader is not. Cormac McCarthy made it quite clear in the book. She calls heads. Chigurgh flips the coin. It comes up tails. He philosophizes for a while, like a true psychopath.
And then, writes Cormac McCarthy, “He shot her.”
Elon Musk is the richest man on Planet Earth. Elon made his billions producing rocket ships and electric cars, among other things. He was a darling of the Left right up until he declared his friendship with Donald John Trump. Now they think he’s the Antichrist.
Elon is a delightfully weird guy with a delightfully weird past. He’s certainly diagnosable on a certain level. However, he has weaponized his curious form of Asperger’s syndrome into financial success the likes of which have not been seen in the modern age. Having invested a little time researching his Dad, it seems the nut doesn’t fall far from the tree.
The Father Of The Savant
Errol Musk was born in Pretoria, South Africa, in 1946. His father was South African, and his mother was English. Errol married Maye Haldeman in 1970. Their first son, Elon, was born the following year.
Errol Musk was a successful businessman in his own right. He was politically active and served in a variety of roles in local government. Along the way, he developed office buildings, subdivisions, retail store space and an air force base. He also owned an auto parts store and had a substantial interest in several emerald mines. He once boasted that his emerald dealings were more smuggling than anything respectable.
These sundry enterprises brought the elder Musk a great deal of money. He used these proceeds to buy himself a yacht, an airplane, several luxury automobiles and a couple of palatial homes. Among all that was a large estate that he used as a rental property.
The Gunfight
My source was an in-person interview I watched with Errol Musk himself. The man looks vaguely like an aging Al Pacino and sports that same lyrical South African accent as does his famous son. I have no compelling reason to doubt the details.
Errol and his six-year-old daughter went out to this remote rental property to check on things. The house was empty in anticipation of its next set of renters. They were hot and sweaty, so Errol set his daughter up in the tub for a bath. He then heard noises coming from downstairs.
When he went down to investigate, Musk found several strange men in his living room. The spokesman for the group was wearing a coat and tie. Musk assumed they might be prospective renters and introduced himself. Without preamble, this man presented a handgun and opened fire.
Musk retreated miraculously unscathed. He scrambled back upstairs and retrieved a loaded .357 magnum revolver. Posting himself in the doorway between the gunmen and his daughter, Errol waited until they came up the stairs. As soon as he got a decent angle, he shot the lead assailant through the head.
The first shooter was dead where he stood. That same bullet also struck and killed the man behind him. Then all hell broke loose.
The Bad Guys fired a total of 52 rounds, one of which would have struck Musk in the chest had it not fortuitously lodged in an aluminum door frame. Musk fired twice total. His second shot struck a man in the groin who bled out on the floor. The rest of the crew then fled in disarray. Musk scooped up his daughter and leapt through a shattered window to safety.
Details
Musk claims that these men were practitioners of muti — witch doctors who would kill adults to kidnap kids. They would then harvest limbs and organs from the stolen children to make traditional medicines. Along the way, they would supposedly nibble a bit as well.
This seemed pretty far-fetched to me. However, Google claims it’s real. In 2010, traditional African healers and the South African government held a conference with the published goal of rooting out the “Evil practice of mutilating human bodies for purposes of muti making.” It is actually plausible that the three men Musk killed really had broken into his home with the intent of killing and eating his daughter.
The Rest Of The Story
Errol Musk is not a terribly nice guy. He divorced Elon’s mom in 1979 amidst allegations of abuse. Elon has described his Dad in the media as a “terrible human being.” Apparently, he’s not wrong.
When Errol was 45, he married 25-year-old Heide Bezuidenhout. He and Heidi had two children. Errol later fathered two more kids by Heidi’s daughter from a previous relationship.
He was once quoted as having said, “The only thing we are on Earth for is to reproduce.” Regardless of the man’s character, when Errol Musk was threatened by a mob of armed witch doctors, that guy took care of business. Dropping three murderous cannibals with two rounds from a magnum revolver is undeniably fine gunmanship.
Let’s face it — your gun safe is boring. Mine too, for many of the same reasons I’ll explain. It’s full of matte-black polymer rifles, a few optics you bought because some guy on YouTube told you to, and a mountain of gizmos you don’t really need.
Old school
Grandpa’s gun cabinet? It wasn’t so much about storage but more like a shrine — an oak-and-glass monument to a time when guns had a different role, hard-earned character, a certain aura and, above all, stories.
This short pontification is inspired by a recent GUNS Magazine Podcast. In episode #298, Roy Huntington and I discussed the changes in gun culture over the years and were instantly reminded — yet again — some AR owners don’t accept anything less than glowing praise about their favorite “weapon system.”
Roy and I have taken every possible pain to explain we don’t hate ARs; in fact, between us, we probably have several dozen, yet the angry comments keep coming.
In such remarks, the writers are unconsciously reinforcing the negative stereotypes of certain shooters as they completely miss the point by at least 50 MOA. What we were trying to analyze is the significant changes in how shooters relate to firearms nowadays.
There is nothing wrong with our “modern” gun culture, but anyone with an ounce of honesty will admit the all-encompassing black rifle and pistol craze has a dull, certain sameness. They’re useful, yes, and there is a certain beauty in function over form, but generally the word to describe them is “monotonous.”
Down home
Grandpa’s gun cabinet was so much different. Open the door and you were hit with the glorious sweet petroleum aroma of old-formula Hoppe’s No. 9, 3-in-1 oil, aged walnut and maybe a trace of cigar smoke. Your safe smells like plastic, silica packs and unfilled dreams.
Grandpa didn’t own five ARs that are identical except for different bolt carrier groups. His cabinet was the firearms version of the Whitman Sampler (look it up).
The stereotypical “load out” included a lever gun with honest bluing wear from countless deer seasons, a pump shotgun with a small crack in the stock that still dropped birds every fall, and a .22 rifle that taught three generations how to shoot.
There was also a center-fire bolt-action rifle, maybe an old 98-pattern or a 1908 surplus Springfield. On these workaday guns, every nick, scratch and dent had a story attached.
Even the ammo shelf was cooler. Grandpa stocked cartridges with names you’ve only heard of — .300 Savage, .257 Roberts, maybe a half-empty box of .32-20 that hadn’t been made since before you were born. These cartridges were for guns he used to own but (regretfully) sold years ago, while those partial boxes of ammo were kept “just in case.”
For pap, buying ammo wasn’t a bulk-online experience seeking the lowest cost per round of “commodity” calibers — it meant going to the hardware store and asking for a certain dusty green-and-yellow box behind the counter.
And there was the cabinet itself. It wasn’t a giant steel monolith hiding in the basement or closet. It was a piece of furniture, often prominent in the dining room or front hallway, with a plate-glass front and a tiny brass lock that wouldn’t stop a semi-determined raccoon.
The lock was primarily to keep the kids and other semi-honest people out of the guns without adult supervision, and it worked well, even though certain unkempt children wondered if a paper clip or bent wire would trip the simple mechanism. Yet, I — sorry, I meant to say “those kids” — never tried it because it would break an important trust with somebody you never wanted to disappoint.
The glass front made a dangerous yet reassuring rattle when you opened it, a hollow jangling noise you can’t describe but one you’d recognize instantly. While not flashy, the whole thing was essentially a monument to the household armory. Grandpa wasn’t ostentatious, but he was quietly proud of his guns.
Heart of the matter
The coolest thing about Grandpa’s cabinet wasn’t even the firearms within; it was the stories. When he opened that door, you didn’t just gain access to firearms—history came pouring out. “This one kept the coons out of the chicken coop back on the farm,” he pointed out.
Up until the 1950s, a fox or hawk snatching a chicken was nearly as serious as someone kidnapping a kid today because it meant soup for dinner. “This one’s been to deer camp every year since Eisenhower,” he said with a certain wistful tone, as you considered he hadn’t gone deer hunting in years. But, no matter…
Your safe just beeps angrily if you punch in the wrong code twice.
Long memories
Spend all you want on Cerakote, carbon fiber and aircraft aluminum, but you can’t buy Grandpa’s perspective, the experiences or the miles he put on those guns. His cabinet was cooler because it wasn’t just about what was inside — it was about the man who kept them, the history of a life he and his guns lived, and the stories he passed down every time he turned the little brass key.
My own grandkids will grow up with shooting memories of polymer handguns, beeping keypads and digital displays, but it just won’t be the same — and I think we’re all poorer because of it.







