32 police positive
i have just aquired a colt .32 police positive and i dont knoe anything about other than the cylinder turns the wrong way and its old anyone help?
The cylinder turns the right way, for Colt revolvers.
When I was a kid, growing up on the streets of New York City, the cop on our beat carried a Colt's .32 Police Positive.
I was lucky enough to find a Police Positive Special in 32-20.
And the Colt cylinder rotates correctly, it's all the other brands that are wrong.
To find out what year your Colt was made go to proofhouse.com.
Your police positive is an excellent small framed Colt. The police positive graced the holsters of Americas law enforcement community for many decades.
The last firearm I bought was a Colt Police Positive Revolver in .32 Colt New Police that was made in 1910. Even though I have not had a chance to fire it yet, I already love it. I like the size, it is a small revolver, but at the same time "full sized"...if that makes sense? I don't have the qualifications to carry a pistol concealed but if I ever did get one...this would be a good candidate. I'd love to have a Police Positive Special in .38 Special as well, with 4 in. barrel.
When I was a kid, the NYPD cop on our beat carried one of those.
Originally Posted by TomcatPC
In retrospect, it boggles my mind, that NYPD used to believe that the .32 Long Colt cartridge was an adequate police round.
Steve , When You Where A Young Lad, L.O.L. There Where Not Many Crack Kids Running Around
Yeah, you're right, borris...
I was a child during the time just after the end of Prohibition, when the criminal organizations which had been running booze into the US were looking for new "work" to do. Most of the violence we saw was gang-vs.-gang, which didn't directly affect the citizenry at large.
But at the same time, New York City was experiencing the influx of a huge number of very poor Puerto Rican families, with their large number of children with nothing much to do and, since both mom and pop were out working, very little supervision. That caused a gigantic, long-lasting, petty-crime wave: shoplifting, mugging, robbery, theft from apartments, occasional knifings and shootings, and vandalism. All of a sudden, the city's parks were not safe, especially at night.
The cops ended up shooting a lot of Puerto Rican 'teenagers. That's when they discovered that the .32 New Police cartridges which were general issue weren't effective, and a switch to .38 Special was started. But our neighborhood's beat cop kept on carrying his .32 Colt until he retired.
Warning: Nostalgia coming.
He was a good cop: He knew all of the kids on his beat, most of us by name and parentage, and he demanded that our parents work upon our civics skills to keep us out of trouble. He caught me shoplifting a candy bar from the local mom-and-pop cigar store, and he grabbed me by the ear (Ouch!) and marched me right home to our fifth-floor apartment. There, he turned me over to my mother and demanded that I be punished by her, and then he left. My mother marched me right back to the store, made me apologize, paid for the candy bar, and then grounded me—without any allowance—for an entire week. In the high summer. Without air-conditioning.
You can bet that I never did that, ever again. And when my week of in-apartment jail time ended, our nice beat cop treated me as if nothing had ever happened: I'd done my time and paid my dues, so I was back in his good graces.
Now, that was effective policing!
Originally Posted by Steve M1911A1
Giggle Giggle ! And If The Old Man Found Out You Get A Kick In The Arsh ! Just Like Dat !
Originally Posted by Steve M1911A1
Ah, borris, you trivialize everything!
No. No kick in the butt for me. They didn't do that.
Well—only once. One hard butt-whack.
After that, if things were serious enough, I was threatened with a butt-whack, but there never was a need to actually administer one.
One discipline-by-cop and discipline-by-mom.
And that was all, ever.
I was a pretty good kid.
A couple of school friends and I were well-known for creative pranks, but nothing that needed punishment worse than a 1,000-word essay after school.
So, Steve, if you don't mind me asking, how did you get from New York City to Washington state?
The simple answer is: "Via Los Angeles." Another, equally snarky, simple answer is: "First by plane, and then by car."
Originally Posted by northstar19
The Truth: I ran away from an abusive home life while I was still a 'teenager, and landed in Los Angeles because I had some well-established family there. I went first to college, then to art school, and finally I opened my own business: A leathersmithing shop. I was just in time to serve the Hippie generation, and thus I made a good living.
I married a Greek-American immigrant and had a child with her, but the marriage was never a comfortable one. I think that I did the Freudian thing, and married my mother.
When our child went away to university, I (very amicably) divorced my wife and started a relationship with an old family friend who was also suffering through a bad marriage.
On vacation together, we found this little island. It's a small town quite similar to the one I was born into, eight years before my family moved to New York City. We met some very friendly people, loved the place and its atmosphere, and, as soon as our mutual divorces became final, we moved up here and bought a home.
Jean has a son and I have a daughter, both of whom we share. Both kids married very well, and now we have two granddaughters, on opposite sides of the US.
(I am not shy. If that's not enough, ask further questions.)
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