When I lost my job, and my 1969 Datsun 1600 broke down, my mental capabilities were at an all-time low. I took the last $200 on me and bought from a young person what I thought were legitimate souvenirs from the American Civil War and hoped to resell them to take care of money problems that were piling up daily. I was just about to place an ad in local rags when I read a front-page piece that said, “$2,000 Reward For Stolen Guns From The Winchester Mystery House Museum,” and the guns were described by what I had on my dresser.

Yes, a miracle some of you would say. Not me. I decided to investigate, in the ghetto I lived in, as to who was responsible for this fascinating theft. Turns out, a 70-year-old grandfather that was taking care of his son’s (in jail same as daughter-in-law) grandchild fearlessly entered this museum at closing time.

A nephew, my seller, gave his uncle the $200 needed for dance lessons for his grandchild. I really did not want this grandchild to end up with Social Services, so I hocked one of my father’s sterling silver tennis trophies to pay off my debts.

The weapons I purchased are actually fine grade replicas. Apparently, a museum curator took the real guns from locked cases sometime between the time the eccentric Mrs. Winchester’s house was turned into a museum, (she built staircases to nowhere) and the time I received them in the 1970s.

Sally Florence

Durango