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‘I’m so mad I just want to spit’

Ed lived in Connecticut. It’s my birthplace, but a state I left long ago. If I needed to be reminded why, my recent conversation with Ed’s widow would have done it.

“If my husband hadn’t died, I would never have known about this, and I would have become a criminal on January first,” Ann says.

Ed was active in the program of the federal Director of Civilian Marksmanship, back in the 1980s, helping law-abiding citizens acquire surplus government combat rifles “at cost” — a proper role for the federal government, which is required to “arm the militia” (and we’re still waiting for our quad 50s, by the way.)


He and Ann both filled out the forms and shot to qualify for one of the rifles. Ed purchased an M-1 Garand; Ann chose the little M-1 carbine, “because I’m short,” for $165.

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