His artistry was breathtaking, from the finely checkered steel, and wood, to the subtle oil finish, and mirror polished blue, Cecil was an artisan of the old school.

I had known Cecil casually over the years from gun shows, etc. When I opened a gun shop in nearby Graham, he, and his wife Billie became regular visitors. Cecil was a regular at my Monday night pin shoots, and enjoyed himself immensely by regularly cleaning house with a Browning Hi-Power.

I became good friends with them both, and they were class people. Cecil enjoyed bringing his latest creations over for show-and-tell with a very appreciative audience. We traded around on occasion, but I never had the resources for one of his rifles.

When I closed the store, we lost touch, and our visits became sporadic. A few years after I left Graham, and returned to Ft. Worth, I heard through the grapevine that Cecil had died of a heart attack. He was in his early sixties, and still had many a good rifle left in him. I mourned his untimely passing, like so many others, and went on with my life.

Several years later, friend Powell shows up for a visit. He is carrying his usual sack of treasures, and we settle in for show-and-tell. After a number of fine pistols are laying around the kitchen table, he extracts from a rug a dark, satin colored Colt SA that grabs my attention. It is a faithful rendition of the legendary Keith No.5, right down to the barrel-band front sight. The finish is a stunning satin greenish-gray, like Parkerizing carried to perfection. The grips are of a finely figured Walnut, checkered in the Fleur-De-Lis pattern, and finished in a deep satin oil finish. The fit, finish, and attention to detail are simply phenomenal. Powell grins proudly, and asks if I know the builder. I say no, but then he explains that I do know him, and well. This sets off all kinds of memory alarms, and Powell says to pull the base pin. By the time I get the pin out, I have it figured, and in tiny letters on the barrel under the pin is the simple word “WEEMS”.

Chuckling at my astonished expression, Powell explains that years ago, he had approached Cecil with the project. Powell was, and is a hell of a salesman, and soon had Cecil fully engrossed, and enthusiastically adding his ideas to the project. Powell provided all the parts, and Cecil scrounged a scrap of one of his fine rifle stock blanks for the grips. Over the course of a year, Cecil had created the No.5 in his spare time. It was a labor of love, and a unique opportunity for Cecil to take a break from the rifle biz, and flex his muscles a bit. Powell told of having to threaten Cecil with bodily harm to get him to “sign” the gun, and a compromise had been reached with the tiny stamp under the base pin. Cecil was a modest, and humble man, and had never before signed any of his work.

Several months passed, and Powell returned for another visit. He seldom did local gun shows, and said he needed for me to sell a few for him at an upcoming Ft. Worth show. When he produced the Weems No.5, my jaw dropped. He explained that with his burgeoning collection of Colt New Services, and S&W Hand-Ejectors, there was no room for the No.5, nor any time to put it to proper use in the field. Priced at $1300, there was no chance of my being able to save it.

I set it out on the table at $1500. Such a gun has little market at a small, local show, so I gave it little thought as the day progressed. Down the aisle came the scruffiest, lankiest old man I had seen in awhile. He looked for all the world like a wino, stumbled in from the nearby neighborhood. Ageless, he could have been 50, or he could have been 100. I nodded a hello as he perused my table, and went for the No.5. I was guarded as he asked to pick it up, but gave my permission. When he asked if Cecil Weems had built it, I experienced another jaw-dropping! He explained that he, and Cecil had been friends for years, and this Colt had his touch all over it. I pulled the base pin, showed him the stamp, and complimented his powers of observation. The old man was kind of wistful, with a far-off expression as he handled the gun. I was not really surprised when he asked me for my bottom dollar on it. I responded with $1350. After some more thoughtful inspection, he offered $1250. I had some gnawing feeling that this old guy should have this gun, but I wasn’t going to pry, nor was I going to lose $50. I said $1300 was my bottom dollar, and he went for his pocket. The Weems No.5 was gone, and to the most unlikely buyer that I could have ever imagined.

Several Ft. Worth shows later, I see him again shuffling down the aisle. He sees me, and extends his hand in a warm greeting. I ask about the Weems gun, and he smiles, and says he still has it. I ask if it is for sale, and he smiles again, and says “nope”. This little exchange has been repeating itself for over five years now. He still comes around, and still has the gun. He has promised me first crack at it, and he is looking even older these days, if that is possible. I will leave it in the hands of the fates. If I am to ever own the Weems No.5, it will happen. I figure I have done all I can. Notice that the old man’s name is nowhere in this article. I know how gun traders operate.