It's hard to explain, but the second you pick up the M1 Garand, it speaks to you like a conduit to the past.
It just feels right. The weight, the dimensions, its controls and features.
You know instantly that it's not a target gun, it's not a hunting gun, it's a battle rifle.
It has a sole purpose. It feels serious.
You can immediately feel how it could give confidence and inspiration to an infantryman.
Everything about it means business. Is there some psychic impression left on an inanimate object? Many would claim yes. I have found that every single person who has ever handled my M1 does the same thing.
They instantly become quiet, taking it in. They lift it up and down a few times, feeling its weight, letting the history sink in. It smells of oil, steel and wood. Usually the first word uttered is "wow". The stock is full of scars and dents. Where has it been? Who used it? Did this rifle sit in some dark dusty armory for the past sixty years? Was it used in parades, for training, or was it used in battle? Was it the only thing keeping a freezing G.I. alive against an advancing enemy in Korea? Was it issued to the first troops on the ground in Vietnam? Nobody knows. They are full of mystery and history.
The second you raise it up to your shoulder, you can feel its power. Its a massive firearm compared to its contemporaries. When you squeeze the trigger, you anticipate considerable recoil, and you are not left disappointed, it is delivered. Its shocking at first, the recoil from the M2 Ball seats the buttstock firmly in your shoulder. After a few rounds, you get a feel for it. After eight rounds, the unmistakeable *ping* as the enbloc clip ejects and hits the ground.
It is an experience that you really can't describe, you just have to do it. Out of the half dozen people that have fired it, they all came away with a greater respect for the men that carried these into combat and lead us to where we are today.