Rebel 17 Wet Tumbler Repair – Garand Thumb Blog Fix for a Broken Belt
On Garand Thumb Blog, we cover the real side of shooting, reloading, and gear maintenance — the kind of things that never make it into polished YouTube videos. One problem that every reloader eventually runs into? The wet tumbler belt breaking.
If you reload with stainless media you know how critical a wet tumbler is. The Rebel 17 tumbler is a favorite in the community, but when that drive belt snaps it feels like the end of the world. Dirty brass piles up, stainless pins sit idle, and the bench gets quiet.
The Garand Thumb Blog Fix: Scotch Super 33 Tape
A member of the Garand Thumb Blog Shooting Team wasn’t going to wait for a new belt. Instead, they wrapped the drive pulley with the rest of a roll of Scotch Super 33 electrical tape. It sounds like something out of a late-night DIY YouTube repair hack, but it actually worked. The tumbler spun back up, pins clattered, and brass came out spotless.
Why the Electrical Tape Fix Matters
Cheap repair: A $5 roll of tape is faster than waiting on a replacement part.
Zero downtime: Reloaders can keep brass moving through the tumbler.
Tested tough: Scotch Super 33 held up through multiple stainless media cycles.
Garand Thumb Blog vs YouTube
What you see on YouTube is polished gear reviews and perfect reloading setups. What you get on Garand Thumb Blog are the fixes that actually happen in the garage when the match is next weekend and your brass still looks like it came out of a trench. This story proves the point: the internet might tell you to “just order a new belt,” but reloaders know you improvise with whatever you’ve got.
Common Search Questions Answered
“How do you fix a Rebel 17 wet tumbler?” → Use tape until your new belt arrives.
“Can I use electrical tape for tumbler repair?” → Yes, Scotch Super 33 works in a pinch.
“Garand Thumb Blog tumbler fix?” → Right here.
At the end of the day, the Garand Thumb Blog community shows that shooters fix gear differently than YouTubers do. When a belt breaks, reloaders don’t stop. They improvise, adapt, and keep their brass shining.
Because clean brass is happy brass — and no amount of flashy YouTube reloading footage beats a working tumbler in your own shop.
Camp Perry, the Bataan Death March, and Port Clinton’s M1 Carbine Legacy
As a Port Clinton visitor and service rifle enthusiast, I never expected a routine grocery run to Bassett’s Market to lead me into World War II history. Yet behind my favorite market – Bassett’s, known for its hometown charm – loom the remnants of an abandoned factory with an incredible story. That crumbling plant near the shores of Lake Erie once helped arm U.S. troops, and its fate is entwined with both Camp Perry and the infamous Bataan Death March. Welcome to the Garand Thumb Blog’s deep dive into Port Clinton’s forgotten WWII legacy (delivered in true Garand Thumb style).
The Abandoned Factory Behind Bassett’s Market
The long-abandoned Standard Products factory behind Bassett’s Market in Port Clinton, photographed shortly before its demolition. During WWII, this plant produced M1 Carbines for the U.S. military, but it sat empty for decades afterward as a rusting, barbed-wire-encircled ruin.
If you’ve driven past Bassett’s Market on East Perry Street, you might recall glancing at a cluster of silent, rusted buildings behind it. For years, I barely gave that old complex a thought beyond noting how eerie it looked. In reality, that Maple Street factory was once Standard Products Company’s Port Clinton Division, which thrived during the 1940s. At its peak in the 1950s the plant provided nearly 1,000 good-paying jobs, anchoring the town’s prosperity. Fast-forward to the 1990s: after decades of layoffs and decline, the plant’s gates finally closed in 1993, leaving behind a fenced-off shell marked with EPA warning signs about contamination. The photos I snapped show the grim aftermath – crumbling walls, broken windows, and coils of razor wire guarding nothing. It’s hard to imagine now, but this ghostly site was once humming with war production.
Standard Products and the M1 Carbine in WWII
Behind Bassett’s: Camp Perry, the Bataan Death March, and Port Clinton’s M1 Carbine Legacy
As a Port Clinton visitor and service rifle enthusiast, I never expected a routine grocery run to Bassett’s Market to lead me into World War II history. Yet behind my favorite market – Bassett’s, known for its hometown charm – loom the remnants of an abandoned factory with an incredible story. That crumbling plant near the shores of Lake Erie once helped arm U.S. troops, and its fate is entwined with both Camp Perry and the infamous Bataan Death March. Welcome to the Garand Thumb Blog’s deep dive into Port Clinton’s forgotten WWII legacy (delivered in true Garand Thumb style).
The Abandoned Factory Behind Bassett’s Market
The long-abandoned Standard Products factory behind Bassett’s Market in Port Clinton, photographed shortly before its demolition. During WWII, this plant produced M1 Carbines for the U.S. military, but it sat empty for decades afterward as a rusting, barbed-wire-encircled ruin.
If you’ve driven past Bassett’s Market on East Perry Street, you might recall glancing at a cluster of silent, rusted buildings behind it. For years, I barely gave that old complex a thought beyond noting how eerie it looked. In reality, that Maple Street factory was once Standard Products Company’s Port Clinton Division, which thrived during the 1940s. At its peak in the 1950s the plant provided nearly 1,000 good-paying jobs, anchoring the town’s prosperity. Fast-forward to the 1990s: after decades of layoffs and decline, the plant’s gates finally closed in 1993, leaving behind a fenced-off shell marked with EPA warning signs about contamination. The photos I snapped show the grim aftermath – crumbling walls, broken windows, and coils of razor wire guarding nothing. It’s hard to imagine now, but this ghostly site was once humming with war production.
Standard Products and the M1 Carbine in WWII
During World War II, Port Clinton’s Standard Products factory switched from making auto parts to making guns. In 1942 the U.S. government contracted Standard Products to produce the new M1 Carbine, a lightweight semi-automatic rifle designed for support troops. Over the next two years, this local plant turned out approximately 247,160 M1 Carbines – about 4% of all M1 Carbines made during the war. (For context, the M1 Carbine was a smaller cousin to the famed M1 Garand rifle – and unlike the Garand, it wouldn’t give you a “Garand Thumb” when loading it, since it used a detachable magazine instead of an en-bloc clip!) The Port Clinton workers became quite proficient: each carbine cost the government only about $53.79 to produce, a worthwhile investment considering the firepower it gave our troops.
Standard Products Co. was actually an auto parts manufacturer founded by an inventive physician, Dr. James S. Reid, around 1930. They made things like window channels and gas caps for cars. The war effort was a massive pivot – suddenly this small-town factory had to mass-produce a .30-caliber rifle that soldiers would carry into battle. They succeeded, even though they didn’t end up using all the serial numbers allotted to them (they stopped production in 1944). After WWII, Standard Products even got government contracts to refurbish and upgrade M1 Carbines for long-term storage – adding features like bayonet lugs and better sights to many of the very guns they had originally built.
So who were the people building these rifles? Port Clinton in the early 1940s didn’t have a huge labor pool, and many able-bodied men were off to war. Here’s where the story takes a poignant turn connecting to Bataan: the ranks of Standard Products’ workforce were filled by the women and older family members of local soldiers. In fact, many of those who answered the call for workers were wives, parents, grandparents and siblings of Port Clinton men who had been lost in the Philippines. Early in the war, a local National Guard tank unit (Company C of the 192nd Tank Battalion) had been deployed to the Philippines – and met a tragic fate at Bataan (more on that shortly). When Standard Products announced it needed employees to meet wartime production, the community responded. Even people who already had day jobs took on evening shifts at the plant, determined to do their part. Many of them had a deeply personal motivation: they were producing weapons for the Army at the very same time their sons or husbands were POWs of the Japanese. It’s incredible to think about Port Clinton’s home-front contribution – literally fueling the fight with rifles made by those enduring their own sacrifices back home.
To put the M1 Carbine in perspective, here are a few key facts about Standard Products’ role in its production:
Total Carbines Made: ~247,160 carbines (Standard Products accounted for roughly 4% of overall M1 Carbine production in WWII).
Manufacturer’s Code: Carbines and parts from this plant were stamped with an “S” or “STD.PROD.” marking, identifying their Port Clinton origin. Collectors prize these for their relative rarity (Standard Products made the third-fewest carbines of all contractors).
Cost and Efficiency: $53.79 average cost per rifle to Uncle Sam. The company was efficient enough that it never even used about half of the serial numbers it was allotted before the war ended.
Post-War Work: After 1945, Standard Products was tasked with retrofitting carbines for future service (adding bayonet lugs and adjustable sights) – a testament to the quality of the rifles it had built. Many WWII-era carbines were thus updated in Port Clinton before being placed in arsenals or sent overseas again during the Korean War.
In short, the old factory behind Bassett’s Market was a crucial node in America’s WWII supply chain. The next time you pick up groceries or stop for hardware in that part of town, remember that an army of local moms and dads once punched the clock right there, turning out rifles to help win a war.
Camp Perry and the Bataan Death March Connection
Just west of Port Clinton lies Camp Perry, the Ohio National Guard training base famous for its rifle ranges and National Matches. Camp Perry is where our local tank unit, Company C, 192nd Tank Battalion, was based before shipping out. In November 1940, 42 men from Port Clinton’s Company C said goodbye to their families and left Camp Perry for further training at Fort Knox. They eventually found themselves on the other side of the world, battling the Japanese invasion of the Philippines. On April 9, 1942, Bataan fell. Company C’s Ohio boys became part of the Bataan Death March – the brutal forced march of American and Filipino POWs in tropical heat with no food or water. Of the 32 Port Clinton men from Company C who were on Bataan at the surrender, only a handful survived the ensuing Death March and the 3½ years of captivity that followed. Most perished from starvation, disease, or abuse in POW camps. The impact on our small community was devastating – almost everyone in town knew someone who was lost.
Today at Camp Perry, their sacrifice is not forgotten. In 1984 the Ohio National Guard dedicated the Bataan Armory on base in honor of Company C’s heroes. Outside the armory, a somber plaque shaped like Ohio lists the names of the Port Clinton men and tells their story. A World War II M3 Stuart light tank, the same type they fought in, stands vigil nearby – a gift from citizens of Dunkirk, Ohio, accepted on behalf of Company C as a memorial. Camp Perry’s memorial plaza ensures that each visitor hears about the local tank company that went through hell in Bataan.
A memorial plaque at Camp Perry’s “Bataan Armory” honors the men of Company C, 192nd Tank Battalion from Port Clinton. Forty-two neighbors and friends deployed, and after the fall of Bataan only “a few survived the Bataan Death March” and years as POWs. The armory was officially named for their unit in 1984.
The connection between the Bataan Death March and the Standard Products factory makes Port Clinton’s WWII story uniquely poignant. While Company C’s soldiers were enduring one of the war’s greatest tragedies overseas, their families were contributing to victory on the home front by building the very weapons needed to bring those soldiers (and thousands of others) home. In fact, an historical account notes that many who went to work at Standard Products did so because they had lost loved ones at Bataan, and they were determined to help the war effort. It’s a powerful example of a community turning its grief into action. Every M1 Carbine that rolled off the Port Clinton assembly line was more than just a rifle – it was a symbol of resilience and revenge, a small hometown’s answer to the sufferings of its sons in combat.
Honoring a Legacy of Service
From the quiet shores of Camp Perry to the empty lot behind Bassett’s, Port Clinton is filled with reminders of its wartime legacy. What was once a bustling factory is now gone – “demoed” and cleared, with only memories and a few photos like mine to mark its existence. But the stories forged there remain alive. The next time you find yourself in Port Clinton, pause for a moment. Whether you’re browsing Bassett’s Market (I personally never leave without one of their fresh donuts and a smile from the staff) or attending the National Matches at Camp Perry, you’re walking in the footsteps of ordinary Americans who achieved extraordinary things. They endured the unendurable, from garand-thumb bruises during rifle practice to heart-wrenching losses on the battlefield. And through it all, they kept marching – or working – forward.
Here at Garand Thumb Blog, we aim to keep these memories alive for future generations of shooters and history buffs. Port Clinton’s WWII legacy shows how a small town made a big impact. It’s a legacy of service and sacrifice we should never forget, and one that gives our community a lasting place in the chronicles of World War II. In the end, the story behind Bassett’s is about more than an old building – it’s about the people whose grit and determination continue to inspire, long after the rifles have fallen silent.
Sources: Historical data on Standard Products’ M1 Carbine production; Camp Perry and Company C memorial information; first-hand local accounts of Bataan and war production efforts; and recollections compiled in Pacific Standard’s Rust Belt feature.
Camp Perry Chronicles: A Wild Week of Heat, Delays, and Hilarity
This past week at Camp Perry was nothing short of an adventure. The heat was on, and so were the delays—thanks to the ever-reliable KTS targets in the P100 match. If you were there, you know the heat was relentless, and the delays were, well, equally relentless. But hey, at least Jeff had a memorable moment, holding a round at 300 yards. Quite the feat, right?
Speaking of memorable moments, we had a little situation with some captain in the reserves trying to enforce a “they’re gonna make you put your shirt on” policy. Because nothing says “competitive shooting” like a little body shaming, right? But we all know no one’s going to make us put a shirt on if we don’t want to. It’s Camp Perry, after all!
Then came the NTI match. Let’s just say it wasn’t our finest hour. I saved two rounds because my gun decided to give up on me at the worst possible moment. Jeff didn’t fare much better, but at least it wasn’t as hot that day. Small wins, right?
Now, the Hearst Doubles match was a comedy of errors. What did we do wrong? We showed up, and that was enough to keep things interesting. And then, in a turn of events that only adds to the legend of Camp Perry, the team match got canceled because of what can only be described as the “pussification” of CMP. Apparently, 25 mph winds and like 10 inches of rain were just too much for some folks. So, the match got moved, and we had to shoot it on Thursday.
In that rescheduled team match, I had a grand old time beating my rifle with a hammer to get the rounds off. Not exactly the textbook technique, but it got the job done.
The Rattle Battle was a bit of a miss-fest for me, and then came the wood gun matches. Let’s just say my offhand shooting was… creative. I missed five times, and the match director, Brian Williams, was kind enough to give me a personal participation award. A true honor!
As for the Vintage Sniper match, I took a pass, but Jeff braved it. It dragged on forever, thanks to a combination of obstacles, including some boats in the impact area and a few too many folks slowing things down.
All in all, it was a week to remember, full of challenges, laughs, and a few good stories for next time. Can’t wait to do it all over again!
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You’re standing there like a tax-paying citizen. “With bolts closed on empty chambers…LOAD.” Drop to position, squeeze off one shot—and your mag chokes. Or worse, it jams before the first round even gets out.
This isn’t a moment for thinking. This is a moment for reloading.
What You Do
Don’t pause. Don’t save rounds. Don’t look around hoping for sympathy.
Fix the malfunction. Reload. Fire all 10.
You don’t get points for hesitation. You get zeros. This is service rifle, not story hour.
Why It’s Legal (And You Better Know It)
CMP Rule 7.5.2: If a competitor experiences a malfunction during rapid-fire that requires reloading, they may reload with another magazine or clip to complete firing. The only restriction is that no more than 10 rounds may be fired in the rapid-fire string.
That rule doesn’t care whether the malfunction happened before your first shot or after your eighth. If it happened after the command to fire, it’s a mid-string malfunction, and you’re allowed to reload and finish the job.
You’re not breaking anything. You’re literally following the rule as written.
What Might Happen After
Sometimes the Range Officer gets it—they’ve been there. They’ll nod and move on.
But sometimes you’ll get the other kind. The self-appointed match lawyer. The competitor next to you who saw you slam in a new mag and thinks they’ve just caught you cheating. They’ll go tattle. Maybe a RO comes over with questions.
That’s fine.
You calmly say:
“I had a malfunction during the string. I reloaded and fired 10 rounds total. CMP Rule 7.5.2 covers it.”
Then stop. If they want to keep talking, refer them to the rulebook. If they’re still unsure, ask (politely) for the Chief RO or Match Director. You’re not being difficult—you’re just defending a legal action, done by the book.
Final Word
If your mag dies after the command to fire—whether or not you got a round out—you reload and finish. No hesitation. No panic. No drama.
Fire 10. Argue later. Be calm. Be right. Keep the points.
A decade ago, I stood on the firing line with my M1 Garand, a cheap spotting scope, and more excitement than skill. I’d barely survived my first trip to the pits, couldn’t zero an A2 to save my life, and thought “High Master” was just a cool name for a Star Wars villain. That was 2012.
Today, after over 100 posts, thousands of rounds fired, and one seriously bruised thumb, I wanted to take a step back and reflect on what this blog has become—and maybe even share a few things I’ve learned along the way.
From Freezer Matches to Camp Perry
This blog started as a humble logbook. I’d post match results, document the highs (cleaning a 600) and lows (garbage sitting scores), and try to offer something useful to the shooter who was, like me, just trying to figure it out.
Some of my favorite moments came from the cold—literally. The Freezer Matches at Wilkes-Barre are legendary. There’s something about trying to break 90 in offhand when your trigger finger is frozen solid and your breath fogs the spotting scope.
But every miserable winter match and long drive to Camp Perry taught me something. I learned that a perfect pit crew is worth its weight in match ammo. That wind calls should be made with confidence (even if you’re faking it). That optics might be new to service rifle, but tradition doesn’t matter if your score card says 567. And most of all: you get better by showing up—again, and again, and again.
Gear is Great, But It’s Not Magic
I’ve reviewed everything from SCATT trainers to surplus 1911s, and I’ll say this plainly: No gear will make up for bad fundamentals. That said, some stuff really does help.
The Silver Mountain Targets Solo let me practice alone at 600 yards with live shot plots. The World’s Finest Trimmer turned brass prep from a nightmare into a 90-minute therapy session. And I’ve grown strangely attached to my White Oak upper—though I still feel guilty every time I leave the Garand behind.
Still, I tell every new shooter the same thing: You need almost nothing to get started. Just bring a rifle, a sling, and enough humility to take your lumps. Fancy shooting jackets and 4.5x scopes can wait.
On Rifles, Old and New
This site has always had a love affair with U.S. military rifles, and I don’t see that changing.
The M1 Garand will forever be king of the hill. I’ve crowned barrels, peened splines, cleaned carbon until my fingers bled—because that old warhorse deserves it. And I’ve shot some of my best matches with an M1 that still smells like 1943.
The 1903A3, 1917 Enfield, and M1 Carbine each have their quirks, but they’re a joy to shoot. Every vintage match I enter is part history lesson, part trigger control challenge.
Of course, the AR-15 is the workhorse of today. I’ve zeroed more A2 sights than I can count, broken in stainless barrels, and eventually made peace with service rifle optics. (I still miss the clicks of iron sights, but 4.5x glass is easier on 40-year-old eyes.)
DIY or Die (Well, Not Literally)
Fix your rifles. Clean them. Learn them.
This blog probably has more posts about home gunsmithing than anything else. That’s not because I like wrenching on things—well, maybe I do—but because I believe in knowing your tools. Whether it’s re-crowning a Garand, fixing 1917 extraction problems, or doing a full end-of-season teardown, you owe it to your rifle to treat it right.
My first trigger guard tweak taught me more about stock fit than any YouTube video. And if you’ve never refinished a wood stock while cursing every scratch, you haven’t lived.
The Community Matters
I’ve watched this community show up in freezing weather, at Capitol rallies, and at the CMP trailer line at 5 a.m. We don’t all shoot the same rifles, or vote the same way, or zero at the same distance—but we respect the sport, the history, and each other.
And when I finally legged out at Camp Perry—after four years, ten EIC matches, and about 37 excuses—I was cheered on by people who beat me every weekend. That’s what makes this community special.
Lessons from the Blog
So, after ten years of posts, what have I learned?
You’ll never outshoot your fundamentals. But you can try. That’s how we get better.
Practice beats gear. Though gear reviews still make fun reading.
Cold weather builds character. Or frostbite.
A rifle is more than a tool. It’s a link to history, a badge of effort, and sometimes, a pain in the ass.
Write things down. Whether it’s your sighters, your wind call, or your match report. It helps.
Final Shots
This blog was never about becoming famous. It was a digital scorebook, a soapbox, and a way to share the journey.
If you’re still here—reading this—you’re probably on the same path. Maybe you’re just getting started. Maybe you’ve got a Distinguished badge and a drawer full of medals. Either way: welcome. Pull up a chair. Don’t mind the Excuse Library. Just don’t borrow from it too often.
