Will Not Comply: A Historical Anecdote of the First Silencer Registration

On July 18, 1934, a gentleman named Isaac “I.W.” Wilkinson gave someone a Maxim .22LR silencer. The next week, things got weird.

In mid-July of that year, there were no federal restrictions on the transfer of a silencer. It could have been purchased cash-and-carry with no need for any paperwork, no waiting period. It could have been bought at a sporting goods or hardware store, or secondhand from another individual. For that matter, if bought — like this one — in the years before Maxim went out of the silencer business, it could have been obtained mail-order. After sending cash or a check, it would have been shipped factory-direct from the Maxim Silencer Company of Hartford, Connecticut, across state lines to Wilkinson. 

The unserialized, non-firearm accessory could have been delivered via the U.S. Post Office in a cardboard tube and left with no signature required on the doorstep of his home at 2112 East 1st Street, Tulsa, Oklahoma. The acquisition details of the Maxim are unknown, but however it got to Tulsa, the silencer was then mounted to Wilkinson’s .22LR Winchester model 1890 rifle. He’d paid somewhere around $7.50, including the mounting coupler, for the silencer. 

During the week between when a government postal employee might have delivered it to its new owner and July 26, 1934, no crimes were committed involving this silencer. No one was harmed by its mere possession. If anything, ears and neighborhood peace and quiet were protected while the silencer did its job. Only days after this, Wilkinson would be in violation of a federal felony, simply because he owned this little novelty. 

This was because President Franklin D. Roosevelt (D) had signed the National Firearms Act into law on June 26, 1934. Word went around the country that Wilkinson, and many other formerly innocent law-abiding citizens would no longer be safe in the continued ownership of their own property. From July 26 forward, mere possession of their harmless hearing protection devices would make them criminals. 

The National Firearms Act of 1934, a law ostensibly passed to affect only gangsters, stated that “Any person who violates or fails to comply with any of the requirements of this Act shall, upon conviction, be fined not more than $2,000 ($46,000 adjusted to 2023 inflation) or be imprisoned for not more than five years, or both …” But Wilkinson wasn’t a gangster. He would have assuredly been a law-abiding man, fitting with his profession: a lawman. 

At 62 years old at the time of the NFA’s passage, the broad-shouldered officer had once been a U.S. Marshal, and at the time, an employee of a Tulsa, Oklahoma, police department since 1907, and getting close to retirement age. He and his wife Anna Belle (Barker) Wilkinson’s modest two-bedroom house had been purchased for $2,850. 

The couple had just taken out a loan on it for $2,300 with the Oklahoma City Building and Loan Association on April 14, 1933. It would be safe to assume that neither he or his wife wanted to run afoul of a law that could penalize them almost the entire price of their new home, not to mention Wilkinson, pictured here third from right, posing with seized contraband of another federally regulated kind after a 1916 Tulsa bootleg liquor arrest. 

So, he attempted to register the muffler he’d legally acquired via the first piece of newly instituted government paperwork for this new taxation scheme, appropriately named the “Form 1.” H. C. Jones, the appointed Collector of Internal Revenue of the United States for the district of Oklahoma, accepted this tax-free “Amnesty” Form 1 for a Maxim Silencer assigned serial number 669-168, and that office stamped its approval for registration on December 14, 1934. 

Therefore, Wilkinson was once again more or less — but not really — in compliance with the law. “Not really” because there’s an interesting thing going on here with the dates. 

For whatever reason, the silencer was not actually registered in compliance with the NFA’s amnesty. Section 5(a) of the NFA allowed that: “Within sixty days after the effective date of this Act every person possessing a firearm shall register, with the collector of the district in which he resides, the number or other mark identifying such firearm, together with his name, address, place where such firearm is usually kept, and place of business or employment …” That 60-day amnesty ran from July 26, 1934 through Tuesday, September 24, 2024.

While the silencer was somehow still duly logged into the registry by the government, silencer #669-168 wasn’t registered until December of that year — 81 days late after the deadline. Perhaps we’re guilty of burying the lede here, but the part of this story that NFA history buffs might find interesting is that the U.S. Department of Justice recently confirmed to this author that #669-168 was the very first silencer ever registered. 

That means that a total of zero (0) silencers were registered in compliance with the 1934 Amnesty. There was 100-percent non-compliance to the NFA by the silencer-owning citizens of the United States. Even an upstanding lawman who might have been more aware of newly enacted criminal regulations didn’t make the cut. He attempted to comply but still missed the deadline. This could have possibly been because he wasn’t aware of the news in time, the instructions were unclear, or maybe there was suspicion of the benefits of registration from people who had never been placed in this perilous situation by their own government. But, for whatever reason, he didn’t comply with the deadline. As a lawman, he’d have had a better chance of learning of this obscure new law than most folks. 

Years after the law was passed, newspapers were still running articles trying to scare up registrations — and trying to clear up the confusion about what even needed to be registered (conveniently not mentioning that people would be incriminating themselves if they tried to register post-deadline). Certainly, the government choosing the term “firearm” to label non-firearms was confusing. (“Firearms” means “guns,” right?) Telling the general public that all “firearms” had to be registered resulted in people trying to register their revolvers, long-barreled rifles, and shotguns. 

Many didn’t know that this new legal term “firearm” actually only meant a shotgun or rifle with a barrel shorter than 18 inches” (or a .22-caliber rifle with a length less than 16 inches), a machinegun, or even a non-firearm muffler. No one at the time would have considered a harmless little muffler might be a firearm. So, it even had to be clarified that silencers mounted on “non-firearms” still needed to be registered. Presumably, many people were unaware of the new law, and most of those who did happen to see it were simply confused by it. If you throw a party and no one comes, it’s kind of embarrassing for the host. 

Similarly, if you pass a law, and no one complies, it’s not a good look for the legislators. So the government took a step back from enforcement and did whatever they could to beg for registrations, hoping not to scare people off from filing Form 1’s. 

They needed some registrations on the books to make their new law look legitimate and that it was successful in “doing something.” One can only imagine the light workload at the NFA Division’s predecessor offices: In the first year, there was a total of one NFA transfer tax paid by an individual (a single private transfer of a machinegun). 

For that matter, the total number of all tax-paid Form 1 silencer registrations that were added to the registry between September 25, 1934, and the next Amnesty of November 2, 1968, was only 700. And Form 4 transfers? Laughable. 

Up until 1968, there was literally one approved, paid Form 4 for a silencer. The NFA wasn’t shaping up to be a very well-attended party. As author Eric Larson wrote, “Some registrations (which occurred for many years after September 24, 1934) included a separate declaration why the firearm wasn’t previously registered, such as the owner being unaware it had to be registered or that it was obtained through inheritance. 

Such registrations were treated in the same manner as tax delinquencies, but without any monetary penalties, because the NFA is a federal tax statute.” “Some registrations state that the ATF allowed the voluntary registration of an unregistered NFA firearm if the Assistant Regional Commissioner, Alcohol and Tobacco Tax Division, where the unlawful possession occurred, determined that the possessor had committed a “nonwillful violation” of the NFA. Such registrations, which were made on ATF Form 1, are stamped “NONWILLFUL VIOLATION – APPROVAL RECOMMENDED.” 

But, slowly, the word about the new law got out. Over the next 18 years from June 26, 1934, to March 31, 1952, a total of 51,297 NFA firearms of all sorts were eventually registered by law-abiding individuals with the ever-growing bureaucracy. No crimes were stopped, as gangsters continued to not register theirs, and criminals continued to use them in their misdeeds.

Eventually, as with all gun registration schemes, prosecution began. In the almost 11 years between October 1941 and March 1952, there were 3,171 firearms seized (but only 441 cases were actually reported to prosecution. “Always think forfeiture” isn’t a new concept.) In the matter of Maxim serial #669-168, it appears that these new, burdensome registration requirements may have influenced Wilkinson’s decision not to keep it. 

So — strangely — along with the Form 1, on the same date, he also filed the very first instance of a silencer Form 5 in history. This was done in attempt to legally transfer it to a coworker. Keeping with the leitmotif of confusion, it still wasn’t legal, as the two forms conflict. 

The Form 1 was filed under the premise that the silencer was still in his possession on July 26. But on the Form 5, he also stated he’d already transferred it to a fellow officer back on July 18. Whether the paperwork dates added up or not, apparently the tax collector just went with it. This suggests that no one really knew how to interpret the new laws, or what to do with these new forms. Therefore, rubber-stamping pretty much any application as “approved” and building up the registry was the standard operating procedure of the day.

THE FIRST FORM 1 AND FIRST FORM 5

These registration and subsequent transfer forms provide a jumbled mess of “huh?” moments. The Form 1 literally leads off with the statement “the undersigned registers … this firearm possessed by him on July 26, 1934.” Then, it asks, “Is the firearm still in your possession?” (Answer: “No.”) So, it asks, if you transferred it “between July 26 and September 24, when did you transfer it?” (Answer: “July 18 / 34.”) OK. Wait. What? Basically, Wilkinson had it for years, coincidentally transferred it just a week prior to the registration requirement deadline, but — even though he hasn’t possessed it since July 18 — registers it anyway, contradicting the form’s requirement that he did possess it on July 26. Why would someone register a silencer in December that they hadn’t owned since July? 

That particular mystery will remain lost to the ages. Or it’s just explained by someone innocently trying to follow confusing government requirements. If you haven’t gotten lost in this paperwork nightmare story, the TLDR here is that he wrongly registered a silencer that was no longer in his possession, and at the same time, he wrongly retroactively applied to transfer it to the individual he’d already given it to. 

On top of that, the parties may have even gotten clever (or just innocently confused) by using the wrong form to dodge the alarmingly high new tax as well. It’s interesting that they didn’t use the proper transfer form: the newly published “Form 4.” Using a Form 5 attempted to utilize a potential exemption of the jaw-dropping $200 tax on the $7 accessory. 

While a bit unspecifically worded, the 1934 Form 5’s instructions used to read “the transfer tax does not apply to the transfer of firearms … to sheriffs, chiefs of police, commissioners of police, superintendents or other chief officers of State police units including State highway patrols, directors of public safety, and such additional officers as may be designated by the Commissioner …” It is not known if it was transferred to an officer who was a “chief” that would be exempt. 

Arguably, the new law intended that tax-free transfers would be available to law enforcement agencies. But it could be read that most any police officer “may be designated” to get tax-free transfers. Since no one was going to pay a crazy amount like $200 on a $7 muffler anyway — why not try to squeak it through tax-free and see what happens?

In the end, whatever their rank, the stamp on the top shows that the Tax Collector immediately approved both forms on the same day, even with their dates and stories not lining up. Maxim #669-168’s whereabouts are unknown today. 

Any original 1930s’ registrants are long deceased, and like many NFA items, the item somewhat disappears with them. A trinket like this would often be thrown out, or handed to a grandson without paperwork, etc. Many next-of-kin or spouses wouldn’t have been aware their family member had a registered item to begin with. Nor that a little metal tube that isn’t even a gun would require a tax a tenth the price one’s home. And they almost certainly wouldn’t envision that their government required them to pay a $200 tax to just keep property their family already owned without becoming a criminal in possession of contraband themselves. 

Wilkinson died in 1953 at age 81, so the trail goes cold here. For privacy reasons of any potential descendants, we are not publishing details of the last known transferee. But there’s good chance that our little Maxim muffler is blissfully once again, non-compliant. 

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