Found Knife Stories

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freekboi

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Mar 3, 2006
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Over in the Barlow thread, SunnyD mentioned a story about a Barlow his wife unexpectedly found and Blues gave me an idea for a new thread. I'm sure that between the lot of us, there's some good stories about knives that we have found unexpectedly. So let's hear them. I'll start.

Last month, my cousin and I were cleaning out my grandpa's old storage building and going through some of the stuff we found in there, including a bunch of old tackle boxes. Well, in one of the tackle boxes was an old Scout knife with a logo from a company my grandpa used to work for. It was a little beat up, had more than a little rust on the blade, and needed a generous coat of oil, but it reminded me of all the times he had taken me fishing out on the local creeks and lakes and the camping trips we used to take. Well, after a little gentle cleaning to take the rust off, some oil in the joints and on the blades, and a few passes on a stone to put an edge back on it, it's now actually a servicable knife again.

So that's it, my found knife story. Now let's hear some of yours.
 
LOL, SS. It's good to hear the neighbor was the kind of guy who on hearing the fellow lost it, returned it as the right thing to do. Not many like that anymore.

My wife found a large, Uncle Henry stockman when she was running the local library in our little town. No one ever came looking for it so she was going to keep it in a drawer for use around there. Naturally I pounced on it and gave her a more appropriate knife to be abused, er used. I ended up trading or selling it off a year or three later. If I'd known where Schrade was headed I'd have hung on to the darn thing.
 
My dad got me started early instilling respect for firearms and knives. Real early in regards to todays standards.

Like most men his age he had a few knives. Some showing honest use. Some a little abuse and others brand new that he had put up. I guess most of the new ones were gifts. He is not prone to accidents or losing things. Never has been.

Fast forward from my childhood. I started "collecting" knives when I got out of school and would buy him nice ones on special occasions. Again some he kept and others he used. About 15 years ago, I brought him his first custom, a nice little forged folder by Pete Peterson (John Fitch's father in law).

Nice stag single blade folder made from O1 (what's not to like). Pete had contributed it to the ABS auction and I lucked out and got it. Gave it to dad on fathers day. He is not what I would call materialistic so I can still remember how his face lit up when he opened it on Father's day. I could get him a car or truck and his face would not have lit up as much as it did when he got that knife.

It became his daily carry knife. He just loved it.

A little over a year later he called. I could tell by his voice something was not right at all. He lost the knife. :grumpy:

Next day mom calls. "Your father is tearing up the house looking for that knife." Visions of seat cushions on the living room floor, and all types of things are in my mind. I bet he even had the seats of his vehicles sitting on the pavement of the driveway. :D

I get on the phone with him and tell him it is no big deal ... relax I'll find another one you will like.

After a few days he gave up. It really got to him not knowing where it was.

Another year or so goes by. I had given him a couple of other knives. He calls as giddy as a kid. "Found that knife it was in a shoe in the closet". Dad was on top of the world.

When it was lost they had gone to some dress-up occasion (I am betting a wedding). When he came home and changed he forgot to take the knife out of his pocket and put it in his knife box. He hung up the pants and the knife fell into a shoe that he seldom wears.
 
Gus, that's a classic.

I've found a bunch of knives over the years (especially when a kid) and have taken away one or two, but nothing to compare with some of the cool stories I've heard here.

Now, sometime if germane, and there's any interest, I'll tell you a found pocket watch story. (How my great grandfather's pocket watch was found again after it was stolen.)
 
Actually, with your indulgence for my having helped germinate the idea for this thread, and out of great respect for the memory of my grandfather who started me with my first knives, I think I will relate this story.

Before my grandfather passed away in 1962 (the year in which I'd later turn 10) he made me a gift of a pocket watch I'd admired for some time which had resided in a bureau drawer in his bedroom. When I'd ask about it he'd say something like "all in good time".

Eventually, probably knowing that the end was near, he gave me that watch which had belonged to his father before him. It's an 1876 vintage American Waltham pocket watch which had been bought second hand by my great grandfather after coming to the U.S. from Sicily. That watch was my pride and joy and I'd spend long hours just gazing at it and opening the back to watch the workings of the Wm. Ellery movement.

The watch (along with the pen knives that had I lost long ago), my grandfather's mandolin and some tools of his (he was a master machinist at the Brooklyn Navy Yard) were the only keepsakes of his that I was to have after he died. The watch was always the most special and important of them all.

Well, when I was a teen growing up in NYC I ran with a rough crew that wasn't above turning on its own.

One day when I was away with my family we came home to an apartment which had been robbed and vandalized. The cops told me in no uncertain terms that I knew who did it but there was nothing they could do.

I wasn't a particularly religious kid but I prayed nightly for the return of that watch.

Eventually, through some leads the police found and we reclaimed many of the stolen items from our apartment but the watch was not among them.

Unhappy and dejected I continued to ask God to help me get my watch back.

Several months went by and one day while playing behind the apartment building we lived in my mother heard my sister yelling and creating quite a ruckus.

"Mom, I found Elliott's watch!!! I found Elliott's watch!!!" Turns out that as she was playing in the vicinity of some trees she found the watch just lying there where it must've lain for months after having been tossed and then dropped outside and near my bedroom window.

I'm happy to say that I still have that watch and that it sits in front of me on my computer table as I type these words celebrating the memory of my maternal grandfather who gave it to me 45 years ago.
 

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Great story Elliott, and with a happy ending. I have knives that belonged to my father, both grandfathers and greatgrandad. They're not worth much to anyone else but me. I carry them every now and then.
 
Thanks, Mike. I'll bet with your family's history out in CO there are some interesting tales those knives could tell over the years.
 
Great story Elliott. The few mementos I have from my departed elders grow more important to me as I age. It's nice that your grand dad's watch turned up again so you could continue to appreciate it.

Gus, cool story. Not only did your dad get his knife back, but he also gained a lucky shoe. :)

Some memorable anecdotes emerge from lost and found stories. Interesting thread freekboi. :thumbup:
 
Here's one I recall although it's not sentimental.

Elk season was but two weeks away then my weekend opened unexpectedly. I quickly planned an overnight scout: simple and light. No tent, packing, cooking gear, or anything that required much time. A Gore Tex jacket and thermals would suffice for early November. While I dressed, Wifey was packing a simple food box with cans and snacks. Quickly checking the forecast on my way out, it looked like a little weather but nothing major, a good reason to try the new camo pants with some type of "rain proofing". Guaranteed. I changed again, emptied pockets and refilled, grabbed the food box and hit the road.

I parked at the wilderness boundary and headed up the west side of Humphries Peak toward Bismarck Lake (at least part of the year) at about 9200'. The route wasn't real steep although at that elevation any incline becomes significant after the first hour. I found what I was hoping for, lots of tracks and fresh wallows in a slop hole near the acre- size "lake". With lots of daylight left, I continued on up to see what was going on in the aspen stands around 10,000' or so.

Not much was happening in the early afternoon so my log seat soon became a backrest as I enjoyed the solitude and watched the universe run down. Awakening about an hour later, it was time to head back down but in no big hurry. Back past the lake, back onto the trail and within 30 minutes of the truck, I noticed my Buck 301 stockman was missing. I always carried it wedged in my watch pocket that the new pants didn't have - damn onseam pockets were shallow and didn't hold much to begin with, just lucky I hadn't lost the Suunto as well.

The Buck was always in my pocket, on hunts anyway, for some 15 years since the 70's so I wasn't about to just write it off. The truck was closer than the naptime log- at least it was downhill and the Buck might be on the truck seat or the floor, so down I went. It wasn't on the seat or the floor, or on the ground nearby, or anywhere else except probably up at the log. Back up I went.

The promised weather was moving in by then, light rain turning to snow above 9,000'. By the time I reached the log there was 2" or 3" of wet snow obscuring the ground along with any knives that might be laying around, so back down I went. The coating stuff on the new pants sucked the rain right on through, wicking up my shirt tail leaving me cold, wet, dejected, and pissed by the time I reached the truck after dark.

With the engine running, heater on, seat reclined, I reached into the food box for a cold supper. Wifey had seen the forecast I left on the monitor before leaving so she had gathered a change of clothes in case I got wet, stuffed them in a plastic sack, and put it in the food box! She's wonderful that way (and many other ways), like leaving little personal notes in the baggies of snacks for me to find while I'm gone. In dry pants and shirt again, I was determined to find that 301 in the morning when the snow melted.

Back up the mountain I went. A thorough search around the log turned up not a single Buck knife. It had to be somewhere in or around the truck. Back down the mountain, again. Nearing the truck, I sat on another log to have a snack only to feel the Buck lightly gouge me at the watch pocket- Wifey had picked up the pants I changed out of and sent them with me along with the shirt. I had left the Buck wedged in the watch pocket.

I couldn't possibly have lost it on the first trip, couldn't possibly have found it on the second trip, and had it in my pocket all during the third. That it wasn't lost nearly compensated (but not quite) for feeling so stupid. So much for a quick scouting trip. ss.
 
After 30 years at the local phone company (GTE) I retired and started my own telecommunications company and ran it for 11 more years until Injury and Arthritis caused me to retire again. Since I had Top Secret clearance at the phone company I got to repair FBI, Police, Sheriff and State Prison phone systems when they had major outages.

ALL...ALL phone conversations (even pay phones) from the janitor to the inmate to the Warden are recorded on special 500 gigibtye computers and reset with a new hard drive once a month and the old hard drive stored on site. When I would enter a state prison a TOTAL inventory of my truck (A crew cab dually with hard top on the bed) and check every tool on the truck and on my person. This sometimes would take over two hours...in and out.

At Calipatria State Prison in Calipatria Calif. it is near the Mexican border and Salton Sea. The entire prison is a Maximum Security and only the baddest of the bad go there. The Warden told me that when a prisoner reaches this point, they usually never come out alive either thru being killed in prison, Aids or die of old age. The entire prison is surrounded by guard towers 100 yards apart,(nobody has more than a 50 yard shot) and has a 100,000 volt fence surrounding it and Attack dogs on the property. I tell you all this so you can imagine what it's like to enter here.

I drove my truck into the Sally Port and a gate came down behind me and in front of me and a large grate was under my truck. For two hours they searched and inventoried my tools and took my 9mm P89 Ruger (Legally carried) from me and put it in a safe at the Sally Port. One of the tools on my person was a Spyderco Endura. Let me make perfectly clear that you HAVE to have every tool with you when you come out....that you brought in....and an armed guard is with you 24/7 till you leave...Even in the restroom.

I was there solid for two days and never left because the Salton Sea rose during the weekend and ruined some splices in man holes at the prison....I repaired all of them and got ready to leave after working about 52 hours straight. When I got to the exit Sally Port at 11:00am they took inventory and my Spyderco was MISSING. The guard and I had been ALL OVER the prison in the two days I was there and I don't remember ever taking it out or using it....The searched the truck for hours....called the Warden and he told me I better go with the guard and find that knife or I couldn't leave and might be in trouble if a prisoner got it. I walked all over the prison for about 6 hours in 115 degree heat (The weird thing is you didn't sweat....It evaporated before if got that far...lol) At about 6:00pm the Warden came out and we talked and he said I could stay in a holding cell over night but not leave until the knife was found. The Captain brought in a search (black lab)dog and he sniffed my hands for about 5 minutes and climbed into the back of the truck....then the back seat....then the front seat....then under the dash??? He started barking loudly and the guard searched under the dash but found nothing. His handler said something is there, look again....They found my Spyderco under the left hand side dead pedal you rest you foot on during long drives....They gave me my knife back and then my gun and I left (Had 60 galloons of diesel fuel) and drove straight home and never went back and told my wife to tell them I was busy if they ever called again...Too close for comfort...It was about a 10 hour drive home...and I got home about daylight the next day.

The Warden sent me a check for the entire time I was there , even the hours I was waitting to find my knife and had his Department send me.....get this....A standing box fan from Home Depot because he knew I was hot whan I was there.....lol....Seemed like a nice guy but No Thanks. :-)

I still don't know how the dog found the knife since it seems everything on the truck had my scent....but he did.
 
I guess the best knife I ever found is an old pocket knife that came off the bottom of a lake long ago. I was probably still a teenager when I liked to put a good magnet on a piece of cord and "explore" the bottom around docks in lakes where I lived. There's a technique to it, but you'll have to figure it out for yourselves. Anyway, this is a very old knife, but it's put away in a cigar box somewhere now and I haven't looked at it lately so I can't tell you what it is. It's maybe 3-1/4 inches closed, has two blades, an iron bolster, and wood scales. Here's the neat part. You think it was all rusty from spending God knows how long on the bottom of a lake? No way, Jose! All of it was more or less black, but it was NOT RUSTY! The blades were black, the iron bolster was black, and the wood was black, too. But it cleaned up nicely, though the wood stayed black. I didn't try to make it look new. I just used some 0000 steel wool and oil to gently to clean it, and it's still a perfectly serviceable knife. One day I need to find it again and research it.
 
My dad was working on a public works project. He had to go underground with his partner, in sewers and drains, to do maintenance on locks and such.

One day, they got into a big cement box to work on a piece of machinery, and sitting under it was a pocketknife. He said, "hey, look at that," as he picked it up and stuck it in his pocket. Camillus scout whittler. He used it for years, and I always drooled over it as a little boy. The blades started to get thin, so he bought a new knife and stuck this one in his sock drawer.

I snuck it out of that drawer one day, and started carving on a block. And promptly gave myself a nice cut. My first knife cut. I was six or seven. He promised to buy me a knife when I turned eight, but I never got to use that old Camillus again. I asked him about it a while back, and he doesn't remember where it is now. Been 30 years or so since he used it.
 
Straitshot, that's a dedicated knife man. Got some exercise on that trip no doubt, and of course must more appreciation for that gal at home.

Man, some tales on here. T-Bag, I once had to photograph inside first a minimum security prison, then later inside the regular prison next door for some articles that were going to be in our paper. Going into the first wasn't too bad. Going through the regular prison unit was a little creepy. I don't even want to think about going into and around a max unit, work related or not.
 
Bastid said:
My dad got me started early instilling respect for firearms and knives. Real early in regards to todays standards.

Like most men his age he had a few knives. Some showing honest use. Some a little abuse and others brand new that he had put up. I guess most of the new ones were gifts. He is not prone to accidents or losing things. Never has been.

Fast forward from my childhood. I started "collecting" knives when I got out of school and would buy him nice ones on special occasions. Again some he kept and others he used. About 15 years ago, I brought him his first custom, a nice little forged folder by Pete Peterson (John Fitch's father in law).

Nice stag single blade folder made from O1 (what's not to like). Pete had contributed it to the ABS auction and I lucked out and got it. Gave it to dad on fathers day. He is not what I would call materialistic so I can still remember how his face lit up when he opened it on Father's day. I could get him a car or truck and his face would not have lit up as much as it did when he got that knife.

It became his daily carry knife. He just loved it.

A little over a year later he called. I could tell by his voice something was not right at all. He lost the knife. :grumpy:

Next day mom calls. "Your father is tearing up the house looking for that knife." Visions of seat cushions on the living room floor, and all types of things are in my mind. I bet he even had the seats of his vehicles sitting on the pavement of the driveway. :D

I get on the phone with him and tell him it is no big deal ... relax I'll find another one you will like.

After a few days he gave up. It really got to him not knowing where it was.

Another year or so goes by. I had given him a couple of other knives. He calls as giddy as a kid. "Found that knife it was in a shoe in the closet". Dad was on top of the world.

When it was lost they had gone to some dress-up occasion (I am betting a wedding). When he came home and changed he forgot to take the knife out of his pocket and put it in his knife box. He hung up the pants and the knife fell into a shoe that he seldom wears.
Click to expand...

Some other member here had a similar tale that had his favorite slipjoint in one of his dress shoes too that was lost.. I will remember this one.. CLASSIC STORY!
 
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