No, we're not talking about savings, or money. Ira was my boss from 1980 to 1990, when he was forced to retire for health reasons. Ira was one of those mythical one knife guys that we talk about, here on the folksy forum.
I went to work at the Watkins-Johnson company in 1980, and met a man who reminded me a bit of my father. Ira was one of those old depression era men, who lived the American dream. He went to a war, came home and went about the business of raising a family by being a machinist. He did great at both.
Ira was one of those tall lanky Jimmy Stewart type of country boys, hailing from down around Harrisonburg Virginia. Serving in the Korean war, he used the GI bill to get certified at a trade school. When I met him, he was the boss of the machine shop, and I was to get a good education from him in many things.
He'd arrive every morning at work, in his suit, and bow tie, and rule over the shop. A quiet man, Ira never had to raise his voice to make his point, even though we had a few employees that would try the patience of Job. He had an office, one of those glassed in cubicles, but when work was getting backed up, he had no problem putting on a blue shop coat, rolling up the sleeves, and jumping in to help his crew. It was then I noticed his one knife.
Ira had a way of carefully examining something first, and then acting. We'd have these heavy cardboard boxes of machine parts to modify on a mill or lathe, and Ira would first find the seem under the brown packing tape. Then, like a surgeon, he'd operate. In almost a casual way, he'd reach in his pants pocket and take out a little brown handle serpentine jackknife. It couldn't have been more than 3 inches closed, not much bigger than a peanut. Brown jigged delrin scales gave something to hang onto, and a slim clip blade did the cutting. The blade was almost a Turkish clip, but I don't think it started out life that way. The knife showed lots of years of use, and the blades were a bit thinner than the day it left the factory. Years of sharpening from years of use had thinned the clip blade to a Turkish clip, but it was still good enough for Ira. He'd take the needle like tip of the blade, gently push in at the right spot, and neatly slice down the length of the box top. The thin dark gray blade would whisper down through the cardboard like magic. Ira did keep it sharp.
Once while deburing some black delrin bushings off the lathe, I watched in facination as Ira took the bushing with the big burr hanging off, and he'd slowly slice off the burr with the pen blade of his little knife. The thin edge cut cleanly through the plastic, and Ira did it like he was slowly peeling a grape. When the burr fell away, he'd blow on it, and set it down with the others making a comment "There, just like factory!" with that country boy grin.
Once in a while, I'd glance over at Ira in his office, and he'd be touching up the blade on his little knife, or pulling some maintenance on it. He had a little Norton brown India stone he'd slowly and almost gently stroke the blade on for a bit, and then drop a single drop of fine machine oil in the joint. Ira really did take care of that little knife, it was obviously more than a cutting tool, but an old and very trusted companion. The one time I asked him about the knife, he told me it had been a gift from someone, a very long time ago. He had handed it to me, and it had the D.E. Diamond edge trademark on it. The jigging was worn shallow, but it was in good shape to give cutting service for many years to come. In the ten years I worked for Ira, I never saw him without that little jackknife. It was his cutter. It was as much a part of his identity as the bow tie and white shirt he always wore.
In 1990, Ira was feeling poor, and a visit to the Doc revealed that he had a problem with his heart. He really didn't want to, and we sure didn't want to loose maybe the best boss a man could have, but he had to pull the pin. The last day there, we had a little party for him up in the lunch room. There were some small gifts, just kind of a little thing here and there. Ira sat there at the head of the table, and took out his little brown handle D.E. jackknife, and slowly and neatly slit open the going away gifts. Ira was being Ira, and he always did things neatly.
It was only a few years later, we got word that Ira had passed away in his sleep. His heart had given out. Somehow, in my minds eye, I can see the bedside table, and there would be the gold square Hamilton watch with the brown leather band he wore, a bow tie, and a certain little brown handle D.E. brand jackknife. It would have been part of him to the end.
I went to work at the Watkins-Johnson company in 1980, and met a man who reminded me a bit of my father. Ira was one of those old depression era men, who lived the American dream. He went to a war, came home and went about the business of raising a family by being a machinist. He did great at both.
Ira was one of those tall lanky Jimmy Stewart type of country boys, hailing from down around Harrisonburg Virginia. Serving in the Korean war, he used the GI bill to get certified at a trade school. When I met him, he was the boss of the machine shop, and I was to get a good education from him in many things.
He'd arrive every morning at work, in his suit, and bow tie, and rule over the shop. A quiet man, Ira never had to raise his voice to make his point, even though we had a few employees that would try the patience of Job. He had an office, one of those glassed in cubicles, but when work was getting backed up, he had no problem putting on a blue shop coat, rolling up the sleeves, and jumping in to help his crew. It was then I noticed his one knife.
Ira had a way of carefully examining something first, and then acting. We'd have these heavy cardboard boxes of machine parts to modify on a mill or lathe, and Ira would first find the seem under the brown packing tape. Then, like a surgeon, he'd operate. In almost a casual way, he'd reach in his pants pocket and take out a little brown handle serpentine jackknife. It couldn't have been more than 3 inches closed, not much bigger than a peanut. Brown jigged delrin scales gave something to hang onto, and a slim clip blade did the cutting. The blade was almost a Turkish clip, but I don't think it started out life that way. The knife showed lots of years of use, and the blades were a bit thinner than the day it left the factory. Years of sharpening from years of use had thinned the clip blade to a Turkish clip, but it was still good enough for Ira. He'd take the needle like tip of the blade, gently push in at the right spot, and neatly slice down the length of the box top. The thin dark gray blade would whisper down through the cardboard like magic. Ira did keep it sharp.
Once while deburing some black delrin bushings off the lathe, I watched in facination as Ira took the bushing with the big burr hanging off, and he'd slowly slice off the burr with the pen blade of his little knife. The thin edge cut cleanly through the plastic, and Ira did it like he was slowly peeling a grape. When the burr fell away, he'd blow on it, and set it down with the others making a comment "There, just like factory!" with that country boy grin.
Once in a while, I'd glance over at Ira in his office, and he'd be touching up the blade on his little knife, or pulling some maintenance on it. He had a little Norton brown India stone he'd slowly and almost gently stroke the blade on for a bit, and then drop a single drop of fine machine oil in the joint. Ira really did take care of that little knife, it was obviously more than a cutting tool, but an old and very trusted companion. The one time I asked him about the knife, he told me it had been a gift from someone, a very long time ago. He had handed it to me, and it had the D.E. Diamond edge trademark on it. The jigging was worn shallow, but it was in good shape to give cutting service for many years to come. In the ten years I worked for Ira, I never saw him without that little jackknife. It was his cutter. It was as much a part of his identity as the bow tie and white shirt he always wore.
In 1990, Ira was feeling poor, and a visit to the Doc revealed that he had a problem with his heart. He really didn't want to, and we sure didn't want to loose maybe the best boss a man could have, but he had to pull the pin. The last day there, we had a little party for him up in the lunch room. There were some small gifts, just kind of a little thing here and there. Ira sat there at the head of the table, and took out his little brown handle D.E. jackknife, and slowly and neatly slit open the going away gifts. Ira was being Ira, and he always did things neatly.
It was only a few years later, we got word that Ira had passed away in his sleep. His heart had given out. Somehow, in my minds eye, I can see the bedside table, and there would be the gold square Hamilton watch with the brown leather band he wore, a bow tie, and a certain little brown handle D.E. brand jackknife. It would have been part of him to the end.
