My most stylish stockman, my Dad's. This is the only knife I ever saw him carry, and he was never without it. Probably traveled 1,000,000 miles on the Rock Island. Using it as a tack hammer he cracked off the pile side scale. Sent to Case for lifetime warranty and they correctly termed it abuse and offered to fix it, but for a price. He huffed about it and decided to fix it himself. Signed his name on the liner, covered and filled in with clear epoxy, and sanded smooth. To others, it's a worn out knife, to me, priceless, styled by my dad, been gone 33 years. Pictured with a wooden knife made for him by his great uncle Eldon in the early 1930s. At that time my dad wanted a knife so bad ... his dad and older brothers had them for farm work but as the youngest he was last in line. FOMO. There was no money for something as frivolous as a pocket knife when they were lucky to eat, so Eldon made this wonderful little wooden folder for him. Amazing it never got broken, he treasured it and would not allow me to play with it as a child. But I wanted to, bad, FOMO. Still razor sharp, posterchild for pocketworn. Hope ya'll enjoy the backstory on a different kind of stylish.