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- Feb 7, 2000
- Messages
- 6,554
Here's a nice article that talks about an old man and his pocketknife. Kind of sad, actually. At any rate, the writer speaks warmly about the knife ...... but she does get her knife facts bungled pretty badly ("This isnt just any knife. Its an Oldtimer made by Case ... "). Anyway, thought y'all might enjoy the story.
====================
Oldtimer just like Doc
By SUSAN EVANS
The Tribune-Democrat
The father-in-law turns 98 this year.
Hes tough, having been raised on a farm and then working in a blacksmith shop for the Colver mines. But now he lives in a personal-care home where he has taken over the main sofa and assumed a key supervisory role.
That means he tells other residents to stay away from his sofa.
He has relatively few vices for a man who has almost outlasted a century. He likes his snuff (one roll a week) and his hard candy (two bags a week), unconcerned that these indulgences will shorten his life.
He dislikes being told what to do, as well as women who tell him what to do and anyone else who tries to tell him what to do.
Nonetheless, theyre stuck with him, and hes stuck with them.
Im the mediator.
But first, some background:
The father-in-law answers to the nickname Red, so chosen because when he was young his hair was red.
Now, its white.
He also answers to the nickname Doc.
That was chosen because of what happened when he was 6 years old and about to enter first grade, for which a vaccination was required.
Another little boy didnt have a vaccination, so the father-in-law took off part of his scab and put it on the other boys arm. The scab stuck, and the friend was admitted into school. So was Doc.
From that day forward, that side of the family has called him Doc.
Thats what I call him, too, even though his given name is Sherman.
He lived with us after his wife died, so I am familiar with his likes and dislikes. Now, having been in the personal-care home for several years, they are, too.
State officials dont always understand. Thats what happened with the knife.
Someone took my knife, he shouted as I walked in the door.
I knew we had a problem. This isnt just any knife. Its an Oldtimer made by Case (translation: W.R. Case & Sons Cutlery Co.), and they dont make them like that anymore.
Doc uses his knife for everything from opening mail to cleaning his fingernails.
Find out who took my knife, he shouted.
An aide quickly intervened.
State inspectors were there, saw him using his pocket knife and issued an order: Get rid of it.
I tried to explain, while he chose not to listen. (Hes deaf anyway, but sometimes hes more deaf.)
I bribed him with snuff and candy, stopped at the desk and took the knife.
At home, the husband listened, growled and walked away.
I took out the knife, holding it for a long time, seeing it really for the first time.
Its a handsome knife, with a few portions of the bone handle worn smooth from decades of being rubbed by Docs thumb.
The Oldtimer truly is an oldtimer, just like Doc. But also like Doc, its a survivor of many Christmas ribbon cuttings, mail-opening mornings and anything else that Doc and a knife can do together.
Suddenly, I am sad.
Now dont go falling in love with that knife, barks the husband, throwing it in his desk drawer. He shouldnt have it in a place like that anyway, he said.
Doc knows that, too, because its only every other visit now that he shouts at me about his knife.
The message varies:
Did you find out who took my knife?
When are you going to bring my knife?
Because its Doc, and I love him, and he doesnt like being told what to do, let alone by a woman, I merely change the subject.
Then I give him his vices the snuff and the candy. I hope they dont shorten his life, and I wish him another 100.
Susan Evans can be reached at 471-6778 or sevans@tribdem.com.
====================
Oldtimer just like Doc
By SUSAN EVANS
The Tribune-Democrat
The father-in-law turns 98 this year.
Hes tough, having been raised on a farm and then working in a blacksmith shop for the Colver mines. But now he lives in a personal-care home where he has taken over the main sofa and assumed a key supervisory role.
That means he tells other residents to stay away from his sofa.
He has relatively few vices for a man who has almost outlasted a century. He likes his snuff (one roll a week) and his hard candy (two bags a week), unconcerned that these indulgences will shorten his life.
He dislikes being told what to do, as well as women who tell him what to do and anyone else who tries to tell him what to do.
Nonetheless, theyre stuck with him, and hes stuck with them.
Im the mediator.
But first, some background:
The father-in-law answers to the nickname Red, so chosen because when he was young his hair was red.
Now, its white.
He also answers to the nickname Doc.
That was chosen because of what happened when he was 6 years old and about to enter first grade, for which a vaccination was required.
Another little boy didnt have a vaccination, so the father-in-law took off part of his scab and put it on the other boys arm. The scab stuck, and the friend was admitted into school. So was Doc.
From that day forward, that side of the family has called him Doc.
Thats what I call him, too, even though his given name is Sherman.
He lived with us after his wife died, so I am familiar with his likes and dislikes. Now, having been in the personal-care home for several years, they are, too.
State officials dont always understand. Thats what happened with the knife.
Someone took my knife, he shouted as I walked in the door.
I knew we had a problem. This isnt just any knife. Its an Oldtimer made by Case (translation: W.R. Case & Sons Cutlery Co.), and they dont make them like that anymore.
Doc uses his knife for everything from opening mail to cleaning his fingernails.
Find out who took my knife, he shouted.
An aide quickly intervened.
State inspectors were there, saw him using his pocket knife and issued an order: Get rid of it.
I tried to explain, while he chose not to listen. (Hes deaf anyway, but sometimes hes more deaf.)
I bribed him with snuff and candy, stopped at the desk and took the knife.
At home, the husband listened, growled and walked away.
I took out the knife, holding it for a long time, seeing it really for the first time.
Its a handsome knife, with a few portions of the bone handle worn smooth from decades of being rubbed by Docs thumb.
The Oldtimer truly is an oldtimer, just like Doc. But also like Doc, its a survivor of many Christmas ribbon cuttings, mail-opening mornings and anything else that Doc and a knife can do together.
Suddenly, I am sad.
Now dont go falling in love with that knife, barks the husband, throwing it in his desk drawer. He shouldnt have it in a place like that anyway, he said.
Doc knows that, too, because its only every other visit now that he shouts at me about his knife.
The message varies:
Did you find out who took my knife?
When are you going to bring my knife?
Because its Doc, and I love him, and he doesnt like being told what to do, let alone by a woman, I merely change the subject.
Then I give him his vices the snuff and the candy. I hope they dont shorten his life, and I wish him another 100.
Susan Evans can be reached at 471-6778 or sevans@tribdem.com.
