The hippys of the 1970's thought they had something original, being the new counter culture, but they weren't. Before they made tie-dye t-shirts and jeans and long hair the norm, we had them beat by over a decade. In the 1950's it was the Bohemian thing. The beatnics. Maynard G. Krebs.
In 1958 while I was in my senior year at high school, things were going fairly normal considering the sleepy Washinton D.C. suburb of Wheaton Maryland was growing up. The area had been undergoing a post war boom, with Washington growing bigger, and all kinds of poeple were comming to the area to be emplyed by Uncle Sam. Including Suzy's family.
I had got a small white Vespa motorscooter to go to school on, and it fed the love of two wheel transportation I had since a kid. One evening at the dinner table mom asked me if I could give the new girl two doors up a ride to school in the mornings. I was aware that we had some new nieghbors, and they had moved down from New York city, and there was a teenaged girl involved, so of course I said yes with some misgivings. After all, this was sight unseen.
The next morning I came out, and there she was. A petite little thing, with long raven black hair and big brown eyes, and an exotic eastern European look that would have went great with a gypsy wagon. This was my first look at Suzy.
That fall, my little Vespa got us to school, and my world was opened up a good deal. I guess big city girls are more sophisticated, and I got an education of the bohemian sort. Suzy was a total beatnic girl, and it was like nothing I ever experianced. By spring my hair was getting long enough that dad asked me if I was planning on getting it cut anytime soon, and there was a Maynard G. Krebs gotee starting on my chin. We rode downtown in Washinton to low ceiling, smokey coffee houses, avant gard events, and non-mainstream concerts. But best of all, being from New Yawk, as she put it, Suzy had never encounterd the outdoors like we had then. Picnics out in grassy farm fields, haylofts, and such got her interested in more.
There was this open air old time market in Washington down on 5th street, and we'd go to a place we'd found for real gen-u-wine Italian food. We'd buy real sticks of pepperoni and salami that were so hard if you swung them in a sock you'd hurt somebody. Fresh made motzerella cheese so fresh a little milk would ooze from it as you cut it. And real fresh still warm Italian bread right out of the overn. We'd put it all in a picnic basket on the real lugage rack of the scooter and go find some deserted spot in Rock Creek park, or along the banks of the Potomac river. This was long before Justice Douglas made his famous hike the length of the C&O canal to save it for a national park. Sometimes I'd take the vespa over the footbridge and up the canal trail for our outings, leaving a slight trail of grey-blue smoke from the two stroke motor.
When we found the right spot, I'd pull the vespa off in the woods and we'd have our picnic. In those days I was still carrying the Camillus scout knife my dad had given me on my 12th birthday, and it served as our picnic knife. Nice and sharp, it would go right through the hard pepperoni, cleanly slice the cheese and sotft fresh bread. Suzy was impressed. She was interested in how I got it so sharp, as none of the boys she had known in New York had a knife expept for a dull one.
One day she had just finished slicing some food to make a sandwich, and used the bottle opener to pop open a beer, when she made an anouncement.
"I want one like this." was all she said.
"You do? Really?" I was a little off ballance. A guy usually gives his school ring to a girl, or some ring. This was the first I ever heard of a girl asking for a knife. It took a little to adjust to.
"Yeah, its like so cool, to have a knife that does all this." she said waving at the meal. A tin of pate, bottles of beer since we were both 18 at that point, cleanly sliced Italian meats. "I want one"
So that afternoon when we had finished our lunch by the river, we rode back to town and browsed the sporting goods store. The very first one had a display of pocket knives, and on one side were some by Camillus, including a scout knife. We had the store clerk take it out and Suzy handled it and knodded aprovingly. I bought it on the spot, and Suzy asked if they had a lanyard to hang it around her neck. The cleck got a whistle lanyard like a coach would use, and it made Suzy happy. I'm not real sure what the middle age store guy thought of the whole thing. Two slightly disheveled beatnic 18 year olds in black turtle neck shirts on a slightly used dented motorscooter, and the guy buying her a knife to hang around her neck.
We had a great time for the next year or so, but sometimes all good things come to an end. I can't really say if we broke up a bit over a year later because Suzy wanted to move back to New York, or I was enlisting in the army. One of those 6 of one, half dozen of another things. But she was the only girl I gave a knife to, as a going steady thing.
Now not quite 50 years later I've come full circle. The BMW's and the Harley sportster have gone and I'm back riding around on a vespa and loving it. And there's a scout knife in my pocket again.
I was comming back from my Friday morning breakfast with my other retired friends in Frederick, and I had the impulse to stop off on the way home at this antique mall in Frederick. I sometimes look for old pipes to recondition, or just browse. Today there in the case I see a brown delrin scout knife. A Camillus scout knife. Its been a bit neglected with some light rust on the blade and tools, but not too deep. I got it for 5 bucks. I haven't cleaned it up too much, a tiny bit of rubbing with 0000 steel wool and mineral oil. The blade took the familiar wicked edge I remember of the wide thin carbon steel blade. It has the "Be Prepared" motto and the scout creast molded into the jigged brown delrin, and its in my pocket as I type.
It's a funny thing how life can bring you back to the begining.
I think I'll take Karen for a Vespa ride this evening and bring along some pepperoni and fresh Italian bread to slice up, while sitting by the water.
In 1958 while I was in my senior year at high school, things were going fairly normal considering the sleepy Washinton D.C. suburb of Wheaton Maryland was growing up. The area had been undergoing a post war boom, with Washington growing bigger, and all kinds of poeple were comming to the area to be emplyed by Uncle Sam. Including Suzy's family.
I had got a small white Vespa motorscooter to go to school on, and it fed the love of two wheel transportation I had since a kid. One evening at the dinner table mom asked me if I could give the new girl two doors up a ride to school in the mornings. I was aware that we had some new nieghbors, and they had moved down from New York city, and there was a teenaged girl involved, so of course I said yes with some misgivings. After all, this was sight unseen.
The next morning I came out, and there she was. A petite little thing, with long raven black hair and big brown eyes, and an exotic eastern European look that would have went great with a gypsy wagon. This was my first look at Suzy.
That fall, my little Vespa got us to school, and my world was opened up a good deal. I guess big city girls are more sophisticated, and I got an education of the bohemian sort. Suzy was a total beatnic girl, and it was like nothing I ever experianced. By spring my hair was getting long enough that dad asked me if I was planning on getting it cut anytime soon, and there was a Maynard G. Krebs gotee starting on my chin. We rode downtown in Washinton to low ceiling, smokey coffee houses, avant gard events, and non-mainstream concerts. But best of all, being from New Yawk, as she put it, Suzy had never encounterd the outdoors like we had then. Picnics out in grassy farm fields, haylofts, and such got her interested in more.
There was this open air old time market in Washington down on 5th street, and we'd go to a place we'd found for real gen-u-wine Italian food. We'd buy real sticks of pepperoni and salami that were so hard if you swung them in a sock you'd hurt somebody. Fresh made motzerella cheese so fresh a little milk would ooze from it as you cut it. And real fresh still warm Italian bread right out of the overn. We'd put it all in a picnic basket on the real lugage rack of the scooter and go find some deserted spot in Rock Creek park, or along the banks of the Potomac river. This was long before Justice Douglas made his famous hike the length of the C&O canal to save it for a national park. Sometimes I'd take the vespa over the footbridge and up the canal trail for our outings, leaving a slight trail of grey-blue smoke from the two stroke motor.
When we found the right spot, I'd pull the vespa off in the woods and we'd have our picnic. In those days I was still carrying the Camillus scout knife my dad had given me on my 12th birthday, and it served as our picnic knife. Nice and sharp, it would go right through the hard pepperoni, cleanly slice the cheese and sotft fresh bread. Suzy was impressed. She was interested in how I got it so sharp, as none of the boys she had known in New York had a knife expept for a dull one.
One day she had just finished slicing some food to make a sandwich, and used the bottle opener to pop open a beer, when she made an anouncement.
"I want one like this." was all she said.
"You do? Really?" I was a little off ballance. A guy usually gives his school ring to a girl, or some ring. This was the first I ever heard of a girl asking for a knife. It took a little to adjust to.
"Yeah, its like so cool, to have a knife that does all this." she said waving at the meal. A tin of pate, bottles of beer since we were both 18 at that point, cleanly sliced Italian meats. "I want one"
So that afternoon when we had finished our lunch by the river, we rode back to town and browsed the sporting goods store. The very first one had a display of pocket knives, and on one side were some by Camillus, including a scout knife. We had the store clerk take it out and Suzy handled it and knodded aprovingly. I bought it on the spot, and Suzy asked if they had a lanyard to hang it around her neck. The cleck got a whistle lanyard like a coach would use, and it made Suzy happy. I'm not real sure what the middle age store guy thought of the whole thing. Two slightly disheveled beatnic 18 year olds in black turtle neck shirts on a slightly used dented motorscooter, and the guy buying her a knife to hang around her neck.
We had a great time for the next year or so, but sometimes all good things come to an end. I can't really say if we broke up a bit over a year later because Suzy wanted to move back to New York, or I was enlisting in the army. One of those 6 of one, half dozen of another things. But she was the only girl I gave a knife to, as a going steady thing.
Now not quite 50 years later I've come full circle. The BMW's and the Harley sportster have gone and I'm back riding around on a vespa and loving it. And there's a scout knife in my pocket again.
I was comming back from my Friday morning breakfast with my other retired friends in Frederick, and I had the impulse to stop off on the way home at this antique mall in Frederick. I sometimes look for old pipes to recondition, or just browse. Today there in the case I see a brown delrin scout knife. A Camillus scout knife. Its been a bit neglected with some light rust on the blade and tools, but not too deep. I got it for 5 bucks. I haven't cleaned it up too much, a tiny bit of rubbing with 0000 steel wool and mineral oil. The blade took the familiar wicked edge I remember of the wide thin carbon steel blade. It has the "Be Prepared" motto and the scout creast molded into the jigged brown delrin, and its in my pocket as I type.
It's a funny thing how life can bring you back to the begining.
I think I'll take Karen for a Vespa ride this evening and bring along some pepperoni and fresh Italian bread to slice up, while sitting by the water.
I wonder what kind of knives Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassidy toted on the road.
