- Joined
- Feb 7, 2000
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- 6,673
I found this at <http://cychron.com/091901/knife.htm>
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by Robert Mercer, Chronicle Adviser
I have owned a pocketknife all my life.
I have carried a pocketknife since I was 6 years old.
All the men in my family have proudly carried knives.
However, as of Sept. 11, the pocketknife is now an item to be confiscated.
My first knife was a true penknife, meant for trimming the point of a quill pen or for sharpening a pencil. It was my grandfathers, given to me at birth. At age 6, I was permitted to carry the little one-inch green handled knife with a triangular blade.
For farmers, knives are just another tool. My father and my uncle had everyday knives and Sunday knives that would eventually become everyday knives when an everyday knife broke or was lost.
Every pickup glove compartment also contained a pocketknife sealed in a jar of alcohol. Often, it had been passed down for generations. Knowledge of how to use it's razor sharp blade was a rite of passage for a young stockman.
"Let me see your knife," my uncle demanded. I was 10 and tagging along behind an uncle in the Texas panhandle. He examined the black handled 2-inch, single-bladed Barlow knife. "I won't have a hand on the place," he declared, "that doesn't carry a good knife."
I hated California when we moved here. Knives were illegal at school. But I carried one, otherwise. It was always sharp. More than one fool cut his finger checking the blade.
It was a tool, never a weapon. Our parents taught us better.
The gang members carried the illegal switch blades. I was "held up" on my paper route. I did not want to part with my money and the gang really didn't want to cut me. I never blamed the knife for criminal behavior.
The most expensive knife I carried was a Buck Knife. I was aboard ship and a good knife was required for deck work. This knife would hold an edge when cutting hawser, opening a can of c-rations, or removing the last of battleship gray paint from armored steel. Today, it rests in a trunk with all the momentos of those days as a WestPac sailor.
One knife I remember I only had few months. It was a Navy electricians knife, a knife blade that ended in a screwdriver and has a notch for stripping insulation off electrical wire. I traded it on a Micronesian island for a set of three, shell-bladed adzes used for carving out dug-out canoes. I still have those.
I have accumulated many knives in many drawers and backpacks. I have carried several variations of the Swiss Army knife as a photojournalist, their multiple blades making possible the repair of cameras, tripods and camera bags. I still carry one in my brief case for computer repairs. I have a miniature Swiss Army knife with scissors in my datebook along with a micro Maglite for real emergencies.
For fishing and backpacking I had a huge Swiss Army knife that even included a saw blade. I found it while fishing on an Ozark stream over a decade ago. It cut line, paper and even firewood with all those blades. I lost it this summer, when I tripped in the same stream. Hopefully, another fisherman will get another decade of use from it.
My Sunday knife used to be an elegant Uncle John given me by my children. It is a knife with a lifetime guarantee. You lose it, the company replaces it. I lost it between the seat cushions of a Greyhound bus three years ago. Unfortunately, I lost the guarantee years before that. My daughter replaced it with a mongrammed miniture Buck Knife.
Today, I put the knife on my night stand instead of in my pocket. Just as I sold my customized 20 guage eight years ago when the world became to small for rabbit hunting, so I guess the world has become too small for a fine pocketknife.
At the airports and at some Los Angeles museums, they are confiscating all knives, embroidery scissors and even finger nail clippers. I just cannot even see the relationship between a finger nail clipper and that switch blade, the government tells me there is one. Of course, in military training, they teach one how to kill with a Cross pen or a rolled-up newspaper.
I recall a photograph in, perhaps, a 1958 Life Magazine showing pocket knives laid out on a table with tags attached. The caption said the knives belonged to citizens of a Communist country who wanted to attend the Eastern Block country's legislature. The caption noted the government was so evil it did not trust it's own citizens. I looked at this and I was glad I would never grow up to live in such a place.
=======================
by Robert Mercer, Chronicle Adviser
I have owned a pocketknife all my life.
I have carried a pocketknife since I was 6 years old.
All the men in my family have proudly carried knives.
However, as of Sept. 11, the pocketknife is now an item to be confiscated.
My first knife was a true penknife, meant for trimming the point of a quill pen or for sharpening a pencil. It was my grandfathers, given to me at birth. At age 6, I was permitted to carry the little one-inch green handled knife with a triangular blade.
For farmers, knives are just another tool. My father and my uncle had everyday knives and Sunday knives that would eventually become everyday knives when an everyday knife broke or was lost.
Every pickup glove compartment also contained a pocketknife sealed in a jar of alcohol. Often, it had been passed down for generations. Knowledge of how to use it's razor sharp blade was a rite of passage for a young stockman.
"Let me see your knife," my uncle demanded. I was 10 and tagging along behind an uncle in the Texas panhandle. He examined the black handled 2-inch, single-bladed Barlow knife. "I won't have a hand on the place," he declared, "that doesn't carry a good knife."
I hated California when we moved here. Knives were illegal at school. But I carried one, otherwise. It was always sharp. More than one fool cut his finger checking the blade.
It was a tool, never a weapon. Our parents taught us better.
The gang members carried the illegal switch blades. I was "held up" on my paper route. I did not want to part with my money and the gang really didn't want to cut me. I never blamed the knife for criminal behavior.
The most expensive knife I carried was a Buck Knife. I was aboard ship and a good knife was required for deck work. This knife would hold an edge when cutting hawser, opening a can of c-rations, or removing the last of battleship gray paint from armored steel. Today, it rests in a trunk with all the momentos of those days as a WestPac sailor.
One knife I remember I only had few months. It was a Navy electricians knife, a knife blade that ended in a screwdriver and has a notch for stripping insulation off electrical wire. I traded it on a Micronesian island for a set of three, shell-bladed adzes used for carving out dug-out canoes. I still have those.
I have accumulated many knives in many drawers and backpacks. I have carried several variations of the Swiss Army knife as a photojournalist, their multiple blades making possible the repair of cameras, tripods and camera bags. I still carry one in my brief case for computer repairs. I have a miniature Swiss Army knife with scissors in my datebook along with a micro Maglite for real emergencies.
For fishing and backpacking I had a huge Swiss Army knife that even included a saw blade. I found it while fishing on an Ozark stream over a decade ago. It cut line, paper and even firewood with all those blades. I lost it this summer, when I tripped in the same stream. Hopefully, another fisherman will get another decade of use from it.
My Sunday knife used to be an elegant Uncle John given me by my children. It is a knife with a lifetime guarantee. You lose it, the company replaces it. I lost it between the seat cushions of a Greyhound bus three years ago. Unfortunately, I lost the guarantee years before that. My daughter replaced it with a mongrammed miniture Buck Knife.
Today, I put the knife on my night stand instead of in my pocket. Just as I sold my customized 20 guage eight years ago when the world became to small for rabbit hunting, so I guess the world has become too small for a fine pocketknife.
At the airports and at some Los Angeles museums, they are confiscating all knives, embroidery scissors and even finger nail clippers. I just cannot even see the relationship between a finger nail clipper and that switch blade, the government tells me there is one. Of course, in military training, they teach one how to kill with a Cross pen or a rolled-up newspaper.
I recall a photograph in, perhaps, a 1958 Life Magazine showing pocket knives laid out on a table with tags attached. The caption said the knives belonged to citizens of a Communist country who wanted to attend the Eastern Block country's legislature. The caption noted the government was so evil it did not trust it's own citizens. I looked at this and I was glad I would never grow up to live in such a place.
