About 20 years ago my Dad, great uncle Durph and myself were out fishing down by Bay Shore, MD in Shallow Creek. On the way home to Hickory to drop off Durph we passed an estate sale in Belair. Being the eternal bargain hunters we stopped to look. Durph and Dad went to look at the tools table and I was just wandering among the other tables. I spotted a box full of pocketknives and called Dad over. He and Durph started to finger through the contents when I saw Durph get the look.
To recognize the "look" you had to know Durph. He was a collector, aka horse trader, of the old school. He was raised in Boone N.C. and his loves were coon dogs, guitars and pocketknives, in that order. Beyond all that he loved the deal, the trade and coming out on top. He had a guitar collection of Martins, Gretsch's, Dobros, Nationals etc that would take your breath away. He had pre-war Cases and Remingtons still in packaging. They were beautiful to look at but you had to put up with Durph to see em. He would steal you blind in a trade and somehow convince you that he did you a favor.
Well in that box was a pre-war Case Large congress in Stag that looked like it had never been used, NIB in fact. There were also some red-bone whittlers etc. Durph went into trader mode and started to sweet talk the women having the sale about buying those box of pocketknives. He was pulling out the stops about how his "Boyscout Troop" could use them etc. He could not stand kids. When we were young and family visited, all the minors had to stay out out on the porch. LOL.
Well I could tell my Dad was getting peeved. You could see that the woman, who was in her 60's, did not have much and was living on a fixed income. The sale was because her husband had recently passed. At this point my Dad stepped in and said he was interested too but could not afford them. He said some of the knives were pretty valuable but he knew some collectors that would pay top dollar. Durph got mad and said the whole box might be worth $200-300 if that and my Dad should not be getting her hopes up. The lady gasped and was kind of flustered at that sum. My Dad then said she could easily quadruple that figure. He gave her his card and said he would gladly sell them for her and return the proceeds to her. They struck a deal and Dad put the box in the trunk.
OMG... Durph was mad. He cussed, cursed and lashed dad the whole way home. About 5 miles down the road Dad had had enough and said "Durph were blood but do you really need another great deal to stick in your shoeboxes. When is enough enough. If you would have offered her $300 bucks to begin with I would have stayed out of the way but you were trying to get all of them for nothing" This went back and forth for 45 minutes until they both lapsed into silence.
A week later and my Dad, myself and a work-mate of mine, Jim, were going to a gun show at the 5th Regimental Armory in Baltimore. Jim was a childhood friend that ended up working at the same hospital I did after college. He was doing contract programming for the I.T. dept to supplement his income. Dad had two of the Case knives with him to try selling, including the congress. Jim saw it and said he would buy it. This shocked Dad. Jim is not a collector. He had a SAK and that's it. He collected nothing and was only going to the show to hang out.
Jim was always a doer. He bought nice things and took care of them but his enjoyment was always perfecting things. He was a E.E. that graduated from Michigan U. He built his own house, restored his own cars etc. When he realized that he was going to have a son he called me because he wanted to build a tree house. This was no ordinary tree house, it was 40 feet up an oak tree and had a living room, dining area, 2 bedrooms, electricity, and cistern water. He spent 2 months designing it and was calling architects in Oregon and asking questions about how to account for growth of the tree and movement from wind. It took us a month too build and to this day is still standing.
For Jim to ask to buy this knife was out of character. My dad said if Jim was starting a knife collection this was an expensive way to do it. Jim's response was he didn't want to collect he wanted to use it and he really liked it. My dad was dumbfounded and speechless. I said "Jim that knife will probably fetch $1000 or more. Jim replied "How about I give you $1150. I'd have to give you a check though I don't carry that much cash" The deal was struck and Jim admired the knife for about 5 mins then stuck it in his right front pocket. Whenever I asked why he bought it he would just smile and said it felt right.
My Dad ended up getting about $2500 for all the knives and delivered it to the woman about 2 weeks later.
Fast forward to now. Durph died in 1997 from pancreatic cancer. Most of his collections were stolen by home health aides and what was left my Dad had to auction to cover his nursing home expenses. Dad went in 2003 and I just got back from Jim's funeral a few months ago. He died of brain cancer at the age of 49.
When I flew home for the funeral I ended up spending a lot of time with Jim's son, Dan. We reminisced about the tree house, the time we rebuilt a TR3 engine and the fight his Dad and Mom got in when we dropped it on the kitchen floor as we were carrying it to the basement. Dan had lot's of questions about his Dad's youth and wanted to hear all the old stories. He invited me to dinner with his wife that evening. When we entered his house he collected the mail on the table. He pulled that Case congress out of his pocket and started to slit the envelopes. It was the same knife and I asked to see it. "Where did you get this ?", I asked. "Dad always had it. He gave it to me before he went into hospice." The spear point and coping blade had been sharpened down a lot, it had a heavy patina and the bolsters were scuffed and knicked. Overall very pocket worn but in great shape. I could not speak and I felt myself tearing up. "Do you want to hear a story about this knife?" I said.
To recognize the "look" you had to know Durph. He was a collector, aka horse trader, of the old school. He was raised in Boone N.C. and his loves were coon dogs, guitars and pocketknives, in that order. Beyond all that he loved the deal, the trade and coming out on top. He had a guitar collection of Martins, Gretsch's, Dobros, Nationals etc that would take your breath away. He had pre-war Cases and Remingtons still in packaging. They were beautiful to look at but you had to put up with Durph to see em. He would steal you blind in a trade and somehow convince you that he did you a favor.
Well in that box was a pre-war Case Large congress in Stag that looked like it had never been used, NIB in fact. There were also some red-bone whittlers etc. Durph went into trader mode and started to sweet talk the women having the sale about buying those box of pocketknives. He was pulling out the stops about how his "Boyscout Troop" could use them etc. He could not stand kids. When we were young and family visited, all the minors had to stay out out on the porch. LOL.
Well I could tell my Dad was getting peeved. You could see that the woman, who was in her 60's, did not have much and was living on a fixed income. The sale was because her husband had recently passed. At this point my Dad stepped in and said he was interested too but could not afford them. He said some of the knives were pretty valuable but he knew some collectors that would pay top dollar. Durph got mad and said the whole box might be worth $200-300 if that and my Dad should not be getting her hopes up. The lady gasped and was kind of flustered at that sum. My Dad then said she could easily quadruple that figure. He gave her his card and said he would gladly sell them for her and return the proceeds to her. They struck a deal and Dad put the box in the trunk.
OMG... Durph was mad. He cussed, cursed and lashed dad the whole way home. About 5 miles down the road Dad had had enough and said "Durph were blood but do you really need another great deal to stick in your shoeboxes. When is enough enough. If you would have offered her $300 bucks to begin with I would have stayed out of the way but you were trying to get all of them for nothing" This went back and forth for 45 minutes until they both lapsed into silence.
A week later and my Dad, myself and a work-mate of mine, Jim, were going to a gun show at the 5th Regimental Armory in Baltimore. Jim was a childhood friend that ended up working at the same hospital I did after college. He was doing contract programming for the I.T. dept to supplement his income. Dad had two of the Case knives with him to try selling, including the congress. Jim saw it and said he would buy it. This shocked Dad. Jim is not a collector. He had a SAK and that's it. He collected nothing and was only going to the show to hang out.
Jim was always a doer. He bought nice things and took care of them but his enjoyment was always perfecting things. He was a E.E. that graduated from Michigan U. He built his own house, restored his own cars etc. When he realized that he was going to have a son he called me because he wanted to build a tree house. This was no ordinary tree house, it was 40 feet up an oak tree and had a living room, dining area, 2 bedrooms, electricity, and cistern water. He spent 2 months designing it and was calling architects in Oregon and asking questions about how to account for growth of the tree and movement from wind. It took us a month too build and to this day is still standing.
For Jim to ask to buy this knife was out of character. My dad said if Jim was starting a knife collection this was an expensive way to do it. Jim's response was he didn't want to collect he wanted to use it and he really liked it. My dad was dumbfounded and speechless. I said "Jim that knife will probably fetch $1000 or more. Jim replied "How about I give you $1150. I'd have to give you a check though I don't carry that much cash" The deal was struck and Jim admired the knife for about 5 mins then stuck it in his right front pocket. Whenever I asked why he bought it he would just smile and said it felt right.
My Dad ended up getting about $2500 for all the knives and delivered it to the woman about 2 weeks later.
Fast forward to now. Durph died in 1997 from pancreatic cancer. Most of his collections were stolen by home health aides and what was left my Dad had to auction to cover his nursing home expenses. Dad went in 2003 and I just got back from Jim's funeral a few months ago. He died of brain cancer at the age of 49.
When I flew home for the funeral I ended up spending a lot of time with Jim's son, Dan. We reminisced about the tree house, the time we rebuilt a TR3 engine and the fight his Dad and Mom got in when we dropped it on the kitchen floor as we were carrying it to the basement. Dan had lot's of questions about his Dad's youth and wanted to hear all the old stories. He invited me to dinner with his wife that evening. When we entered his house he collected the mail on the table. He pulled that Case congress out of his pocket and started to slit the envelopes. It was the same knife and I asked to see it. "Where did you get this ?", I asked. "Dad always had it. He gave it to me before he went into hospice." The spear point and coping blade had been sharpened down a lot, it had a heavy patina and the bolsters were scuffed and knicked. Overall very pocket worn but in great shape. I could not speak and I felt myself tearing up. "Do you want to hear a story about this knife?" I said.
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