When dad moved us out from the apartment in Washington D.C. to the house in the outer suburbs, it was a matter of adjusting to some things. There was home maintanence and repairs to be done. This ment a trip to Pendaltons's Hardware. Pendalton's was owned by one of those vanishing breeds of men who seemed to know every nut, bolt, and can of varnish in existence, and when to use them. Grey haired, middle age, with those half glasses perched on the end of his nose for reading, Mr. Pendaton was a genious for finding just what you needed for that repair.
It was in the little bedroom community of Wheaton Maryland, back when Wheaton did not have alot out there. Pendalton's was on the corner right in the middle of Wheaton, and it had creaky wood floors, a little coating of dust over everything, and bins of everything you'd need to fix anything under a shingle rood. It also had the Case.
Up front near the old fashioned cash register, there was a large vertical glass display case of almost every knife Case made. Pocket knives, folding hunters, sheath knives, little pen knives. For a young boy it was a heady experiance. Being in the scouts, I had the scout knife dad had given me, but I needed a sheath knife. In the display was the Case version of the official scout knife. Stacked leather handle, 4 1/2 inches of gleaming blade, birds head aluminum pommel. I lusted after that knife, and would practicly press my nose against the glass, wishing I could lay my hands on it.
Mr. Pendalton was a very understanding man, and would take it out and let me heft it. It was he who made the suggestion.
"Son, I know you want this knife, and I'll make you a deal. You put something down on it, and I'll hold it just for you. When you get some money, come in and make a payment, and I'll keep a record right on it, and in no time you'll have yourself a knife."
I dug into my pockets, and came up with .38 cents. Mr. Pendalton put a receipt on the box with a rubber band, and the crusade was on. That fall and winter I threw myself into paying off Mr. Pendalton for the knife. I canvassed the nieghborhood for anyone who needed leaves raked. When it snowed, I got our walk shoveled in record time so I could ring doorbells and get some walks shoveled for extra cash. When I got a few bucks, I would go to Mr. Pendalton and pay him what I had, and he'd take a pencil from his shop apron and subtract it from the what was owed.
That winter I learned the value of finance. Slowly I watched the number come down. 50 cents here, a dollar there. I asked dad for an advance on my allowance, and he asked why. When I told him, he thought about, then said no.
"Son, you know how your mother and I save those trading stamps?" He explained patently. In those days grocery stores, some gas stations, and other buisnesses gave away these trading stamps. You saved them up, and could cash them in for things. Dad got a new charcoal BBQ grill for the back porch one summer, and mom got some patio furnature. "It's because we're saving for something in the future. Sometimes we can't have everything we want just when we want it, but we have to save up for it. Or plan for it. Thats why we always save those stamps. You're doing a good job paying off that knife, keep at it. "
I kept at it.
Then came the magic day. I walked into the hardware store and paid off the ballance of what was left. Mr. Pendalton took of the receipt from under the rubber band, and with a ball point pen marked it "Paid in full" and handed me the knife.
"Here ya go son. Now don't cut yourself, its sharp."
I don't know if a balloon tire Schwinn bike could reach warp speed, but I tore home to try it out. On the way home I ran into Everett Snyder, one of my scout cronies. Ev of course had to look at my new knife. We went into the woods next to the house, and whittled, cut, and whittled some some more.
That Friday I had it belted on for the scout meeting at the church. No sooner I walk in, Mr. Van spots me, and looks at the knife on my belt. I had my Tote-n-chip badge so it was no problem there.
"So, you paid it off at last?" he asked, "Lets have a look at a brand new knife."
Very proudly, I handed him the knife butt first, and he looked it over very carefully. I had touched up the blade after all the break-in cutting me and Ev had done with it, and I had rubbed some bee's wax into the leather handle and sheath. Mr. Van knodded in an aproving manner.
"It'll do to go up the beach with!" he said, as he handed it back to me and then walked away to the front of the room with that strait backed marine walk, to call the meeting to order.
"Wow!" whispered Ev, "Did ya hear that?"
In our time with Mr. Van, we learned that phrase was very high praise from him. It must have been a marine thing.
It was in the little bedroom community of Wheaton Maryland, back when Wheaton did not have alot out there. Pendalton's was on the corner right in the middle of Wheaton, and it had creaky wood floors, a little coating of dust over everything, and bins of everything you'd need to fix anything under a shingle rood. It also had the Case.
Up front near the old fashioned cash register, there was a large vertical glass display case of almost every knife Case made. Pocket knives, folding hunters, sheath knives, little pen knives. For a young boy it was a heady experiance. Being in the scouts, I had the scout knife dad had given me, but I needed a sheath knife. In the display was the Case version of the official scout knife. Stacked leather handle, 4 1/2 inches of gleaming blade, birds head aluminum pommel. I lusted after that knife, and would practicly press my nose against the glass, wishing I could lay my hands on it.
Mr. Pendalton was a very understanding man, and would take it out and let me heft it. It was he who made the suggestion.
"Son, I know you want this knife, and I'll make you a deal. You put something down on it, and I'll hold it just for you. When you get some money, come in and make a payment, and I'll keep a record right on it, and in no time you'll have yourself a knife."
I dug into my pockets, and came up with .38 cents. Mr. Pendalton put a receipt on the box with a rubber band, and the crusade was on. That fall and winter I threw myself into paying off Mr. Pendalton for the knife. I canvassed the nieghborhood for anyone who needed leaves raked. When it snowed, I got our walk shoveled in record time so I could ring doorbells and get some walks shoveled for extra cash. When I got a few bucks, I would go to Mr. Pendalton and pay him what I had, and he'd take a pencil from his shop apron and subtract it from the what was owed.
That winter I learned the value of finance. Slowly I watched the number come down. 50 cents here, a dollar there. I asked dad for an advance on my allowance, and he asked why. When I told him, he thought about, then said no.
"Son, you know how your mother and I save those trading stamps?" He explained patently. In those days grocery stores, some gas stations, and other buisnesses gave away these trading stamps. You saved them up, and could cash them in for things. Dad got a new charcoal BBQ grill for the back porch one summer, and mom got some patio furnature. "It's because we're saving for something in the future. Sometimes we can't have everything we want just when we want it, but we have to save up for it. Or plan for it. Thats why we always save those stamps. You're doing a good job paying off that knife, keep at it. "
I kept at it.
Then came the magic day. I walked into the hardware store and paid off the ballance of what was left. Mr. Pendalton took of the receipt from under the rubber band, and with a ball point pen marked it "Paid in full" and handed me the knife.
"Here ya go son. Now don't cut yourself, its sharp."
I don't know if a balloon tire Schwinn bike could reach warp speed, but I tore home to try it out. On the way home I ran into Everett Snyder, one of my scout cronies. Ev of course had to look at my new knife. We went into the woods next to the house, and whittled, cut, and whittled some some more.
That Friday I had it belted on for the scout meeting at the church. No sooner I walk in, Mr. Van spots me, and looks at the knife on my belt. I had my Tote-n-chip badge so it was no problem there.
"So, you paid it off at last?" he asked, "Lets have a look at a brand new knife."
Very proudly, I handed him the knife butt first, and he looked it over very carefully. I had touched up the blade after all the break-in cutting me and Ev had done with it, and I had rubbed some bee's wax into the leather handle and sheath. Mr. Van knodded in an aproving manner.
"It'll do to go up the beach with!" he said, as he handed it back to me and then walked away to the front of the room with that strait backed marine walk, to call the meeting to order.
"Wow!" whispered Ev, "Did ya hear that?"
In our time with Mr. Van, we learned that phrase was very high praise from him. It must have been a marine thing.
ale H.
