The old mans thin bladed knife. Ch 2.
It had been a hard school year. Studying hard to keep on the honor role, working part time at the warehouse for some spending money. Looking at all the paperwork for colleges to apply to. A million things to keep up with. It was a grind, but there had been the old warehouse for release and relaxation.
Ever since the old man at work had introduced him to the odd collection of people at the dilapidated warehouse in a run down industrial park, he'd been training hard with them. In a very weird way, they had become like some sort of shadow family. He didn't even know their names beyond a first name, and he wondered if that was even right. But like a drug, it had become addicting. It had also changed him in many ways. Thinking about them, he almost unconsciously slipped his right hand into his pants pocket and felt the smooth texture of the wood handle that he had sanded and rubbed down with linseed oil. A year ago he'd never have been carrying a knife like this. He'd been enthralled with the latest of the tactical knives, but the old man had changed all that, and more. Now the young man was a fan and even a small collector of the old fashioned pocket knives the old man and his friends carried. The young man had loved feel of the natural materials like wood and bone.
But most of all, his strange new family at the warehouse had introduced him to knives that he never knew existed, like some of the traditional knives from Europe. All were simple thin bladed knives with a single blade. Some locked, some did not. There were Opinels, Douk-Douk's, Mercators, and something called a Taramundi from Spain. As much as he loved his stockman, there was something about the old world and old school knives that pushed his button. Perhaps it was the history of them, that someone a hundred years before was using the same kind of knife. The old lady at the warehouse, who went by the name of Jenny, had introduced him to the Opinel. One day they had taken a break from the workouts and practice sparing to have some coffee. Jenny had brought a coffee cake and she reached into her purse and took out a knife that the young man had never seen before. A round wood handle with an almost fish tail shape to it, and one thin blade that was unbelievably sharp. He picked it up off the table after the cake had been sliced up, and was amazed at how the knife edge had that wicked sharpness that grabbed almost eagerly at the ridges of his thumb print.
"It's called an Opinel. They've been making them in France since about 1890." Jenny told him. "Or at least the Opinel family has been making them that long. The design is actually much older, and has been made by local blacksmiths and cutlers since the 1600's, and were called penny knives. A man named Joseph Opinel was just the first to produce them in really large numbers. They cut really well, don't cost a lot. "
His family saw how he was impressed by the humble Opinel, so the next time he was at the warehouse, they showed him all sorts of knives. They sat around a beat up old wooden table on folding chairs, with cups of coffee. A metal handle knife with a strange figure of a witch doctor on the handle was called a Douk-Douk was handed to him. The blade shape looked like something from the Arabian Nights with an upswept tip and scimitar sweep to the edge. Like the Opinel, it was thin bladed and wickedly sharp. The heavyset man who looked like the out of work Santa Claus, and who said his name was Robert, was the owner, and he told the boy about the history of the Douk-Douk, and how it ended up popular in North Africa.
"But where did you get this one?" the young man asked.
The heavy set man was quiet, and then just replied, "While off abroad on assignment."
The young man knew not to push, and moved on to the next knife being handed him. The owner, a whip thin white haired old man named Joc, handed him a knife that was the strangest. It had no spring at all, and a rounded bolster took up almost a third to half the knife with a wood handle on the back end. Joc called it a Taramundi. Joc called it a friction folder. He pointed out that the Opinel was like that until 1955, when the Opinel had the locking ring added. The young man opened and closed the taramundi several times, feeling the smooth even pull, and actually liking the lack of a back spring. And like the Opinel, it was very lightweight. The young man thought it would be an easy carry in the pocket.
The next knife was shown to him by a slim built old man with snow white hair in a close cropped almost military style. He had a distinct Irish lilt to his voice, he had taught the young man some very dirty tricks to protect himself, and was an adept stick fighter and carried a blackthorn walking stick with him. He handed the young man a knife that was once black. The all metal handle once had a black paint finish, but most of the black paint had worn off in most places. leaving a smooth silvery finish with some black on odd spots. A figure of some kind of animal was stamped into the handle over a K55 stamp. The young man pulled the blade open, and marveled at the smooth well worn feel of it. The long slim tapering spear point blade clicked into place with a lock that held the blade very secure in the open position. It felt different in the young mans hand. A little more weapon like than the Taramundi or Opinel. The slim spear point blade was stained a dark mottled gray by time and use, but a thin bright ribbon of steel showed along the carefully honed edge.
"They've been making these things since about the first world war." The white haired man named Sean told him. "I like them because they lay nice and flat in the pocket, like the Douk-Douk. Nice to carry, but they cut like a strait razor. "
The young man looked over all the knives, and took his time examining them. He saw how they all had a thin blade, with a nice flat grind all the way to the edge. They were cutting tools made to do a job. The job of cutting. But there was something else that struck the young man.
"Uh, not to bring up an awkward question, but one thing I see here that is a little weird. " the young man paused, trying to frame his question in a non offensive way, " All these knives are very cool, and I love the way the blades are designed for cutting. But they all seem to be sort of a, lack of a better word, the cheap end of the cutlery world. Yet you all carry what is the cheapest knife in that part of the world. Why?"
His warehouse family all were quiet, and looked at each other. There seems to be some sort of communication, like people who have known each other so long that there is an almost telepathic sense of what each other is thinking. After a long moment there was a slight nod and ghost of a smile from one to another. An important decision had been come to. The slim Irishman named Sean leaned towards him.
"You see, boyo, sometimes going in some kinds of the places we had to go on assignment, you can't really carry much. You don't want anything on you that would cause attention. So you go through a check point with almost nothing but the everyday items most people carry. A wallet with a few things in it. Some money, maybe a pack of smokes and a book of matchers. A cheap ball point pen. Just stuff. So, you get through, and then pick up what you need from the local market. Stuff the locals would use and carry. Sometimes that's knives like you see us with. The funny thing is, you find out that the stuff the working class uses is really great stuff." Sean told the young man.
Jenny took over from Sean.
"In some places and in times past, the working peasants didn't have the money to spend on luxuries. But they needed tools, and a knife is one of man's oldest tools. You use a knife for something everyday, if only to process food to cook and eat. Or you may be a worker in a vineyard, or farm. You need a cutting tool that is both effective and low cost. Keep in mind, there's a big difference between low cost and cheap. Some East German factory worker may not have a lot of money to spend on a knife, but he needs one to cut. So evolution takes over. They figure out how to make a very good but cost effective knife. Leave out any extra material like separate handle scales. You notice how they all have one piece handles like the metal Douk-Douk and Mercator, and the wood Opinel. In the case of the Taramundi and Opinel, they don't even have a back spring to worry about. If you think about it, the low cost and so called peasants knife is one of the best knives, because they flat out work, and if anything happens to it, you just go get another one. " Jenny told him. "It's all about the quality of the blade. It's all about the function with no frills."
The casual reference to East Germany did not slip by the young man un-noticed.
Over the next few months, the young man gathered a few of the knives they had introduced him to. He put them in a daily rotation, and at his part time job he opened boxes, cut down boxes, and marveled at how the European peasants knife whispered through whatever he had to cut. He didn't even complain when he'd go to put some of his broken down boxes into the recycle bin, and found some boxes that some other lazy employee had just dumped out there. The young man used it as an excuse to experiment on cutting with the old school knives. It didn't matter what knife he used, they all cut so well, he grew to become a devout fan of them. He even used them to help make his dinner. But he developed a special appreciation for the Opinel. The simple construction, great blade, and yet still had a lock if he wanted to engage it. But most of all, he loved the choices. On the website, he found Opinels in a wide variety of sizes, regular or slim handles, different exotic woods, and choice of carbon or stainless steel. He bought a couple of sizes to play with and get the feel of. And when he did need to touch up a blade, the thin edged blades needed only two minutes on the bottom of a coffee mug to be shaving sharp again. Robert at the old warehouse had shown him the coffee mug trick, and the young man wondered what the expensive sharpening systems were for.
"Same thing as all the the fishing lures you see taking up a whole isle down at the sporting goods stores." the big man had said, "it's all about catching the fisherman with nothing to do with catching fish. It's all about the money, kid. As you go through life, you'll see how theres many things that don't really have a true function except to create sales and revenue. That's why they are always trying to build a fancier mouse trap. Sell it at a higher price."
The young man thought about that. The next Saturday he was at his part time job at the mail order outlet, he opened a few boxes, filled some orders, and went to use one of the companies utility knives. The blade was not only dull, but totally useless. Going to the shelf that the supplies were kept at, he got a package of new blades and went to open the plastic blister package. He hesitated, and took out his old heavy duty folder that he had stuck back in his pocket to put it to use alongside his 'new' knives. A side by side experiment. Going to poke through the plastic, he realized the knife was actually too big, and felt awkward. The tip was too thick and dented the plastic and he realized that he'd have to push hard to get the blade tip through the plastic blister material. Putting the knife away, he took out his Opinel and it slid right through the plastic and zipped open on side of the package with ease. Joc had shown him how to take a large mill file and drop the tip of the blade so it was more in line with the center of the handle, and made a better piercing tool. The young man hardly had to push at all to ease the tip right through the plastic of the blister package.
An hour later, he carried some of the boxes he'd emptied while filling orders, out to the recycle bin out back. Again he looked around and saw nobody watching, so he experimented. He took out the thick bladed knife and tried to break down a box. The knife started to cut, but squeaked and rubbed and it was hard going. He put it down and took out his Opinel and the knife slid down the side of the box with a soft whisper. He stood looking down a the Opinel, and he knew he would never use the modern knife again. He'd decided that he didn't want anything in his life that wasn't as functional as possible. He picked up the modern knife and walked over to the trash dumpster, and with only a slight hesitation he pitched the knife in the dumpster. It made a slight hollow clang against the steel as it went in, and the young man just turned his back and walked away. Then he saw the old man watching.
The old man had come out back to take a short smoke break, and he lit his pipe with a wooden match that he struck on the door frame he was leaning against. Sucking in the flame, he let out a cloud of aromatic blue-gray smoke.
"Think you'll miss it?" he asked.
"No," the young man said, "I really don't think I will. In a weird way, you and your friends have woke me up to a different world, in many things, not just knives. But as far as knives go, now that I've seen first hand how a knife is supposed to cut, I won't settle for anything less. That knife I just tossed in the trash was cool when I bought it, but I was in a different space then. Cool was a cool thing to have. But you and Jenny, and the rest have taken me to a new level of knowledge. I'd never ever heard of an Opinel, or a Douk-Douk, let alone a Taramundi. I didn't know the difference between a stockman and a trapper. But now that I've used them, there's no way I can go back to the other stuff. The little stockman you gave me for a quarter out cuts that knife I tossed in the trash. Same for a nice flat ground Barlow. No, I've moved on in my taste for knives, and other things."
The old man nodded and took a long pull on his pipe, leaned his head back a bit and blew a perfect smoke ring that drifted off on the calm spring air.
"Then it's all good." he said.
"Yeah, all good. But are we going to stand here all day jacking our jaws or get some work done, old man?"
The old man took no offense and in fact took more than a little pleasure from the familiarity. The young man and the old man had become good friends over the winter, and had sparred at the dilapidated old warehouse. The young man had grown in skills, but only the week before the old man had put him down on the mat with a grip of iron on his nose and a tap to the temple that could have been a serious blow.
"Old man??!!" he replied to the "Kid" as he called him. "I'll dance on your grave, kid!!"
They both grinned, and the 'kid' said to the old man,"We've got orders to fill."
"We do." the old man said.
They went back into the building and back to work.
It had been a hard school year. Studying hard to keep on the honor role, working part time at the warehouse for some spending money. Looking at all the paperwork for colleges to apply to. A million things to keep up with. It was a grind, but there had been the old warehouse for release and relaxation.
Ever since the old man at work had introduced him to the odd collection of people at the dilapidated warehouse in a run down industrial park, he'd been training hard with them. In a very weird way, they had become like some sort of shadow family. He didn't even know their names beyond a first name, and he wondered if that was even right. But like a drug, it had become addicting. It had also changed him in many ways. Thinking about them, he almost unconsciously slipped his right hand into his pants pocket and felt the smooth texture of the wood handle that he had sanded and rubbed down with linseed oil. A year ago he'd never have been carrying a knife like this. He'd been enthralled with the latest of the tactical knives, but the old man had changed all that, and more. Now the young man was a fan and even a small collector of the old fashioned pocket knives the old man and his friends carried. The young man had loved feel of the natural materials like wood and bone.
But most of all, his strange new family at the warehouse had introduced him to knives that he never knew existed, like some of the traditional knives from Europe. All were simple thin bladed knives with a single blade. Some locked, some did not. There were Opinels, Douk-Douk's, Mercators, and something called a Taramundi from Spain. As much as he loved his stockman, there was something about the old world and old school knives that pushed his button. Perhaps it was the history of them, that someone a hundred years before was using the same kind of knife. The old lady at the warehouse, who went by the name of Jenny, had introduced him to the Opinel. One day they had taken a break from the workouts and practice sparing to have some coffee. Jenny had brought a coffee cake and she reached into her purse and took out a knife that the young man had never seen before. A round wood handle with an almost fish tail shape to it, and one thin blade that was unbelievably sharp. He picked it up off the table after the cake had been sliced up, and was amazed at how the knife edge had that wicked sharpness that grabbed almost eagerly at the ridges of his thumb print.
"It's called an Opinel. They've been making them in France since about 1890." Jenny told him. "Or at least the Opinel family has been making them that long. The design is actually much older, and has been made by local blacksmiths and cutlers since the 1600's, and were called penny knives. A man named Joseph Opinel was just the first to produce them in really large numbers. They cut really well, don't cost a lot. "
His family saw how he was impressed by the humble Opinel, so the next time he was at the warehouse, they showed him all sorts of knives. They sat around a beat up old wooden table on folding chairs, with cups of coffee. A metal handle knife with a strange figure of a witch doctor on the handle was called a Douk-Douk was handed to him. The blade shape looked like something from the Arabian Nights with an upswept tip and scimitar sweep to the edge. Like the Opinel, it was thin bladed and wickedly sharp. The heavyset man who looked like the out of work Santa Claus, and who said his name was Robert, was the owner, and he told the boy about the history of the Douk-Douk, and how it ended up popular in North Africa.
"But where did you get this one?" the young man asked.
The heavy set man was quiet, and then just replied, "While off abroad on assignment."
The young man knew not to push, and moved on to the next knife being handed him. The owner, a whip thin white haired old man named Joc, handed him a knife that was the strangest. It had no spring at all, and a rounded bolster took up almost a third to half the knife with a wood handle on the back end. Joc called it a Taramundi. Joc called it a friction folder. He pointed out that the Opinel was like that until 1955, when the Opinel had the locking ring added. The young man opened and closed the taramundi several times, feeling the smooth even pull, and actually liking the lack of a back spring. And like the Opinel, it was very lightweight. The young man thought it would be an easy carry in the pocket.
The next knife was shown to him by a slim built old man with snow white hair in a close cropped almost military style. He had a distinct Irish lilt to his voice, he had taught the young man some very dirty tricks to protect himself, and was an adept stick fighter and carried a blackthorn walking stick with him. He handed the young man a knife that was once black. The all metal handle once had a black paint finish, but most of the black paint had worn off in most places. leaving a smooth silvery finish with some black on odd spots. A figure of some kind of animal was stamped into the handle over a K55 stamp. The young man pulled the blade open, and marveled at the smooth well worn feel of it. The long slim tapering spear point blade clicked into place with a lock that held the blade very secure in the open position. It felt different in the young mans hand. A little more weapon like than the Taramundi or Opinel. The slim spear point blade was stained a dark mottled gray by time and use, but a thin bright ribbon of steel showed along the carefully honed edge.
"They've been making these things since about the first world war." The white haired man named Sean told him. "I like them because they lay nice and flat in the pocket, like the Douk-Douk. Nice to carry, but they cut like a strait razor. "
The young man looked over all the knives, and took his time examining them. He saw how they all had a thin blade, with a nice flat grind all the way to the edge. They were cutting tools made to do a job. The job of cutting. But there was something else that struck the young man.
"Uh, not to bring up an awkward question, but one thing I see here that is a little weird. " the young man paused, trying to frame his question in a non offensive way, " All these knives are very cool, and I love the way the blades are designed for cutting. But they all seem to be sort of a, lack of a better word, the cheap end of the cutlery world. Yet you all carry what is the cheapest knife in that part of the world. Why?"
His warehouse family all were quiet, and looked at each other. There seems to be some sort of communication, like people who have known each other so long that there is an almost telepathic sense of what each other is thinking. After a long moment there was a slight nod and ghost of a smile from one to another. An important decision had been come to. The slim Irishman named Sean leaned towards him.
"You see, boyo, sometimes going in some kinds of the places we had to go on assignment, you can't really carry much. You don't want anything on you that would cause attention. So you go through a check point with almost nothing but the everyday items most people carry. A wallet with a few things in it. Some money, maybe a pack of smokes and a book of matchers. A cheap ball point pen. Just stuff. So, you get through, and then pick up what you need from the local market. Stuff the locals would use and carry. Sometimes that's knives like you see us with. The funny thing is, you find out that the stuff the working class uses is really great stuff." Sean told the young man.
Jenny took over from Sean.
"In some places and in times past, the working peasants didn't have the money to spend on luxuries. But they needed tools, and a knife is one of man's oldest tools. You use a knife for something everyday, if only to process food to cook and eat. Or you may be a worker in a vineyard, or farm. You need a cutting tool that is both effective and low cost. Keep in mind, there's a big difference between low cost and cheap. Some East German factory worker may not have a lot of money to spend on a knife, but he needs one to cut. So evolution takes over. They figure out how to make a very good but cost effective knife. Leave out any extra material like separate handle scales. You notice how they all have one piece handles like the metal Douk-Douk and Mercator, and the wood Opinel. In the case of the Taramundi and Opinel, they don't even have a back spring to worry about. If you think about it, the low cost and so called peasants knife is one of the best knives, because they flat out work, and if anything happens to it, you just go get another one. " Jenny told him. "It's all about the quality of the blade. It's all about the function with no frills."
The casual reference to East Germany did not slip by the young man un-noticed.
Over the next few months, the young man gathered a few of the knives they had introduced him to. He put them in a daily rotation, and at his part time job he opened boxes, cut down boxes, and marveled at how the European peasants knife whispered through whatever he had to cut. He didn't even complain when he'd go to put some of his broken down boxes into the recycle bin, and found some boxes that some other lazy employee had just dumped out there. The young man used it as an excuse to experiment on cutting with the old school knives. It didn't matter what knife he used, they all cut so well, he grew to become a devout fan of them. He even used them to help make his dinner. But he developed a special appreciation for the Opinel. The simple construction, great blade, and yet still had a lock if he wanted to engage it. But most of all, he loved the choices. On the website, he found Opinels in a wide variety of sizes, regular or slim handles, different exotic woods, and choice of carbon or stainless steel. He bought a couple of sizes to play with and get the feel of. And when he did need to touch up a blade, the thin edged blades needed only two minutes on the bottom of a coffee mug to be shaving sharp again. Robert at the old warehouse had shown him the coffee mug trick, and the young man wondered what the expensive sharpening systems were for.
"Same thing as all the the fishing lures you see taking up a whole isle down at the sporting goods stores." the big man had said, "it's all about catching the fisherman with nothing to do with catching fish. It's all about the money, kid. As you go through life, you'll see how theres many things that don't really have a true function except to create sales and revenue. That's why they are always trying to build a fancier mouse trap. Sell it at a higher price."
The young man thought about that. The next Saturday he was at his part time job at the mail order outlet, he opened a few boxes, filled some orders, and went to use one of the companies utility knives. The blade was not only dull, but totally useless. Going to the shelf that the supplies were kept at, he got a package of new blades and went to open the plastic blister package. He hesitated, and took out his old heavy duty folder that he had stuck back in his pocket to put it to use alongside his 'new' knives. A side by side experiment. Going to poke through the plastic, he realized the knife was actually too big, and felt awkward. The tip was too thick and dented the plastic and he realized that he'd have to push hard to get the blade tip through the plastic blister material. Putting the knife away, he took out his Opinel and it slid right through the plastic and zipped open on side of the package with ease. Joc had shown him how to take a large mill file and drop the tip of the blade so it was more in line with the center of the handle, and made a better piercing tool. The young man hardly had to push at all to ease the tip right through the plastic of the blister package.
An hour later, he carried some of the boxes he'd emptied while filling orders, out to the recycle bin out back. Again he looked around and saw nobody watching, so he experimented. He took out the thick bladed knife and tried to break down a box. The knife started to cut, but squeaked and rubbed and it was hard going. He put it down and took out his Opinel and the knife slid down the side of the box with a soft whisper. He stood looking down a the Opinel, and he knew he would never use the modern knife again. He'd decided that he didn't want anything in his life that wasn't as functional as possible. He picked up the modern knife and walked over to the trash dumpster, and with only a slight hesitation he pitched the knife in the dumpster. It made a slight hollow clang against the steel as it went in, and the young man just turned his back and walked away. Then he saw the old man watching.
The old man had come out back to take a short smoke break, and he lit his pipe with a wooden match that he struck on the door frame he was leaning against. Sucking in the flame, he let out a cloud of aromatic blue-gray smoke.
"Think you'll miss it?" he asked.
"No," the young man said, "I really don't think I will. In a weird way, you and your friends have woke me up to a different world, in many things, not just knives. But as far as knives go, now that I've seen first hand how a knife is supposed to cut, I won't settle for anything less. That knife I just tossed in the trash was cool when I bought it, but I was in a different space then. Cool was a cool thing to have. But you and Jenny, and the rest have taken me to a new level of knowledge. I'd never ever heard of an Opinel, or a Douk-Douk, let alone a Taramundi. I didn't know the difference between a stockman and a trapper. But now that I've used them, there's no way I can go back to the other stuff. The little stockman you gave me for a quarter out cuts that knife I tossed in the trash. Same for a nice flat ground Barlow. No, I've moved on in my taste for knives, and other things."
The old man nodded and took a long pull on his pipe, leaned his head back a bit and blew a perfect smoke ring that drifted off on the calm spring air.
"Then it's all good." he said.
"Yeah, all good. But are we going to stand here all day jacking our jaws or get some work done, old man?"
The old man took no offense and in fact took more than a little pleasure from the familiarity. The young man and the old man had become good friends over the winter, and had sparred at the dilapidated old warehouse. The young man had grown in skills, but only the week before the old man had put him down on the mat with a grip of iron on his nose and a tap to the temple that could have been a serious blow.
"Old man??!!" he replied to the "Kid" as he called him. "I'll dance on your grave, kid!!"
They both grinned, and the 'kid' said to the old man,"We've got orders to fill."
"We do." the old man said.
They went back into the building and back to work.
) 
:thumbup: You could write "A Young Man's Guide to Knives and Life." Just sayin'
