My Uncle Paul was a bonafide knife knut.
Back then, the standard pocket knife of the era was those little two blade jacks with cracked ice or imitation pearl scales. They seemed to be the knife that everybody carried who may not have been a knife knut, but the times were such that if a man had pants on, he had a knife in his pocket. Uncle Paul took carrying a knife as serious business. Since he was lead man in the machine shop up at the Curtis-Wright aircraft engine plant in Patterson New Jersey, he'd have all these little two blade jackknives with advertising logos from bering companies, tool companies, companies I never heard of.
Of course when he'd come down for a visit, or we to them, I'd become owner of a new little advertising knife. The nice thing about those advertising knives was, that they actually had nice thin carbon steel blades that sharpened up good and cut well. And Uncle Paul was one of those old depression era guys who could do anything with a small pocket knife.
This one weekend, he and Aunt Betty came down to Maryland, and we had a trip planned down to 'the shore'. Since he was already loaded in his Studabaker Champ, we all got in and off we went. Like always, I got to sit up front between Uncle paul and dad while they smoked thier pipes and solved the problems of the world. It was a great education to listen in on those two men, they were at least the equivelent of the senior members of the liers circle at the Jenkin's store back home.
One of the great traditons of the Maryland Eastern shore is roadside BBQ. Beef BBQ, Pork BBQ, you're pick. On the way down to 'the shore' we stopped at a roadside cooker, and we got some BBQ to go. There's something about meat cooking over a fire to get the taste buds going. Maybe it goes all the way back to the cave. Fire and meat.
Anyways, we go down the road a bit, and we find a nice shady spot overlooking the Chesapeake Bay. We get all set to dig in and then stop. Aunt Betty looks at Uncle Paul and asks in her New Joisy accent,
"Paulie, did ya get the forks?"
There had been a large cup with plastic forks on the BBQ stand. Uncle Paul looks blank, looks at dad. Dad looks at mom.
We don't have any eating utencils.
"It's okay, we got it covered!" said Uncle Paul as he walked over to some trees.
Taking one of the several little white handle advertising jackknives out of a pocket, he cut some small branches of the low hanging limbs. He seemed particular about which branches he cut, looking for just the right ones. His little knife went right through the wood, as Uncle Paul, master machinist that he was, knew a little something about making a sharp edge. He always had that small piece of broken off brown india stone in his tobacco pouch, and kept his knives well honed.
He'd cut a number of branches, and dad seemed to know what he had in mind. Uncle Paul brought the cut branches over and dad had his little peanut out. The two of them began to take each fork of a branch and trim it down to a two pronged fork. Before you could believe it, they had wooden forks for all to eat with. Uncle Paul's little white handle two blade jack had saved the day. We had a good lunch of sliced BBQ cut up wth dad and Uncle Paul's pocket knives, and scooped up with the two pronged wood forks. Cold bottles of Root beer washed it all down.
Sometimes a sharp edge is a handy thing to have.
Back then, the standard pocket knife of the era was those little two blade jacks with cracked ice or imitation pearl scales. They seemed to be the knife that everybody carried who may not have been a knife knut, but the times were such that if a man had pants on, he had a knife in his pocket. Uncle Paul took carrying a knife as serious business. Since he was lead man in the machine shop up at the Curtis-Wright aircraft engine plant in Patterson New Jersey, he'd have all these little two blade jackknives with advertising logos from bering companies, tool companies, companies I never heard of.
Of course when he'd come down for a visit, or we to them, I'd become owner of a new little advertising knife. The nice thing about those advertising knives was, that they actually had nice thin carbon steel blades that sharpened up good and cut well. And Uncle Paul was one of those old depression era guys who could do anything with a small pocket knife.
This one weekend, he and Aunt Betty came down to Maryland, and we had a trip planned down to 'the shore'. Since he was already loaded in his Studabaker Champ, we all got in and off we went. Like always, I got to sit up front between Uncle paul and dad while they smoked thier pipes and solved the problems of the world. It was a great education to listen in on those two men, they were at least the equivelent of the senior members of the liers circle at the Jenkin's store back home.
One of the great traditons of the Maryland Eastern shore is roadside BBQ. Beef BBQ, Pork BBQ, you're pick. On the way down to 'the shore' we stopped at a roadside cooker, and we got some BBQ to go. There's something about meat cooking over a fire to get the taste buds going. Maybe it goes all the way back to the cave. Fire and meat.
Anyways, we go down the road a bit, and we find a nice shady spot overlooking the Chesapeake Bay. We get all set to dig in and then stop. Aunt Betty looks at Uncle Paul and asks in her New Joisy accent,
"Paulie, did ya get the forks?"
There had been a large cup with plastic forks on the BBQ stand. Uncle Paul looks blank, looks at dad. Dad looks at mom.
We don't have any eating utencils.
"It's okay, we got it covered!" said Uncle Paul as he walked over to some trees.
Taking one of the several little white handle advertising jackknives out of a pocket, he cut some small branches of the low hanging limbs. He seemed particular about which branches he cut, looking for just the right ones. His little knife went right through the wood, as Uncle Paul, master machinist that he was, knew a little something about making a sharp edge. He always had that small piece of broken off brown india stone in his tobacco pouch, and kept his knives well honed.
He'd cut a number of branches, and dad seemed to know what he had in mind. Uncle Paul brought the cut branches over and dad had his little peanut out. The two of them began to take each fork of a branch and trim it down to a two pronged fork. Before you could believe it, they had wooden forks for all to eat with. Uncle Paul's little white handle two blade jack had saved the day. We had a good lunch of sliced BBQ cut up wth dad and Uncle Paul's pocket knives, and scooped up with the two pronged wood forks. Cold bottles of Root beer washed it all down.
Sometimes a sharp edge is a handy thing to have.
