I had a great time looking at the knives in a recent post by Win Heger. Those well used little two bladers made me think of another old machinist, my Uncle Paul.
For some reason, he too prefered the slim little two blade pen knives. He used them like the precision tools he used in his trade. When I became a machinist myself, dad gave me Uncle Paul's tools that he had from when Paul passed away, years before. I ended up using some tools that were over 60 years old that were still good. Starrat mic's, scales, and some unique wrenches from the 1920's and 30's that looked like the forrunners for those 4 jaw Sears craftsmen wrenches they came out with in the 1990's.
One time I remember Uncle Paul using one of his little two blade knives to fix something in a manner similar to what dad did with a leaking water shut off valve years later. It was one of those rare trips to New Jersey, when we visited Uncle Paul and Aunt Betty. We stopped by their place in Patterson, where Uncle Paul was a machinist for the Wright aircraft engine plant, and then headed out for "the Shore" as it was called. Being a little kid with scant idea of geography, "the Shore" was some far off exotic place.
On the trip out, I ended up sitting in the front between Uncle Paul and dad. With both of them puffing away on their pipes, I was usually enveloped in blue-grey cloud of pipe smoke. Not that I minded of course. Dad would let me fill his pipe while he drove, and I'd hand it up to him, and them Uncle Paul would do likewise. I loved the smell of the pipes. I'd take it in, while listening to the men's conversation. A lot of good knowledge came from listening good to what they talked about.
Finally we came to the little bungalow that was rented for our stay on the Jersey shore. It was set back in some piney woods, and was a rustic place. It took a bit to carry in the supplies of groceries and luggage, and to set up camp, so to speak. It was when Aunt Betty turned on the water in the kitchen sink to make some ice tea, that emergency repairs were needed. A stream of water came from under the sink.
"Paulie, we got a problem!" called Aunt Betty.
Uncle Paul and dad came ambling in, looked over the problem. They came to the conclusion it was a minor leak. Dad got his tool kit out of the car and Uncle Paul selected a medium size monkey wrench, and crawled under the sink. He undid the threaded collar that held the elbow of the drain pipe, and told dad it just needed to be sealed up. What came next was off the cuff fixit 101.
Uncle Paul took out a small two blade pen knife and dug around in the picnic basket and came up with a candle. I watched in rapt attention to learn anything I could. With great care as if he were whittling a work of art, Uncle Paul made a shallow groove in the base of the candle. He then cut off a section of string from the small ball of the stuff dad had in the tool kit. Then he looked at me.
"I got an important job for ya kid. I need ya to hold on to the candle so it's straight up and not move. It's important it don't move for this to done right."
I took hold of the candle with all the dead seriousness of an important task. Not till years later did I realize Uncle Paul was keeping me occupied in a good way. Taking the cut string, Uncle Paul slowly passed it back and forth in the groove he had cut with his pen knife. Like a bow of a fiddle across the strings, Uncle Paul worked it back and forth, till the string was getting a waxy coating of the parafin in the cotton fibers. Then he slowly and carefully packed the bottom of the threaded collar with the waxed string. But he wasn't done yet. He took out a battered Zippo lighter and lit the candle. Slowly, he dripped the hot wax over the coiled string in it's slot at the bottom of the threaded pipe connector. When he had the whole string covered in wax, he blew out the candle and took his little pen knife once again, and slowly scraped and smoothed the hardened wax.
Crawling once more under the sink, he re-attached everything, and told Aunt Betty to turn on the water. No more problem.
Sitting at the kitchen table, he went about the chore of cleaning the wax off his knife. Using his thumbnail, he slowly got the wax off his blade, then opened up his tobacco pouch. He took out his little piece of Norton India stone he had tucked in there, and gave his pen knife a little honing. Carefully squinting down the now razor sharp blade, he gave me a wink, and said it was ready again for whatever was needed. Then he talked to me with that thick "New Joisey" accent.
"Ya see kid, sometimes theres gonna be something that ain't workin' right. Most times there's not gonna be the right fix-it part around, so's ya improvise a bit. Ya find somethin that makes it better. Or ya make something, and it works out fine."
A year later I'd watch Uncle Paul fix the throttle linkage on his old Studabaker Champ with two paper clips and the spring from a cheap ball point pen. He had all sorts of odds and ends of stuff in an old Prince Albert tobacco tin. A CV carborator fixed with material from a childs balloon. As veteran of the great depression, Uncle Paul and dad seemed to have a genius for improvising repairs.
It seemed like no matter what happened, if Uncle Paul has his little pen knife, he'd look around, and find some raw material that he could cut down, modify, or use to fix what was wrong. And his favorite knife was the two blade pen knife.
It seems like a lot of machinists must think alike.
For some reason, he too prefered the slim little two blade pen knives. He used them like the precision tools he used in his trade. When I became a machinist myself, dad gave me Uncle Paul's tools that he had from when Paul passed away, years before. I ended up using some tools that were over 60 years old that were still good. Starrat mic's, scales, and some unique wrenches from the 1920's and 30's that looked like the forrunners for those 4 jaw Sears craftsmen wrenches they came out with in the 1990's.
One time I remember Uncle Paul using one of his little two blade knives to fix something in a manner similar to what dad did with a leaking water shut off valve years later. It was one of those rare trips to New Jersey, when we visited Uncle Paul and Aunt Betty. We stopped by their place in Patterson, where Uncle Paul was a machinist for the Wright aircraft engine plant, and then headed out for "the Shore" as it was called. Being a little kid with scant idea of geography, "the Shore" was some far off exotic place.
On the trip out, I ended up sitting in the front between Uncle Paul and dad. With both of them puffing away on their pipes, I was usually enveloped in blue-grey cloud of pipe smoke. Not that I minded of course. Dad would let me fill his pipe while he drove, and I'd hand it up to him, and them Uncle Paul would do likewise. I loved the smell of the pipes. I'd take it in, while listening to the men's conversation. A lot of good knowledge came from listening good to what they talked about.
Finally we came to the little bungalow that was rented for our stay on the Jersey shore. It was set back in some piney woods, and was a rustic place. It took a bit to carry in the supplies of groceries and luggage, and to set up camp, so to speak. It was when Aunt Betty turned on the water in the kitchen sink to make some ice tea, that emergency repairs were needed. A stream of water came from under the sink.
"Paulie, we got a problem!" called Aunt Betty.
Uncle Paul and dad came ambling in, looked over the problem. They came to the conclusion it was a minor leak. Dad got his tool kit out of the car and Uncle Paul selected a medium size monkey wrench, and crawled under the sink. He undid the threaded collar that held the elbow of the drain pipe, and told dad it just needed to be sealed up. What came next was off the cuff fixit 101.
Uncle Paul took out a small two blade pen knife and dug around in the picnic basket and came up with a candle. I watched in rapt attention to learn anything I could. With great care as if he were whittling a work of art, Uncle Paul made a shallow groove in the base of the candle. He then cut off a section of string from the small ball of the stuff dad had in the tool kit. Then he looked at me.
"I got an important job for ya kid. I need ya to hold on to the candle so it's straight up and not move. It's important it don't move for this to done right."
I took hold of the candle with all the dead seriousness of an important task. Not till years later did I realize Uncle Paul was keeping me occupied in a good way. Taking the cut string, Uncle Paul slowly passed it back and forth in the groove he had cut with his pen knife. Like a bow of a fiddle across the strings, Uncle Paul worked it back and forth, till the string was getting a waxy coating of the parafin in the cotton fibers. Then he slowly and carefully packed the bottom of the threaded collar with the waxed string. But he wasn't done yet. He took out a battered Zippo lighter and lit the candle. Slowly, he dripped the hot wax over the coiled string in it's slot at the bottom of the threaded pipe connector. When he had the whole string covered in wax, he blew out the candle and took his little pen knife once again, and slowly scraped and smoothed the hardened wax.
Crawling once more under the sink, he re-attached everything, and told Aunt Betty to turn on the water. No more problem.
Sitting at the kitchen table, he went about the chore of cleaning the wax off his knife. Using his thumbnail, he slowly got the wax off his blade, then opened up his tobacco pouch. He took out his little piece of Norton India stone he had tucked in there, and gave his pen knife a little honing. Carefully squinting down the now razor sharp blade, he gave me a wink, and said it was ready again for whatever was needed. Then he talked to me with that thick "New Joisey" accent.
"Ya see kid, sometimes theres gonna be something that ain't workin' right. Most times there's not gonna be the right fix-it part around, so's ya improvise a bit. Ya find somethin that makes it better. Or ya make something, and it works out fine."
A year later I'd watch Uncle Paul fix the throttle linkage on his old Studabaker Champ with two paper clips and the spring from a cheap ball point pen. He had all sorts of odds and ends of stuff in an old Prince Albert tobacco tin. A CV carborator fixed with material from a childs balloon. As veteran of the great depression, Uncle Paul and dad seemed to have a genius for improvising repairs.
It seemed like no matter what happened, if Uncle Paul has his little pen knife, he'd look around, and find some raw material that he could cut down, modify, or use to fix what was wrong. And his favorite knife was the two blade pen knife.
It seems like a lot of machinists must think alike.
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