They say attitude is everything. The little dog thinks he's a big dog, the underdog that takes on the world. Attitude accounts for a lot things for a lot of people. When those people come from vastly different backgrounds it can be startling.
Pocket knives for instance. I guess I was lucky growing, to have a foot on two entirely different worlds. My dad's family all were hard working watermen down on the Eastern shore of Maryland, while my dad's job when he came home from the war was based in Washington D.C. From September to June, my existence was that of a city boy, with the rare exceptions of Christmas and Easter when we went "home" of the holidays. But from mid June to when school started again, I was down 'home' on the Chesapeake bay with family. It was like stepping into a whole different world, totally alien to the one I lived in most of theme. Some of granddad's cronies were some rough old cobs, and things down on the bay were a bit more down to earth. Like pocket knives.
Granddads coconspirators in life hunted and fished as a way of life. Some legally and some not so legally. Deer, goose, ducks, rabbits, quail, dove, squirrel, were common on the dinner table. The plain old single barrel shotgun was the standard firearm of the time and place, and every waterman had a couple of them around. One on the boat, and another behind the kitchen door. It was at a young age that I learned the shotgun was the end all of hunting guns for people on a tight budget. One single gun could take down pretty much anything in North America depending on what it was loaded with. Slug for deer, birdshot for smaller game, and 00 buckshot for keeping the home front safe. Sometimes a .22 rifle was on hand for particular jobs, and sheer joy of plinking some beer cans and poaching.
With this much game being taken, the pocket knife was the most used tool. It was there, it was handy, and it was kept sharp. Though the guns of the watermen were plain Jane affairs, their pocket knives were things that were doted on and pride taken in. The brand was important, and real jigged bone was the material used. None of that plastic stuff. And real carbon steel blades instead of that stainless stuff that was fit only for butter knives and table wear. Stag was a material held in high regard for Sunday go-to-meeting knives as was real pearl. Blades were kept hair shaving sharp, and they were never used for abusive tasks. Thats what screw drivers were for. The country knife user seemed to take more pride in his pocket knife in general. My Uncle Mike had an old Camillus stockman that had been issued by the U.S. Navy in WW2. He kept that old knife for over 40 years, treating it gently and sharpening it with care to make it last. My own dad had his little Case peanut for as long, treating it with care. Both men took care not to over sharpen. By contrast, I've seen a guy in the city strop his knife on the edge of a sidewalk to put a rough edge on it in a hurry. He didn't care about the damage to the knife in the long run.
By contrast, the city dwellers I knew as a boy in D.C. seemed to see the pocket knife as a disposable tool for scraping, prying, screw driving, chipping, wire stripping, and maybe even cutting if the occasion called for it. They were sold at the local five and dime stores in the neighborhood, and if the old one got too worn down by sharpening on the sidewalk, or broke from prying, it got tossed in the trash can, and another was bought off the stand up cardboard display by the cash register at the corner store. The most common had those cracked ice celluloid or fake pearl plastic scales and two thin carbon steel blades, and cost about the same as the nail clippers on the other cardboard stand up display. Even most women carried one in a purse for opening the packages that came bound with the white cotton twine that was used on everything from the post office to the pork chops in the white paper from the butchers shop. And pencils had to be sharpened, as the ball point pen explosion hadn't happened yet. The pens of the day were the fountain pen or the cartridge pens, both of which tend to either leak, or run dry just when you had to write something down. So most people carried a stub of a pencil wth them, and a small knife was useful in putting a new point on it now and then. I recall my dad always had a short pencil in his pocket and I asked him why once. He told me that a pencil will never go dry on you, writes on a wide variety of surfaces, won't run if it gets wet, and the graphite is the best dry lubricant for sticky locks and fishing reels. To this day, I still carry a golf pencil in my pocket.
City and country, and a whole different attitude. I guess nowadays most city fold don't even carry knife. If they work in a store or even warehouse, its a safety box cutter for the job. Last time I visited the Maryland Easterns home, all the old folks that made it an interesting place were gone. Now it's all high rent waterfront condos and fancy seafood restaurants and such.
I guess living in different areas can give you a totally different view on life.
Pocket knives for instance. I guess I was lucky growing, to have a foot on two entirely different worlds. My dad's family all were hard working watermen down on the Eastern shore of Maryland, while my dad's job when he came home from the war was based in Washington D.C. From September to June, my existence was that of a city boy, with the rare exceptions of Christmas and Easter when we went "home" of the holidays. But from mid June to when school started again, I was down 'home' on the Chesapeake bay with family. It was like stepping into a whole different world, totally alien to the one I lived in most of theme. Some of granddad's cronies were some rough old cobs, and things down on the bay were a bit more down to earth. Like pocket knives.
Granddads coconspirators in life hunted and fished as a way of life. Some legally and some not so legally. Deer, goose, ducks, rabbits, quail, dove, squirrel, were common on the dinner table. The plain old single barrel shotgun was the standard firearm of the time and place, and every waterman had a couple of them around. One on the boat, and another behind the kitchen door. It was at a young age that I learned the shotgun was the end all of hunting guns for people on a tight budget. One single gun could take down pretty much anything in North America depending on what it was loaded with. Slug for deer, birdshot for smaller game, and 00 buckshot for keeping the home front safe. Sometimes a .22 rifle was on hand for particular jobs, and sheer joy of plinking some beer cans and poaching.
With this much game being taken, the pocket knife was the most used tool. It was there, it was handy, and it was kept sharp. Though the guns of the watermen were plain Jane affairs, their pocket knives were things that were doted on and pride taken in. The brand was important, and real jigged bone was the material used. None of that plastic stuff. And real carbon steel blades instead of that stainless stuff that was fit only for butter knives and table wear. Stag was a material held in high regard for Sunday go-to-meeting knives as was real pearl. Blades were kept hair shaving sharp, and they were never used for abusive tasks. Thats what screw drivers were for. The country knife user seemed to take more pride in his pocket knife in general. My Uncle Mike had an old Camillus stockman that had been issued by the U.S. Navy in WW2. He kept that old knife for over 40 years, treating it gently and sharpening it with care to make it last. My own dad had his little Case peanut for as long, treating it with care. Both men took care not to over sharpen. By contrast, I've seen a guy in the city strop his knife on the edge of a sidewalk to put a rough edge on it in a hurry. He didn't care about the damage to the knife in the long run.
By contrast, the city dwellers I knew as a boy in D.C. seemed to see the pocket knife as a disposable tool for scraping, prying, screw driving, chipping, wire stripping, and maybe even cutting if the occasion called for it. They were sold at the local five and dime stores in the neighborhood, and if the old one got too worn down by sharpening on the sidewalk, or broke from prying, it got tossed in the trash can, and another was bought off the stand up cardboard display by the cash register at the corner store. The most common had those cracked ice celluloid or fake pearl plastic scales and two thin carbon steel blades, and cost about the same as the nail clippers on the other cardboard stand up display. Even most women carried one in a purse for opening the packages that came bound with the white cotton twine that was used on everything from the post office to the pork chops in the white paper from the butchers shop. And pencils had to be sharpened, as the ball point pen explosion hadn't happened yet. The pens of the day were the fountain pen or the cartridge pens, both of which tend to either leak, or run dry just when you had to write something down. So most people carried a stub of a pencil wth them, and a small knife was useful in putting a new point on it now and then. I recall my dad always had a short pencil in his pocket and I asked him why once. He told me that a pencil will never go dry on you, writes on a wide variety of surfaces, won't run if it gets wet, and the graphite is the best dry lubricant for sticky locks and fishing reels. To this day, I still carry a golf pencil in my pocket.
City and country, and a whole different attitude. I guess nowadays most city fold don't even carry knife. If they work in a store or even warehouse, its a safety box cutter for the job. Last time I visited the Maryland Easterns home, all the old folks that made it an interesting place were gone. Now it's all high rent waterfront condos and fancy seafood restaurants and such.
I guess living in different areas can give you a totally different view on life.