Carl Levitian
member
Like alot of knife knuts, I went through the stage when I was young, where I had to have the best, most hyped, high dollar knife around. I have to admit it; at one time I was a knife snob. Now I'm happy with w Victorinox bantam and classic, with an old Opinel or a Case peanut tossed in now and them. If I need a sheath knife, I have my old wood handle mora and an older Buck 102 woodsman.
How did I loose my knife addiction?
I became a cop.
For a while in the mid 70's I was on the Trinidad Colorado police department. It's kind of a long story how I got there from my native Maryland after I got out of the Army, so we'll skip that for now.
Cheap knives.
When I got to Colorado, I was still in my hype knife phase. My Randall 14 was my woods walking knife, my George Stone hunter was my game knife when I wasn't using my Randall trout and bird knife. In the late 60's early 70's those were the hight of custom made knives. But in Trinidad I came to a sort of awakening.
I remember one call we had when I was still green as grass in the spring. It was down by the Purgatoire river that flowed right through the town of Trinidad, and was a popular fishing spot right where it went under Commercial street. One hot afternoon, a couple of Mexican workers took some beer and thier poles and went fishing right at that spot. It was nice and shady under the big cottonwood trees that grew there. It was in easy view of the bridge over Commercial street, and pedestrian passerbys could see the area clearly.
Well, a falling out took place about 2 in the afternoon. Witnesses on the sidewalk over the bridge could see both men on thier feet arguing loudly, and gesturing with great gusto. We got the call as a possable drunk and disorderly call and were on the way when it was changed to a stabbing call.
On arrival, one man was down and dead, with the handle of a K-Mart Rapala brand fillet knife sticking out his chest in the area of his heart. The other man was running up the river bank, and was cought after a short foot chase. With all he had to drink, he was not running a strait line as we were. The body was trasported after the M.E. was done at the scene. The aftermath of the medical exam was interesting.
The thin pointy fillet knife was thrust into the chest of the victim at the hight of the arguement, according to multible witnesses on the bridge less that 50 yards away. The victim fell immeditaly and did not move. According to the M.E., death was instant, with the fillet knife blade glancing off a rib, and sliding right into the heart.
I remember looking at and feeling the Rapala afterward, and thinking "how could this thin little thing kill like that!" and making mention to an older officer that was sort of a mentor to this green rookie. I'll never forget his words.
"Kid, the human body is a frail thing, more frail than you think. After you do this job for a while, you'll see that you don't need one of those expencive custom knives you're fond of totin around. Hell, they kill people in prison with sheet metal shiv's made from the licence plate shot scrap, or sharpened toothbrush handles. Think about it kid."
Well, I did alot of thinking about it, and a sea change started to come over my view of knives. A month or two later another knife call did it.
The second knife call, I didn't feel much sympathy for the victim. One could almost say he had it comming to him. There was this guy who worked at the Allen Mine Company, who was in the habit of beating up his wife when he drank too much. A black eye here, a fat lip there. No charges pressed because she was afraif of him. But everyone has a point where enough by God, is enough. She got to her's.
One night he was slapping her around, and she got tired of it. At first she tried to run out of the appartment, but that angered him more so he beat her more. Then she tried to fight back, and he really gave it to her. The final report from the Mt. San Rafial hospital was two broken ribs, a broken nose, a lower jaw broken in three places, a couple teeth out, a concussion, and possable damage to the spleen.
But somehow she got her hands on the bread knife laying on the kitchen table.
It was a lousy knife. One of those cheap 1.98 things from the kitchen stuff isle at the supermarket, with a molded on white plastic handle, a serrated edge on a blade that was the thickness of a sheet of writing paper folded over 4 times. But it laid the bully low. When we got there, he was laying on his back on the kitchen floor, gasping and moaning, with this cheap bread knife sticking up out of his fat belly. The knife was sunk in about 1/2 way up its 10 or 12 inch blade and was wobbling with his every gasp. Kind of meshmerizing in a macabre way. He'd gasp taking in a breath and the knife would wobble over one way, then he'd moan exhailing, and the knife would wobble over the other way. Kind like AAHHHHH, wobble wobble, EEaaaah, wobble wobble.
He lived, but it took almost 5 hours of emergency surgey to pull him through. Not sure if it was worth it. The lady signed the compaint from her hospital bed, and the bully was sentanced to a couple years in the house of many doors. We had a judge in Las Animas county that took a very dim view of abusing women and children. The stabbing was ruled self defence.
I ended up selling off my knife collection, and took to carrying just standard pocket knives, like my mentors from my childhood. Some sak's, a few traditional pocket knives from Case and Camillus and Buck.
But mostly it made me loyal to the early mentors like Mr. Emory Varhidy and his stick. I learned that even a cheap knife is capable of much more mayhem than one would guess. A cheap box store fillet knife or supermarket serrated edge knife can lay you open as well as the highly hyped Spyderco this or Benchmade that. And one should keep well away from a knife, keep the distance and carry a nice stick. I learned the use and value of a stick early on, but as a police officer I re-learned the value of distance.
I also learned a knife doeasn't need a knife magazine's blessing as the tactical knife of the month. It just needs to be sharp.
How did I loose my knife addiction?
I became a cop.
For a while in the mid 70's I was on the Trinidad Colorado police department. It's kind of a long story how I got there from my native Maryland after I got out of the Army, so we'll skip that for now.
Cheap knives.
When I got to Colorado, I was still in my hype knife phase. My Randall 14 was my woods walking knife, my George Stone hunter was my game knife when I wasn't using my Randall trout and bird knife. In the late 60's early 70's those were the hight of custom made knives. But in Trinidad I came to a sort of awakening.
I remember one call we had when I was still green as grass in the spring. It was down by the Purgatoire river that flowed right through the town of Trinidad, and was a popular fishing spot right where it went under Commercial street. One hot afternoon, a couple of Mexican workers took some beer and thier poles and went fishing right at that spot. It was nice and shady under the big cottonwood trees that grew there. It was in easy view of the bridge over Commercial street, and pedestrian passerbys could see the area clearly.
Well, a falling out took place about 2 in the afternoon. Witnesses on the sidewalk over the bridge could see both men on thier feet arguing loudly, and gesturing with great gusto. We got the call as a possable drunk and disorderly call and were on the way when it was changed to a stabbing call.
On arrival, one man was down and dead, with the handle of a K-Mart Rapala brand fillet knife sticking out his chest in the area of his heart. The other man was running up the river bank, and was cought after a short foot chase. With all he had to drink, he was not running a strait line as we were. The body was trasported after the M.E. was done at the scene. The aftermath of the medical exam was interesting.
The thin pointy fillet knife was thrust into the chest of the victim at the hight of the arguement, according to multible witnesses on the bridge less that 50 yards away. The victim fell immeditaly and did not move. According to the M.E., death was instant, with the fillet knife blade glancing off a rib, and sliding right into the heart.
I remember looking at and feeling the Rapala afterward, and thinking "how could this thin little thing kill like that!" and making mention to an older officer that was sort of a mentor to this green rookie. I'll never forget his words.
"Kid, the human body is a frail thing, more frail than you think. After you do this job for a while, you'll see that you don't need one of those expencive custom knives you're fond of totin around. Hell, they kill people in prison with sheet metal shiv's made from the licence plate shot scrap, or sharpened toothbrush handles. Think about it kid."
Well, I did alot of thinking about it, and a sea change started to come over my view of knives. A month or two later another knife call did it.
The second knife call, I didn't feel much sympathy for the victim. One could almost say he had it comming to him. There was this guy who worked at the Allen Mine Company, who was in the habit of beating up his wife when he drank too much. A black eye here, a fat lip there. No charges pressed because she was afraif of him. But everyone has a point where enough by God, is enough. She got to her's.
One night he was slapping her around, and she got tired of it. At first she tried to run out of the appartment, but that angered him more so he beat her more. Then she tried to fight back, and he really gave it to her. The final report from the Mt. San Rafial hospital was two broken ribs, a broken nose, a lower jaw broken in three places, a couple teeth out, a concussion, and possable damage to the spleen.
But somehow she got her hands on the bread knife laying on the kitchen table.
It was a lousy knife. One of those cheap 1.98 things from the kitchen stuff isle at the supermarket, with a molded on white plastic handle, a serrated edge on a blade that was the thickness of a sheet of writing paper folded over 4 times. But it laid the bully low. When we got there, he was laying on his back on the kitchen floor, gasping and moaning, with this cheap bread knife sticking up out of his fat belly. The knife was sunk in about 1/2 way up its 10 or 12 inch blade and was wobbling with his every gasp. Kind of meshmerizing in a macabre way. He'd gasp taking in a breath and the knife would wobble over one way, then he'd moan exhailing, and the knife would wobble over the other way. Kind like AAHHHHH, wobble wobble, EEaaaah, wobble wobble.
He lived, but it took almost 5 hours of emergency surgey to pull him through. Not sure if it was worth it. The lady signed the compaint from her hospital bed, and the bully was sentanced to a couple years in the house of many doors. We had a judge in Las Animas county that took a very dim view of abusing women and children. The stabbing was ruled self defence.
I ended up selling off my knife collection, and took to carrying just standard pocket knives, like my mentors from my childhood. Some sak's, a few traditional pocket knives from Case and Camillus and Buck.
But mostly it made me loyal to the early mentors like Mr. Emory Varhidy and his stick. I learned that even a cheap knife is capable of much more mayhem than one would guess. A cheap box store fillet knife or supermarket serrated edge knife can lay you open as well as the highly hyped Spyderco this or Benchmade that. And one should keep well away from a knife, keep the distance and carry a nice stick. I learned the use and value of a stick early on, but as a police officer I re-learned the value of distance.
I also learned a knife doeasn't need a knife magazine's blessing as the tactical knife of the month. It just needs to be sharp.
I didn't get that from reading the original post at all...
