After reading Chris Schartz's book "The Anarchists tool Chest " I started my own journey to building a new tool chest like the one in his book
.006.jpg
This is NOT that tool chest.
It has no dove tails, no exotic woods, no inlays or hand carved details.
no Greek proportions no Golden mean
I gathered my materials and drew my plans, but some where I strayed from the path. You see I went out to the back poch where I stored my old tool chest, built out of scrap plywood and pine. The plys were delaminating the top and sides warped, covered with scars, paint, glue, dirt and the good Lord knows what else. I started unloading the tools and the memories came rolling in.
My Father had built this chest some time in the 60's. He was in the military and then the DOD . We moved a lot and the chest was the last thing on the moving truck and the first off. If we were going to be living in that town for a while, he would buy a "fix'r up" . evenings and week ends would be filled with hammering, painting and the like. The chest had no tills, just cigar boxes to hold the small stuff, string and rubber bands to keep the loose stuff together, no frills just a wooden box.
The chest was there as I helped Dad to unload In Charleston S.C. Dad bragging on the old house he had just purchased, "it has the look and feel of old Charleston" and my Mother replying "It's got the feel of an old tenement and we will be lucky iuf it doesn't burn down and kill us all in our sleep"
( this was as near to a fight as I remember them having)
It was there as Dad took time to show me how and why things were done and how to do them right.
It was there when my Grandfather came down from north Alabama, to the house in Mobile, and helped build the big new addition. I can still see him in my mind, his "chaw" swapping from cheek to cheek as he figured all of the cuts in his head. It was there when he cut one of the rafters wrong and taught me some new words. It was there when I used those new words and Daddy almost fell off the ladder laughing at me, ( to sound tough you really need to use those words in the correct order) and as he explained just what was going to happen if I used those shiney new words around my Mother. It was there when they built their dream home in Crossville Tenn. and was given to me when my wife and I bought our first starter home. It has been dropped, shoved, kicked and used as a saw bench, chair, step stool and paint bench. It has been through 7 homes (of my own) and been to my job on more than one occasion.
I could not tear it apart and build a new one. I guess I sound silly but I could not do it...
So.. I emptied it of the tools ( and 50 years of dirt) and in the spirit my Father, a child of the depression, I hunted though my scrap pile and rebuilt it.. even the paint was left over from the porch.
Maybe I am silly or going soft in my old age, but I think my Dad would have liked it, and late at night in the shop I sometimes I think I can still smell those old cheap cigars he liked, and maybe out of the corner of my eye I can see Granddaddy swap his chaw to the other cheek and nod his head at some thing I did right.
If you still have your Father or Gandfather take a moment and call them, tell them how much they mean to you
To all my friends those that I know of and those still to be made.. thanks for reading this and good night
Reply With Quote
Originally Posted by Michael Weber
