Well gentlemen and ladies--

We've had some discussion about the finer points of bottom feeding; to
wit, does dumpster diving rank above or below junque shopping.  I think
that could be the beginning of a nice thread as to who has the best
bottom feeder story.  I propose at least three categories;

A. begged,
B. borrowed,
C. stolen.

"Begged" could include inheritances or gifts from relatives, particularly
successful haggling with vendors, and the obvious ploys of whining on the
porch, tool trades and collaborations, and homemade tools crafted from
found materials.

"Borrowed" includes thefts (or gifts) from present or former friends, as
opposed to begging from relatives.  Returning the tool would disqualify
it as an acquisition.

"Stolen" applies strictly to freebies acquired from innocent third
parties.  No money can be involved, except possibly legal fees that
result in aquittal.  A conviction involving fines or imprisonment
automatically disqualify the transaction as successful bottom feeding.

Not being a member of the AHOB myself (I was afraid they would ask for a
membership fee), I would be ashamed to call myself a bottom feeder if I
couldn't show any credentials in the form of free tools.

Most of my free tools actually fall into category "A," since they came
from my father, grandfather, or FIL, so I will skip itemizing them.  Some
other freebies in category "A" include my long running tool exchange with
Larry Holland (we have both ended up with a set of nice heavy duty lathe
tools at a cost of $0 plus postage).  A similar exchange with friends off
list has included blacksmith tongs, a Sears combination plane in near new
condition with all the irons, a 3-1/2" slick, a carving adze, a hewing
hatchet, and a Stanley #140.

In category "B" is my new post drill, a kit for my first woodie block
plane, a set of three plow plane irons, four vises, and my poll axe.  But
I digress.

Stolen, well, this is where I propose a contest.  Lets see your bottom
feeder stories from any category.  I hope they include at least a grain
of truth, but that's not necessary unless you are going for the prize.

I will send a hand turned Osage orange mallet to the person who provides
the best story of a free tool that was not aquired from a relative.  To
make an objective choice, the tool may need to demonstrate some fair
market value, such as a sale price for a similar article on an oldtools
FS list, in a junk shop, or at auction.  MJD's catalog doesn't count,
guys; unless there is no other identifiable source' and junk shop prices
may be open to criticism by the other contestants. (The prize is a
category "A," since it will be home made at zero cost.)

Non-freebie tools are suitable for gloats, brags, or BS stories.  But to
qualify for this particular contest, the entry has to be acquired at no
cost.

If anyone wants to act as an objective judge, to kibitz, or to cast
opinions or stones, please feel free.  Offers of bribes will be an
automatic disqualification (and a big shock, BTW).  If I have missed any
important categories in the brief list above, please mention the
oversight.  Pictures on web pages are encouraged.

Thank you.

Phil Koontz
Trolling for free admission to AHOB

Phil Koontz Wrote on the subject of bottom feeding:
SNIPPED
>I propose at least three categories;
>
> A. begged,
> B. borrowed,
> C. stolen.
>
>I propose a contest.  Lets see your bottom
> feeder stories from any category.  I hope they include at least a grain
> of truth, but that's not necessary unless you are going for the prize.

My story would have to include the introduction of a forth category:
D. Getting Paid to Haul it Away.
(pause as the porch gasps with disbelief and one or two smile knowingly)
Yep, fellers this is the halcyon of the bottom feeder, and we in the loyal
order of bottom feeders, (an east coast schism of the other group) consider
it the highest refinement of the bottom feeders art.

My friend Louis has had a series of old Ford model B trucks. He and I used
to, quite regularly, clean out basements and attics for hire. We charged a
modest (really folks) fee and kept everything that we liked. The rest went
to the local auction or the dump.

Now we didn't haul off any diamond necklaces or anything like that but is
was not uncommon to find something of value in every load.

My story happened one sweet day when we received a call to haul away a
"bunch of Stuff" from a house being closed out in a town nearby. I went
solo as Louis, a schoolteacher, was out plying his trade. Well the "stuff"
was the remaining contents of the basement of a house long occupied by a
handyman, a dedicated handyman. It was sort of like walking into your
grandfather's basement. He had all of his tools carefully stored in wall
racks and the hardware in wooden cigar boxes painted battleship Grey. He
was still around and talked to me about getting rid of all that stuff. I
told him it wouldn't all go to the dump but would find a good home.

Now it wasn't all pristine tools, there was plenty of dreck too. I add this
lest you think me cold hearted for accepting money ($50.00 I think) for the
day's work.

The haul? Well it was about ten years ago and it is hard to remember
exactly. There were all the handtools, screwdrivers, wrenches, saws,
hammers, braces etc. some power tools and a lifetime collection of hardware
in the aforementioned cigar boxes. Suffice to say that it was a memorable
haul.

After the absolute trash was disposed of Louis extracted his fee for the
use of the truck from the resulting pile and I took the rest home.

Clarke Green

On Tue, 9 Feb 1999, Phil and Debbie Koontz wrote:

[gratuitous categories snipped]

>
> I will send a hand turned Osage orange mallet to the person who provides
> the best story of a free tool that was not aquired from a relative.  To
> make an objective choice, the tool may need to demonstrate some fair
> market value, such as a sale price for a similar article on an oldtools
> FS list, in a junk shop, or at auction.  MJD's catalog doesn't count,
> guys; unless there is no other identifiable source' and junk shop prices
> may be open to criticism by the other contestants. (The prize is a
> category "A," since it will be home made at zero cost.)
>

[still more snippage]

ohohohohohohohohoho...MissTer CotTare!!!

I got's a "stolen"/free one. The rest of you can stop now, this one wins
and I'm sure Phil will concede from sheer exhaustion trying to find someone to
one up me.

TRUE STORY!

Got a new next door neighbor last year. He's a retired local contractor.
Spent entire life building homes in my area. Since we obviously had tools
as a common get together between us, I invited him over to my shop to see
some *real* tools. Spent a wonderful hour doing show and tell with the
various planes, spokeshaves, chisels, etc. Then he drops the first shoe!

"Say, I got an old plane over in my attic that belonged to my dad. My
sister got it for him before he retired. Let's see he died in 1954 and I
know he got it at least 2 years before he died".

(Galoot with antenna quivering)
"Really! Do you happen to know what kind of plane it might be? I sorta
make it a hobby to collect interesting bits of knowledge on handplanes
(trying to keep the quivering out of my voice)".

(Neighbor with straight dead poker face)
"Aww, it's got some kinda fence thingy and a coupla things that look like
oldtimey ice skates on it. I ain't got no use for it. I'll go get it and
let you take a look at it. You obviously enjoy using them."

(Galoot with sweat starting to drip)
(PS NOTE, Never let them see you sweat!)
"Sure love to look at it!"

A short 30 minutes later:

DINGGGGG DONGGGGGG! (Got to get that d*mn doorbell fixed!)

(Galoot in near panic)
"Howdy Neighbor!"

(Neighbor with largish craftsman style wooden box covered with paint and
water drippage down the side walks in)
"Here's the plane. My dad made the box and it's protected the plane pretty
well. Musta been a leak in the attic sometime cause I don't remember that
stain being there a coupla years ago. Anyway, do you know how to use one
of these?"

Now here's the good part! Out of the box walks this 98.9999999999%
pristine allnickelintactwithheavensentNIBrosewood #45! It just sorta
assembled itself there on the kitchen table and sat staring up at me. And
then (looks both ways over shoulder) I swear I heard it ask in a small
high pitched voice...."Are you gonna be my new daddy?"

Well what could I do? I mean really! You try to sit there and tell me that
you could ignore that most innocent of pleas!!!!! So quick as a flash,
greed and avarice played minuets on my face until the Galoot sense of fair
play conquered all and I informed my neighbor that the plane was indeed a
very nice plane and would bring a considerable chunk of money if he wanted
to sell it.

Here's where the second shoe dropped!
That's when my neighbor said, "Awww you go ahead and keep it. I'll never
use it and I'd like to see it go to someone that's gonna appreciate it
anyway. My son was going to get it, but since he's no longer with us, I
want you to have it."

And there you have the TRUE STORY of how I got my minty fresh #45!

Gary Johns              OldTool Heaven
"RustHunter"            http://www.geocities.com/Heartland/Plains/9147

Being a Native New Hampshireman, I must point out that you forgot to include
(perhaps it was out of jealousy) a category devoted to those tools found under
rocks or lying on the side of the road.

ed

Does an "almost" count?

This is a long ago story. You see, I have not been permitted to go to auctions
for
30 years, a stricture just recently relaxed as SWMBO indulges me in my old age.
The reason is that auctions have provided our marriage with a topic of
conversation when our tempers are heated for 30 years.

It started in Cross Plains when we were both students and poor.  Our apartment
was
decorated with the interesting and varied furntiture we bought at farm auctions
,
our informal rule being that nothing could cost over $2.00.

The farm auction was in progress when we arrived. SWMBO went over to some
housewares.  My expert eyes noted a pile of horsecollars and harness as
"possibly
interesting" , a large blower as "I could do something with that", and then I
saw
it.  Next to the barn. Mostly ocher colored from rust, but magnificent in its
immensity.

It was, on close examination,  a steam tractor.  Not just any steam tractor,
but a
caterpillar treaded steam tractor, slightly larger than our apartment. I had
seen
steam tractors, but never a caterpillar treaded one. This was the sort of thing
that once had busted the sod for a mile on two cords of wood. It had caused the
movement West, the great flood of Norwegians, Swedes, Finns, Germans, Poles, wh
o
had come to Wisconsin seeking land and freedom. It had made our country what it
was.

I walked over entranced and proceeded to examine it. It was a bit deteriorated
from old age and rust, a few tread links had given way,  some things were
obviously missing though they might be in the somewhat indeterminate pile of
rusty
metal and cans next to it. However, it was basically there. I could already see
how with a few tons of steel plate it could be put back into tip top shape.  It
had, I suddenly noticed, a whistle.

SWMBO noticed my absence and came over. She noticed my bemused expression and
immediately pointed out a minor defect.  There was a 16" diameter maple growing
through the tractor. Immediately, I realized that this was a great advantage.
A
chain saw could remove that maple in a flash. I knew someone who could lend me
a
chainsaw.  It was no real obstacle, but it would serve to hold the bidding down
.

I stood as the auctioneer slowly came closer. SWMBO was more and more animatedl
y
asking things like "what would you do with it", "how would you move it", "for
heavens sake it has a *tree* growing through it" . She knew I was hooked, and
her
influence was waning.

The auctioneer clambered up on the cab step, and quickly hopped down as it
started
to crumble beneath him. He knew little about the tractor. That did not keep him
from a steady patter about what a treasure it was.

I was already contemplating how high I could go.  We had at least $35 in our
checking account. I could sell my shotgun for $60 to my hunting partner before
the
check bounced. Maybe SWMBO would sell some of our wedding silver. I glanced at
SWMBO. Maybe not.

The auctioneer reached the end of his patter and swung into "what do I hear,
what
do hear? who'll bid $500?"  Silence.  The sought for bid dropped down.  Silence
.
It dropped again. Silence. "Alright", the auctioneer, said "we'll do this the
hard
way. Who'll bid a dollar?".

This was it. The silence stretched. No one had bid. I could have it for a
dollar.
One dollar and I would be a steam engineer. I lifted my arm, and started to bid
.

Just then, there was a blinding pain. SWMBO, noticing that I had not been
absorbing what she was saying, had just kicked me in the shin. She had on boots
with narrow toes.  My attention was jerked to her.

SWMBO is part Norwegian. She has a cheery complexion and twinkling blue eyes.
But
there is a strange thing about Norwegian eyes. They can reflect any of the seas
of
the world.  Right now hers reflected an angry North Sea, cold, grey, and bleak.
In
measured tones she informed me that I ought not bid.

I believed her. I had a sudden insight on history. The world had been navigated
by
Vikings who had done things after their women had told them that they ought not
.
These were the eyes that had caused the Scandinavians to sail to the
Mediterranean, to Labrador, to pull their longboats on rollers across the plain
s
of Russia  to the Black Sea,  far, far away from those eyes.

The moment passed.  The auctioneer moved on, The steam tractor stood, slumped i
n
its rust , unbid upon. SWMBO sweetly told me "I am so glad that you didn't bid,
honey.  I am sure that it would have been difficult to move". She put her hand
on
my back in sympathy.

Regards,

John Lederer
Oregon, Wisconsin

"John H. Lederer" wrote:
>
> Does an "almost" count?
>


Nominations are now being accepted for story of the year.  First nomination is
John's *almost* buying a steam tractor!  Nominations will remain open for the
remainder of the year, but you're gonna have to work to top this one.

Thanks, John, I needed that.

-Ken

Phil is trolling for stories...

OK here's a 'stolen' story...

Last summer I spotted 'tools' in the local free want-ad paper.
Mostly power tools but the ad said there were clamps, and one
can *never* have too many clamps.

When I called the guy, I got a string of expletives that just
about made me hang up the phone.  Seems the poor guy was at
the end of his rope, 'cause the phone had been ringing off the
hook all day.  *Everyone* wanted the bandsaw & power jointer.
Once I explained to him that I was only interested in the
clamps he calmed right down (seems nobody else wanted the
hand tools ;^).

I went over and rummaged around his shop for ten minutes and
came up with a few planes, saws, and some big old C-clamps.
Not a bad haul, but the fence rod was missing from the #78.
When I asked about it, the guy rummaged around and pulled out
a small box full of junk and said 'it might be in here, just
take it all'.  Great.  Another box of cr*p to fill up *my*
shop instead of *his*.  When I got home and sorted through
the junk, there was no fence rod (the nice lady at the
Stanley Works sent me one real cheap) but there was a rather
odd looking plane that said "Stanley 144" on it.  [evil grin].

And in the 'lying on the side of the road' category:

Then there was the brace.  That was the day my wife first
called me a 'collector'.  We were out for a walk during
the 'spring cleanup' junk collection time (when the City
will take anything but toxic waste).  And I spotted a
brace in a pile of junk on the curb.  Sure it was a no name
non ratcheting brace, but it was *free*.  And Kathy said
"You already have *two* braces.  Doesn't this make you a
collector now?".  No, you aren't a brace collector until
you have more braces than bits ;^)

And of course there's the usual assortment of scrap metal
and wood scrounged from dumpsters, but we're mostly all
guilty of that...

Darrell
Gomi no sensei

 Short and Sweet

Him ; You been nice helping me find stuff  and you like the wood things more
than me so take taht pair of moulders. (C.C. Gaines, New Orleans *** maybe
used twice)

Jim Parker
Montgomery Alabama

OK, here's mine;  no OT content
I get up one morning when I'm in seminary, hop in my Fairlane, and start to
weave my way through the rat-maze parking lot full of rollaround dumpsters
that joins all the apartment buildings...... 'bout made it through my last
hurdle; a snowbird Olds and a pile of trash when the 'ol eagle eye
spots...OAK!  Yup, there's a corner of SOMETHING sticking up out of the
trash in the dumpster and it's old oak.  I go dumpster diving and emerge
with a six-drawer spool chest complete with over half of the original brass
melon pulls.  The REALLY serendipitous part?   I had a six-drawer walnut
one in storage that needed EXACTLY as many melon pulls as were on this oak
one to complete it.  Of course I couldn't close the trunk on it, so I had
to haul the loot back to the apartment right away......  I think the
lecture that morning was on the 7th Commandment.... (or the 8th depending
on how you count 'em)

What a rush THAT was!>G
            

Well GGs--

Thanks for the many excellent replies on this.  I started on turning a
stick to make the mallet last night; it's a piece of an old, old hedge
fencepost that probably was set about WWI, and it's pretty hard turning.
I'm a little worried about how deep that crack is gonna go, though.

I think we need a deadline (well, call it a cutoff) for the contest, so
let's say Friday at midnight, Overbrook standard time.  For Jeff, that's
06:00 Greenwich on Feb 13; for Paddy, it's when the bar closes Friday
night ;-).

Phil Koontz
Feeling the heavy responsibility in Kansas

Hmmm...  Well, let's see...  I can't be nearly as eloquent or humorous
(you came up with one of Galootdom's all-time greats, John) as some on
the list, and I'm sure I can't be as relevant to the charter as those
who post about Superman, Newton's Third Law of Motion, or the care and
cleaning of cat litter but here goes anyhow...

My story begins just a little short of 30 years ago, when I was
assigned to Germany as a young lieutenant fresh (1 year) out of West
Point.  I was introduced to a lovely young German woman on my third
day in-country on a blind date, which initiated the courting process.
As things became more serious (I proposed three weeks later), I went
to her home one Saturday afternoon to meet her parents.  They lived
upstairs from a business called Moebel Heuser (Heuser Furniture), and
in some good-sized buildings out back was some pretty nifty,
heavy-duty woodworking equipment.  As it turned out, the family owned
the business, which made windows, doors, and custom cabinets, in
addition to selling brand-name furniture, and this explained all the
equipment.

Fast forward through marriage, five children, four career and/or job
changes, a few moves, dabbling from time to time with mutilating wood
using tailed apprentices, and landing on wreck.the.wood.  There I met
Paddy, first virtually and then the real McCoy (at Andy's, perhaps the
first Galoot liaison, complete with gift exchange).  Some time after
that auspicious event I received a note from the Padster telling me
about the startup of oldtools and asking if I wanted to be a Galoot.
Well, most of you know how persuasive the GM can be, so I went ahead
and signed up.

I had begun accumulating hand tools some time before all the net
doings, beginning with my father's death, when my brother and I found
some familiar-looking "relics" in his garage.  The ascent (note that
the slippery slope many of us are on defies gravity, and we actually
are sliding upward--to a higher plane) to knuckle-dragging Nirvana
began in earnest with oldtools, however.  When visiting, my FIL (a
master carpenter and cabinet maker) noted the growing assemblage of
muscle-powered artifacts that populated my work area, and that brings
me to the BFMG (Bottom Feeder's Macro Gloat) that constitutes my
contest entry.

It turns out that my FIL still had almost all of the old hand tools
from the business, which started out as a carpentry in 1906.  Many of
the tools have the initials FH (Friedrich Heuser, my wife's great
grandfather) carved into them, and a few WG (Wilhelm Grebe).  As a
matter of history, WG was FH's uncle, and when WG died, his widow gave
his tools to FH.  This was the grub stake he used for starting the
family business.  Bottom line is that my FIL asked if I'd like to have
all the tools, since my BIL doesn't want them.

Let's see, now...  Let me think...  Visions of Brer Rabbit, briar
patches, etc. flash through my head...  "Well, sure, why not..." I
mumble as best I can in German.

I honestly can't recall what all is in the cache.  I only have a part
of it now (too much to carry at once).  I've been bringing it home a
little at a time when business takes me to Europe, and will bring the
rest back with me on the next trip (bought a bigger suitcase).  There
are 60+ moulding and other wooden planes, a complete set of spoon
bits, auger bits, saws (including a stair saw and a bow saw with 90
degree crimped blade for cutting square notches), etc., etc.  Most of
it is usable, though a few of the planes are missing irons and/or
damaged to some degree.

The main value of the tools, of course, is the family history they
represent.  We have a picture on our mantle of the old shop, taken in
1913.  In the picture are my wife's great grandfather (then
middle-aged), grandfather (as a teenage apprentice), and several of
the men they employed.  The picture was shot using available light, so
the background where many of the tools were kept is kind of dark and
indistinct, but some of the tools I now have in my shop (which doubles
as a garage) are clearly visible.  Others can been seen in outline in
the darker places.

I guess this could have been a much more impressive entry if I'd been
able to wrangle my wife's maternal grandfather's tools (he was a
master wheelwright), but those have been (and properly so) passed down
to another branch of the family.  I'm only grateful that I'll be able
pass along what I have from my father and FIL to my own progeny as a
link to their roots.  Of course, there's a *lot* of other stuff
they'll get for which the only explanation will be, "I guess the old
boy must've run across this at a flea market/estate sale/antique
dealer/junk pile/dumpster one day, and it followed him home."

Best,

Chuck

Can I submit a tale of someone else's gloat?

I was yard-sale shopping with my apprentice, who's
4 years old (3.5 at the time) and has all our taped
Roy episodes memorized.  We came to a trunk on the
driveway of one sale, filled with old metal...as I was
rummaging for loot myself, Peter yelped and grabbed up
a small eggbeater drill, dirty but in good shape.
He really wanted it, being fond of drilling implements,
so proudly marched over to the older gentleman selling
things and politely asked about the sale price.  The man
was charmed and promptly GAVE it to him. Me, I had to pay
$5 for my handful of steel.

Hmmm...small buyer, small tools....should I bring him to
the next Crane's sale, and gently nudge him toward one of
those cute little #1 planes?

Dave Tardiff, in Massachusetts...

>"Stolen" applies strictly to freebies acquired from innocent third
>parties.  No money can be involved, except possibly legal fees that
>result in aquittal.  A conviction involving fines or imprisonment
>automatically disqualify the transaction as successful bottom feeding.
>

OK, this may be a partial repeat but I never did tell the whole story of the
bike I bought for my 3year old.
Besides, I've never seen Osage orange before, let alone a mallet made of
one...

SWMBO put me on a garage sale "budget". $10 a week. With it I can buy
anything I want...almost.
The caveat on this one is that It has to fit in the Civic (not that I've had
any chances on a cool steam tractor)
and that the boys ( GITs 4 and 2) get something if I do. I don't usually
have much trouble finding tools within my range.
One fine Saturday I was on a mission. My son had finally outgrown his
tricycle and wanted a two wheeler.
At the time he was three. At that age they're usually not discriminating
enough to care whether it's new or used and until he is, we'll buy "gently
used" (hang on-I'm getting there!)
So armed with $30 (for a BIKE, SWMBO reminds me) we hit every G-sale on the
south end of the city.
Two and a half hours later I finally find Something that hits all three
necessities
1)My son likes it
2)It's good mechanically
3)The price is 'close' (he's asking $40 but I do have a Master Hagglers
License)

I lowball him at $20, which he declines.. so I nod and move away. I'm not
about to show interest... and I'm trying hard to ignore that my son is
clutching the bike and yelling at me...
I peruse through some boxes of electrical and assorted toolbox far...
nothing catches my eye. I'll move in for the kill in a minute...just as soon
as this guy figures out that my son is not going to influence my decision
(He's breaking my heart cuz he looks so sad...he's bought dad's act... I am
NOT leaving without this bike)
WAIT A SEC...BACK UP>>> WHAT IS THAT THING?
I've seen it before but I can't remember where...
move slow now...DON'T let him see any interest (sorry to say but both bike
and son are momentarily forgotten)
It's all steel 'cept for the ball on the end of the handle, looks crispy-
it's a plane,but what kind???
OK, at least it can't be a total waste, it's got a Stanley blade... stroll
back to the guy who's having the sale and say "look I've only $25 bucks on
me, I'll give you $25 for the bike if you throw this in"
Taylor (my son) now works to my advantage...this guy knows if we leave
without the bike that the kid is going to make the kind of
screaming-crying-kind of scene that only a three year old can create.
 He folds...
I count 5-5dollar bills to the guy (always group your money into different
pockets) and leave.
Taylor is ecstatic, I'm curious....
We get home, throw a set of training wheels on the bike and a helmet on
Taylor and he's off, the plane is forgotten while we catch some video of
Taylor's first time on a REAL bike.
Later that evening it's time to open the "bible" - The Superior Works:
Patrick's Blood and Gore Planes
#9 - #11 1/2
 Now I know...I've got a #9 Cabinetmakers block plane. It's ugly,  it hurts
your hand and it's UGLY.
Put some questions to the porch, is it common, is there some special way to
hold this sucker, is it worth anything?
I get responses... IT'S WORTH WHAT!!!! OH MY G...
Quick -delete the message... don't let SWMBO see that one!!!
The next week is hell... do I keep it? This one is not a user and I've
always said that if it doesn't get used, it goes.
Besides that...it's ugly...
But it is a #9 and I now know what a #9 is!
What finally makes the decision for me is the fact that I get an offer from
one of us.
A galoot (who asked to remain anonymous) offers an amount which, while it
might be a reasonable offer for a #9 is WAY more than I would have expected.
Within the week the #9 has found a good home, SWMBO has the 89 Chrysler
Magic Wagon she's been wanting and I've got enough brownie points to last at
least one or two Garage saling seasons :^)

Rgds,
Jeff from Wpg

>"Stolen" applies strictly to freebies acquired from innocent third
>parties.  No money can be involved, except possibly legal fees that
>result in acquittal.  A conviction involving fines or imprisonment
>automatically disqualify the transaction as successful bottom feeding.
>

OK, this may be a partial repeat but I never did tell the whole story of the
bike I bought for my 3year old.
Besides, I've never seen Osage orange before, let alone a mallet made of
one...

SWMBO put me on a garage sale "budget". $10 a week. With it I can buy
anything I want...almost.
The caveat on this one is that It has to fit in the Civic (not that I've had
any chances on a cool steam tractor)
and that the boys ( GITs 4 and 2) get something if I do. I don't usually
have much trouble finding tools within my range.
One fine Saturday I was on a mission. My son had finally outgrown his
tricycle and wanted a two wheeler.
At the time he was three. At that age they're usually not discriminating
enough to care whether it's new or used and until he is, we'll buy "gently
used" (hang on-I'm getting there!)
So armed with $30 (for a BIKE, SWMBO reminds me) we hit every G-sale on the
south end of the city.
Two and a half hours later I finally find Something that hits all three
necessities
1)My son likes it
2)It's good mechanically
3)The price is 'close' (he's asking $40 but I do have a Master Hagglers
License)

I lowball him at $20, which he declines.. so I nod and move away. I'm not
about to show interest... and I'm trying hard to ignore that my son is
clutching the bike and yelling at me...
I peruse through some boxes of electrical and assorted toolbox far...
nothing catches my eye. I'll move in for the kill in a minute...just as soon
as this guy figures out that my son is not going to influence my decision
(He's breaking my heart cuz he looks so sad...he's bought dad's act... I am
NOT leaving without this bike)
WAIT A SEC...BACK UP>>> WHAT IS THAT THING?
I've seen it before but I can't remember where...
move slow now...DON'T let him see any interest (sorry to say but both bike
and son are momentarily forgotten)
It's all steel 'cept for the ball on the end of the handle, looks crispy-
it's a plane,but what kind???
OK, at least it can't be a total waste, it's got a Stanley blade... stroll
back to the guy who's having the sale and say "look I've only $25 bucks on
me, I'll give you $25 for the bike if you throw this in"
Taylor (my son) now works to my advantage...this guy knows if we leave
without the bike that the kid is going to make the kind of
screaming-crying-kind of scene that only a three year old can create.
He folds...
I count 5-5dollar bills to the guy (always group your money into different
pockets) and leave.
Taylor is ecstatic, I'm curious....
We get home, throw a set of training wheels on the bike and a helmet on
Taylor and he's off, the plane is forgotten while we catch some video of
Taylor's first time on a REAL bike.
Later that evening it's time to open the "bible" - The Superior Works:
Patrick's Blood and Gore Planes
#9 - #11 1/2
Now I know...I've got a #9 Cabinetmakers block plane. It's ugly,  it hurts
your hand and it's UGLY.
Put some questions to the porch, is it common, is there some special way to
hold this sucker, is it worth anything?
I get responses... IT'S WORTH WHAT!!!! OH MY G...
Quick -delete the message... don't let SWMBO see that one!!!
The next week is hell... do I keep it? This one is not a user and I've
always said that if it doesn't get used, it goes.
Besides that...it's ugly...
But it is a #9 and I now know what a #9 is!
What finally makes the decision for me is the fact that I get an offer from
one of us.
A galoot (who asked to remain anonymous) offers an amount which, while it
might be a reasonable offer for a #9 is WAY more than I would have expected.
Within the week the #9 has found a good home, SWMBO has the 89 Chrysler
Magic Wagon she's been wanting and I've got enough brownie points to last at
least one or two Garage saling seasons :^)

Rgds,
Jeff from Wpg

This one gets my vote!  A #9 (proceeds from which yield a station wagon)
thrown in with a $25 bike, fer chrissake!

On Thu, 11 Feb 1999 23:17:23 -0600, Jeff from Winnipeg (hammer@a...)
wrote:

>OK, this may be a partial repeat but I never did tell the whole story of the
>bike I bought for my 3year old. . . .
[snip]
>I lowball him at $20, which he declines.. so I nod and move away. I'm not
>about to show interest... and I'm trying hard to ignore that my son is
>clutching the bike and yelling at me...
>I peruse through some boxes of electrical and assorted toolbox far...
>nothing catches my eye. I'll move in for the kill in a minute...just as soon
>as this guy figures out that my son is not going to influence my decision
>(He's breaking my heart cuz he looks so sad...he's bought dad's act... I am
>NOT leaving without this bike)
>WAIT A SEC...BACK UP>>> WHAT IS THAT THING?
>I've seen it before but I can't remember where...
>move slow now...DON'T let him see any interest (sorry to say but both bike
>and son are momentarily forgotten)
>It's all steel 'cept for the ball on the end of the handle, looks crispy-
>it's a plane,but what kind???
>OK, at least it can't be a total waste, it's got a Stanley blade... stroll
>back to the guy who's having the sale and say "look I've only $25 bucks on
>me, I'll give you $25 for the bike if you throw this in"
>Taylor (my son) now works to my advantage...this guy knows if we leave
>without the bike that the kid is going to make the kind of
>screaming-crying-kind of scene that only a three year old can create.
> He folds...
>I count 5-5dollar bills to the guy (always group your money into different
>pockets) and leave.
>Taylor is ecstatic, I'm curious....
>We get home, throw a set of training wheels on the bike and a helmet on
>Taylor and he's off, the plane is forgotten while we catch some video of
>Taylor's first time on a REAL bike.
[snip]
> Now I know...I've got a #9 Cabinetmakers block plane. It's ugly,  it hurts
>your hand and it's UGLY.
[snip]
>But it is a #9 and I now know what a #9 is!
>What finally makes the decision for me is the fact that I get an offer from
>one of us.
>A galoot (who asked to remain anonymous) offers an amount which, while it
>might be a reasonable offer for a #9 is WAY more than I would have expected.
>Within the week the #9 has found a good home, SWMBO has the 89 Chrysler
>Magic Wagon she's been wanting and I've got enough brownie points to last at
>least one or two Garage saling seasons :^)

---------------------------------------------------------------------
               Michael D. Sullivan, Bethesda, Md., USA
New Email address: avogadro@b... (also avogadro@w...)
---------------------------------------------------------------------

Foul, foul, foul!  You can't count the station wagon.  It ain't an old
tool.  But the #9 certainly beats me out.  I'm not even going to enter
my Gage G3C (junk shop owner offered to toss it in free if I would give
him $20 for the Stanley #7C I was fondling - I took him up on it).

Frank (Fort Worth Armadillo Works)

"Michael D. Sullivan" wrote:
>
> This one gets my vote!  A #9 (proceeds from which yield a station wagon)
> thrown in with a $25 bike, fer chrissake!

Esteemed Galoots,

Whew! Is is safe to come out now? This thread has prompted some of the
best stuff that I have read on the Porch for a long time. Since one of
the categories is 'got stuff for free' I'll throw this in. I first posted
this back in August of 1996 and it's on my web site but one has to root
around some to find it. It's buried deep. It's the story of bow I got my
first old tool. First one is free and then you pay...

I was a but a callow grad student at Ohio State when in the spring of
1977, I was selected as an intern (as in gofer, grunt, cannon fodder) for
a company based in Indianapolis.  The job was to support a product
development rep and his technician in doing field research.  By field, I
mean corn, soybean, tobacco, dry bean, etc..  We were looking for better
weedkillers, primarily. I got paid twice a month and got to drive a
honkin' big pickup truck for hours at a time as well as the assorted
tractor, combine, plot sprayer and what have you.  It was fun and I met a
lot of great people in the Heartland. The rub was that I had to relocate
to Indianapolis from Columbus for 4 months.  This meant leaving my wife
behind (she had a job) and moving to a rooming house on the outskirts of
Indy.  The rooming house was a large farmhouse which sat on an acre of
land.  Near the house was an ancient barn which, I was to learn, strictly
off limits to boarders.  The proprietor of the rooming house was Mrs.
Kruse, an elderly lady with a sore leg and a little yappy dog.  Mrs.
Kruse was nearing the end of a long life and had seen a few things go by
in that time.  She was without pretense and a was a pragmatic,
warm-hearted soul. I was her only boarder for most of the time. She had
largely stopped taking newcomers and her regulars had dropped off
one-by-one over the years. Initially cautious with new boarders, she set
strict limits on when I could use the kitchen and where I could go in the
house, save for my room.  Her mobility was limited as she had tripped
over something weeks before and, due to poor circulation, had developed a
sore on her leg.  We became friends after a short time.  I mowed the
yard, got rid of some of the peskier weeds, walked the dog and went for
groceries.  She let me have free reign of the kitchen but would not let
me near the barn.  I believe it was a jumble inside and she didn't want a
boarder getting hurt in there. She didn't sleep well and was often up
when I came in from the field.  We sat and talked in her kitchen, the
little old lady and the earnest young Galoot-to-be.  She didn't seem to
mind the chunks of mud my cleated boots left on the kitchen floor.  I
picked them up at the end of our conversations anyway.  I found out what
had happened to Mr. Kruse (dropped dead of a heart attack in the front
yard - keeled right over).  Mrs. Kruse started taking in boarders as Mr.
Kruse had not left her a pile of cash. She talked of her family and some
of the more memorable boarders she had known.  I told her I was a
woodworker and we talked about her great-grandfather who had been a
cabinetmaker.  My wife came out to stay one  weekend and Mrs. Kruse was
quite taken with her. Her leg eventually healed and the dog quit trying
to nip my ankles when I entered the house.  My internship drew to a
close.  The time came to go back to Columbus and I found myself in her
gravel driveway saying my good-byes.  I was about to get in the car when
she put her hand on my arm and said "Wait right here".  She disappeared
into the Barn Of Mysteries and tottered back out after a few minutes with
an object under her arm.  I blinked in surprise as she presented me with
a wooded 'coffin' bodied smoothing plane in excellent condition.  Her
eyes were moist and her voice quavered as she told me that it was the
last tool she had of her great-grandfather's and she wanted me to have
it.  She said she knew I would put it to good use.  I took the plane and
gave her a hug.  I had a lump in my throat the size of a Stanley #8.  The
next year I finished at Ohio State and went on to Wisconsin.
Indianapolis is on the way from Madison to Columbus so my wife and I were
able to stop in to see Mrs. Kruse a couple of times over the next few
years. One day I got a letter from one of her sons who found our address
in her correspondence.  She had passed away a few months before and he
thought I would want to know.

I'd like to say that I put the plane to immediate use and forsook my
Normite ways but for years I regarded it as more of a historical object
and momento of a special person than a woodworking tool.  I had taken the
plane apart many times and marveled at the workmanship and the thick
tapered blade with the logo "Ohio Tool Co, Thistle Brand, High Grade
Steel, Auburn NY USA" stamped into it.  I had (and still have) no idea
who made it.  There is no mark of a maker or owner on the 8" wooden body.
 I have a couple of 'Sandusky' coffin smoothers and the Kruse plane is
shaped differently; a bit taller and not so squat in appearence.  Even
though I had started using my crummy Type 20 Stanley bench planes, the
lack of any adjusting mechanism threw me.  Finally, inspired by one of
Krenov's books and Aldren Watson's "Country Furniture" I laboriously
honed the massive blade and started figuring out how to use it.  The
blade was a challenge to hone and sharpen as it had a small chip in the
center.  I had to hand grind the bevel back beyond the chip and flatten
the back.  The steel was amazingly tough and I spent hours (no power
grinder) honing the bevel on a carburundum stone using an 'Eclipse'
sharpening jig.  Back and forth, back and forth.... When I got a good
edge on it and got it adjusted I was amazed at how well it worked.  I
also found it to be fairly easy to adjust.  It became my main finishing
plane and I used it to surface the figured maple on my current hammer
dulcimer. And this with what is a gaping mouth by Galoot standards (the
plane's, not mine).  It sits in semi-retirement while I play with all of
these metal planes I have accumulated recently.  But who knows, I may set
all of these impertinent newcomers aside one day and go back to Old
Faithful.  One thing I know.  I'll sell it when the sun grows cold and
the very air freezes from the sky.
****************************
Tom Price (TomPrice@a...)
"...what else was in that barn? I'll never know..."
Excerpts From The 1942 Disston Saw Manual are featured at The Galoot's
Progress:
http://members.aol.com/tomprice/galootp/galtprog.html

>This one gets my vote!  A #9 (proceeds from which yield a station wagon)
>thrown in with a $25 bike, fer chrissake!

  Yeah, but, but, but...  HE TRADED AN OLD TOOL FOR A STATION WAGON!  For
heaven sakes, it was a "new" one at that!

  What's next?  "Gloats" about trading NIB bedrock(s) for Unisaw(s)? ;)

Tad Anhalt
Des Moines, Ia.
"Now, if'n he woulda traded for a Woodie wagon..."

Yes, This was a good one, but what about Walt Barrys'
$5 Stanley #1???

Steve Bussell

Michael D. Sullivan,(avogadro@b...) writes.....

>This one gets my vote!  A #9 (proceeds from which yield a station wagon)
>thrown in with a $25 bike, fer chrissake!

Tad wrote regarding Winnipeg Jeff's taking care of SWMBO:

>>This one gets my vote!  A #9 (proceeds from which yield a station wagon)
>>thrown in with a $25 bike, fer chrissake!
>
>  Yeah, but, but, but...  HE TRADED AN OLD TOOL FOR A STATION WAGON!  For
>heaven sakes, it was a "new" one at that!

Wait, wait, wait... He took care of SWMBO by buying her a _car_ and one
she wanted, to boot. He slew the mighty mammoth and brought home the
bacon, so to speak. This was a stroke of genius. He scored major points.
He bought himself the freedom to hunt for tools for a long, long, time.

He is a wise Galoot.
****************************
Tom Price (TomPrice@a...)
Still Waiting For The Big Score And When It Happens I'll Spend It On
SWMBO, Too
W.F.M. Goss On Bench Planes is featured at The Galoot's Progress:
http://members.aol.com/tomprice/galootp/galtprog.html

For a month and a half recently, my wife's sister and her
family were staying with us, as they were between houses
and the closing dates didn't match up.  My BIL had just
injured his hand and was on disability leave from his job.
The nature of the hand injury?  Chop saw.  Working too fast,
got careless.  Cut off the end segment of his index finger,
which the surgeon managed to reattach.  This is the same BIL,
coincidentally, that can't for the life of him understand
my attraction to hand tools, and old rusty ones at that.
(Aside: the rest of the Brotherhood, as we five brothers-in-
law call ourselves, got together for a group photo, each
concealing a different limb, to send to the injured one...
OK, so we're a cruel lot.  But I digress.  ;-)

Anyway, one trash day, while sitting at home nursing his
hand, he noticed a rather large pile of stuff at a neighbor's
across the street.  Now, he likes things that are brand new,
and wouldn't go trash-pickin' for himself if you paid him.
But I believe some deeply repressed part of his inner-self
got the better of him that day.  Having spied a "block plane"
in said pile (why is it every plane to a non-woodworker is a
"block" plane?) he ventured out, snatched it and proudly
presented it to me when I got home from work that night.

It's a Stanley #6.  Entirely painted green, a sickly sea green.
And I do mean, entirely. Blade, cutting edge of blade, sole,
the works.  Who was it that had the "ugliest plane contest" on
their web site?  I'll send him a picture.  Now, some of you
may be thinking, that's no gloat, that's a Booby Prize With A
Capital B.  I mean, really now; a #6? and a hideously painted
one at that?  OK, I'll concede it's no #1, OK, maybe not a #9
either, but let's not lose sight of the real gloat -- the
manner in which it came into my possession.  Given to me for
free.  By someone else who did the dirty work.  Who isn't
normally inclined to do such things.  Yep, I do believe my
poetic wax has started to seep into the family consciousness.

Regards,
Paul Fuss
Who briefly thought about putting it back into the trash.
Then started thinking I could send it to someone who would
truly appreciate it for what it is.  P. Leach? R. Roeder?

Duke of URLs wrote:
>
> >Yes, This was a good one, but what about Walt Barrys'
> >$5 Stanley #1???
> >Steve Bussell
>
> It's that maniacal look of glee that I love.
>
> http://www.sas.upenn.edu/~dberry/tmp/random/Walter&gloat.jpg
> http://www.sas.upenn.edu/~dberry/tmp/random/Walter&gloat2.jpg
>
> Spokeshave called it, "Tool Junkie Hopped up On Iron".
>
> Keith Bohn
>
> --

I vote for the Duke's maniacal look of glee photos as the best bottom
feeder gloat quote.  Ev'ry picture tells a story, don'it?

danz

> Yes, This was a good one, but what about Walt Barrys'
> $5 Stanley #1???

Not much of a gloat  since it's still only worth $5,
(at least that's what the tag says) because hopefully
I'll never bring myself to sell it.  It does look cute on
the top shelf over my bench, next to a #1 Odd-jobs
and #1 plumb bob.  And occasionally it does still get
fondled.  But eventually though, I'm going to have to
remove that darn price tag pasted on the sole, if I
ever want to sharpen it for a test shaving or two.
Who could resist?

Walter
quiet lately but not gone

Since everybody is going on about trading a #9 for a car and getting all
kinds of brownie points with SWMBO, I must tell the story about my toolbox.
Now I know that I have already submitted my bottom feeder story about the
machinist lathe I nabbed for nothing but the toolbox really got some points
with the wife.  Maybe not a car's worth of happy but pretty darn happy none
the less.  Hang in there and you will find out why.

It all happened a couple of years ago.  My wife was extremely pregnant at
the time, getting close to popping size.  Now, everyone out there who has
ever had a pregnant wife knows very well the emotions they go through during
this time.  Add the extreme summer time heat of South Georgia to that and
you start to see what I was living through.

Now, my wife has one quality that I really like about her.  She loves to go
to auctions.  Not much interested in old tools but she at least likes to go
to auctions and antique stores and the like.  They were having this auction
at a little place just north of town.  Mostly antique dealers showed up to
the auctions at this place but the public was invited to attend.  This
particular auction was taking place in the middle of the week (a Thursday if
I remember) so there were not that many non-dealers who had showed up.
Since the auction was taking place only a couple of miles from where I
worked at, I slipped out of the office for about an hour that morning with
my wife to see what all they had.  My wife was not working at the time due
to her extreme state of pregnancy so if there was something we wanted, she
could stay and bid while I went back to work.  My wife was looking for an
old antique bookcase or something like that so she would not mind staying if
there was something she liked.

We showed up and there was several pieces of furniture that looked
interesting but while I was poking around, I saw someone looking at an old
oak machinist chest back in the corner of the auction house.  Now, I had
been looking for one of these pups for some time now but everytime one went
up for auction, it ended up selling for three or four hundred dollars - much
more than this bottom feeder was willing to pay for an empty toolbox.

Without trying to look too anxious, I patiently waited until whoever was
looking at the toolbox moved on and then proceeded to make my way over to
it, again trying not to look to excited.  When I got there, I looked it over
from the outside.  Everything looked intact and to be in good shape.  I then
carefully slid open the top drawer.  To my extreme surprise, the drawer was
full of old machinist tools.  I started to look into the other drawers and
each one of them was filled to the brim with wonderful old machinist tools.
Rules, Mics, Squares, Indicators, the whole shooting match.  At this point,
I am about to the point of drewling.  Now, I am primarily a woodworker but I
did apprentice in a machine shop for three years and this was really a nice
collection of tools.  Most of the stuff was Starrett and Brown and Sharpe -
not ancient old but judging from evidence such as some notepads and pocket
calendars still in the toolbox, it looked as though the box had been put up
sometime in the late sixties and never touched again.  Just from a quick
estimate, I figured if I were to go out an buy all of this stuff new, it
would easily be over $1,500 worth of tools not counting the old oak toolbox
that there were housed in.

Well, I eased over to my wife as I was really needing to get back to work.
I showed her the old toolbox, pointing to it across the room, and told her
that when the box came up to bid up to a certain amount of money on it.  At
the time, she was not real happy with me spending that much money on a
toolbox but she had come across some piece of furniture she wanted so we
compromised and I told her she could bid up to the same amount as my tool
box on her thing.  She was happy and I went back to work.

5:00 finally rolled around and I had not heard from my wife yet so I took
off in the direction of the auction house.  When I arrived, I noticed that
the toolbox was sitting on the floor next to my wife.  With excitement, I
started my way over to her.  I was a bit concerned at this point on how much
she actually paid for it - while I was at work, I started to think about all
the money I owed and the high bid limit I had given her. While even at my
high price, it would have been a real good price for the toolbox and tools,
it was more than I really wanted to pay.

When I got there, she began to tell the story.  She said that the opening
bid was for $50.00, which she quickly bid.  Someone then quickly bid $100.00
and she instantly bid $150.00.  To her amazement, the bidding stopped there
and the gavel fell.  It was WAY less than what I had told her to bid.  Why
every EMPTY machinist chest I had seen at auction fetched at least twice
that.

The item she had been waiting on finally came up but the price went too
high; we had only won the toolbox.  On the way home, she made it very clear
that while she did technically do the bidding, we did not really have the
money to buy a toolbox, especially with the baby coming.  I just sat there
not saying very much.

When I got home, of course I was like a kid at Christmas, going through the
toolbox to see really what all I had inside.  As I started cleaning, tucked
away in the back of one of the drawers, up under a pile of crud, I fished
out a gold wedding band - the type that goes on a Mans hand.  I guess like
any good machinist, he didn't wear it in the shop for safety reasons and
eventually it just stayed in the toolbox. It was too small to fit on any of
my fingers except maybe my pinky so I sat it aside and went on checking out
my loot.  When I got through, I took the ring inside, cleaned it up a little
in the kitchen sink and then showed it to my wife.

Now, if there is anything that will get most any woman all excited it is a
piece of jewelry.  She jumped up from where she sat (OK, she was too
pregnant to jump, more like waddled up off the couch) and got here jewelry
cleaner out.  She rubbed and shined and then slid it onto her left ring
finger.  Fit just right.

Me, being the typical man that I am, I had not even noticed that for the
past four months of her pregnancy her hands had swelled up to the point
where she could not fit her engagement ring or wedding band on.  I did
vaguely remember something she had said a month or two previous about how
she sure would like to have a ring to wear while she was pregnant but I
really was not listening all that well (selective hearing you know.)  I am
not sure when the last time was that I had seen her this happy.

As it turned out, I got a nice toolbox that I had been wanting for some
time, not to mention all of the nice machinist tools inside that made it
even better.  And to make the pie even sweeter, I also got to give my wife
jewelry all at the same time.  Talk about your nice day.

After the baby was born and my wives knuckles returned to somewhat of a
normal size.  She took the ring to the local jewelry store to have it
re-sized to fit her.  The lady at the store told her that the ring was worth
about $160.00.  So the way I see it, I bought my wife some nice jewelry
(real big brownie points) with a ten buck discount while at the same time
getting a free toolbox full of machinist tools!  One of the better deals I
have ever come across!

She still wears the ring to this day when she does not feel like carrying
around that big ole diamond on her hand (yeah right!)

Not sure if it ranks up there with the #9 story but pretty good none the
less.  Of course if I had found that #9 I am not sure that I could have ever
traded it off - no matter how happy it would make my wife!

Keith Rucker
Tifton, GA

Galoots,
        OK, there have been some good tales in this challenge.  But all of thes
e
bottom feeder tales have had their success rooted in blind luck, friends,
whatever.  The reality is that the tool came to the Galoot.   No skill
involved!   I think I'm still the bottom champ!  I KNOW I'm the cheapest
guy on this list.
        Try this one:  I arrive at the "Moving" sale in the upscale neighborhoo
d
to enter a three-car garage filled with tables of linen, glass stuff and
ceramic pottery.  The pert 35'ish women tending the sale says welcome and I
ask where the tools are - spotting them behind rope restraints around the
rim of the garage - the kind of rope that says "not for sale".
        She says there are none for sale. Her husband doesn't want to sell them
.
I look at the other junque' and in my best kindly voice ask where they are
moving to.  She responds she is going "home to mother", that they are
getting divorced.   Hey hey hey!  Engage creative conniving!
        I shuffle, look down and say, "Oh, I'm sorry.  How long were you marrie
d.
She tell me and says she thought it was a good marriage until two weeks ago
when her husband shows up with a 16 year old blonde (Yep! - The felonious
devil) and THEIR 1 week old BABY!  He asks if the 16 year old and the baby
can live with the wife.
        I commiserate, I "dirty rat" him subtly, all the while eyeing the hoard
 of
tools around the garage rim.   I am successfully gaining her confidence and
I am sympathetic.   When it becomes clear that we have struck a
"connection" in the "situation", I strike.
        "So, what is he going to do with the tools?"  She doesn't know.  She sa
ys
that he loves them and can't bare to part with them.  "Is he selling
anything here", I ask.   Yes, but not much she says.   More importantly,
she is not happy about him leaving her to tend the sale.  "I suppose he is
with HER", I suggest.  I don't think she'd thought of that, because her
head snapped, really snapped around.
        The hook is taken - now set it.  "So, how do you know which of his thin
gs
to sell.  I mean, are there any tools you could sell me?", I ask.   She
says no because he hasn't told her exactly what to sell.  "Yea", I said.
"He'd be REALLY, REALLY upset if you sold his best stuff".
        Her head snaps up again - really snaps up!  She says, "Yes he would,
WOULDN'T he!"   "What exactly would you like to buy?", she asks me.  Hook,
line and sinker!
        The haul?  Planes (collectible and usable), squares, levels, chisels, a
Toro $600 lawn mower - a whole Aerostar load of stuff - all for chump
change!  And it was all done in the kindly spirit of lifting her spirits.
It surely did while I was there.  If I'd have let her, she would have
carried it all the Aerostar for me.  It really buoyed her day.

        Karl - who worked for the Federal Government learning to justify ANYTHI
NG!

>Yes, This was a good one, but what about Walt Barrys'
>$5 Stanley #1???
>Steve Bussell

It's that maniacal look of glee that I love.

http://www.sas.upenn.edu/~dberry/tmp/random/Walter&gloat.jpg
http://www.sas.upenn.edu/~dberry/tmp/random/Walter&gloat2.jpg

Spokeshave called it, "Tool Junkie Hopped up On Iron".

Keith Bohn

Now that is a real story of bottom feeding finesse

I hope foryour sake that none of te List members
have had this happen to them !!!

you never know you may live in th esame town as Karl :)  :)   :)   :)

Aaron  taak

Karl W. Sanger wrote:

> Galoots,
>         OK, there have been some good tales in this challenge.  But all of
these
> bottom feeder tales have had their success rooted in blind luck, friends,
> whatever.  The reality is that the tool came to the Galoot.   No skill
> involved!   I think I'm still the bottom champ!  I KNOW I'm the cheapest
> guy on this list.
>         Try this one:  I arrive at the "Moving" sale in the upscale
neighborhood
> to enter a three-car garage filled with tables of linen, glass stuff and
> ceramic pottery.  The pert 35'ish women tending the sale says welcome and I
> ask where the tools are - spotting them behind rope restraints around the
> rim of the garage - the kind of rope that says "not for sale".
>         She says there are none for sale. Her husband doesn't want to sell
them.
> I look at the other junque' and in my best kindly voice ask where they are
> moving to.  She responds she is going "home to mother", that they are
> getting divorced.   Hey hey hey!  Engage creative conniving!
>         I shuffle, look down and say, "Oh, I'm sorry.  How long were you
married.
> She tell me and says she thought it was a good marriage until two weeks ago
> when her husband shows up with a 16 year old blonde (Yep! - The felonious
> devil) and THEIR 1 week old BABY!  He asks if the 16 year old and the baby
> can live with the wife.
>         I commiserate, I "dirty rat" him subtly, all the while eyeing the
hoard of
> tools around the garage rim.   I am successfully gaining her confidence and
> I am sympathetic.   When it becomes clear that we have struck a
> "connection" in the "situation", I strike.
>         "So, what is he going to do with the tools?"  She doesn't know.  She
says
> that he loves them and can't bare to part with them.  "Is he selling
> anything here", I ask.   Yes, but not much she says.   More importantly,
> she is not happy about him leaving her to tend the sale.  "I suppose he is
> with HER", I suggest.  I don't think she'd thought of that, because her
> head snapped, really snapped around.
>         The hook is taken - now set it.  "So, how do you know which of his
things
> to sell.  I mean, are there any tools you could sell me?", I ask.   She
> says no because he hasn't told her exactly what to sell.  "Yea", I said.
> "He'd be REALLY, REALLY upset if you sold his best stuff".
>         Her head snaps up again - really snaps up!  She says, "Yes he would,
> WOULDN'T he!"   "What exactly would you like to buy?", she asks me.  Hook,
> line and sinker!
>         The haul?  Planes (collectible and usable), squares, levels, chisels,
a
> Toro $600 lawn mower - a whole Aerostar load of stuff - all for chump
> change!  And it was all done in the kindly spirit of lifting her spirits.
> It surely did while I was there.  If I'd have let her, she would have
> carried it all the Aerostar for me.  It really buoyed her day.
>
>         Karl - who worked for the Federal Government learning to justify
ANYTHING!
>
> --

On Fri, 12 Feb 1999 16:05:40 -0500 "Karl W. Sanger"
 writes:
>Galoots,
>       OK, there have been some good tales in this challenge.  But all
of these
>bottom feeder tales have had their success rooted in blind luck,
friends,
>whatever.  The reality is that the tool came to the Galoot.   No skill
involved!

[snip shameless confession, Karl konnived with scorned woman]

        That's it!  The rest of ya can take back your sorry stories.
This rat bastuhd takes the chunk of cheese.  I'd rather have this tale
to tell than a $5 #1, a van for #9 swap, or an $8 Chelor.

        I'm working on a good conspiracy theory about ol' Karl.
I'm thinking that State Department story is just a cover.  He just
had to be some kind of cold, remorseless, license-to-kill, double-naught
spy.  Anyone know if he lives on a grassy knoll?  Anybody know how
many ways you can kill a commie with an antique machinist tool?

Regards,
Steve - who once printed out the picture of the hopped-up  Walter and the

$5 #1 and told SWMBO if she became a widow to not sell him any tools,
but who will now print out Karl's picture and tell her if he show up at
the estate
sale she should immediatly get one of the ten State Troopers who live
within
two blocks.

That is one awesomely impressive story of bottom feeding...I had always
thought the story
of a "$75 Corvette" obtained with the same sneaky technique was an urban
myth, but
Karl has proven me wrong. I'm sure Karl has a garage full of Corvette's
obtained the same
way!

Doesn't meet the contest rules the way I see it (since Karl did pay for the
tools) but it
is still a _great_ story!

Kelly Cox
Madison, WI


>
>       Karl - who worked for the Federal Government learning to
> justify ANYTHING!
>

I guess I am sitting around this afternoon with way too little to do.  I
have yet again one more bottom feeder story that I must share to the group.
This one does not have to do with machinist tools but again with metal
working none the less (why does a woodworker find all of the metal working
great finds anyhow?).  Remember the big anvil I mentioned in one of my
previous bottom feeder post?

This story happened to me right before I got out of high school.  I was
working in the afternoons and evenings at the local auto parts store.  They
had a nice big store in town and a real small store in one of the
surrounding communities.  On Wednesday afternoon, they sent me down to the
branch store because the person who ran it took Wednesday afternoons off.

Now the branch store was in this real little community way out in the
country.  The actual store was housed in this old gas station.  It looked
like it came right off of the Andy Griffith Show - old run down looking
place with a lot of character.  Now, most of the folks at the main store
could not stand to have to go out and work the branch store but myself,
being one who liked old thing, kinda enjoyed the experience.  (BTW, I one
time told man in a junk store that I liked old things and he told me that if
that was the case I would really like his wife!)

I guess that the best thing about working in the old store was some of the
characters that traded there.  After a while, it was kinda like working at
an old general store or something - everybody knew everybody, people
stopping in just to hand around - real friendly.

One afternoon, a fellow that I had gotten to know came in and told me of
this lady who lived down the road from him.  Her husband had a shop back
behind the house where he was always working on old cars and such.  Seems
that he had started running around on his wife and she had proof that he was
shacked up with some ole girl on a "business trip" at that very moment.
While he was gone, she went and had divorce papers drawn up so he could sign
them as soon as he returned.  In the meantime, she had decided that the only
way she was ever going to get any money out of the deadbeat was to sell
whatever of his she could.  By the time I got over to the free-for-all flea
market, most of the good stuff had been picked over pretty well.

While I was poking around, I did come across one thing that really got my
attention - a huge anvil.  This anvil was by far the biggest one I had ever
seen at that time.  Without even looking it over very well, I asked the lady
how much she wanted for it.  She told me $75.00.  I reached into my pocket
and low and behold, all I had was $50.00 - really, that was all I had.  I
told her what I had and she agreed to the deal without hesitation.

I needed a way to load the big old anvil so I started looking around.  This
fellow that I knew had just bought an old International tractor from her as
well and was working on getting it cranked.  After a few min., he fired it
off.  While I was poking around, I saw an old boom that fit onto a tractor
3-point hitch.  The lady agreed to me using it and the new owner of the
tractor was kinda wanting to check out the hydraulics on his tractor anyway.
We hitched up the tractor and with a found piece of chain lifted the anvil
onto the back of my truck.

When I got home, I started to look it over real good.  There was a casting
of a eagle with spread wings on one side.  I had remembered reading
something in one of my old blacksmith books (Practical Blacksmithing) about
some different brands of anvils and went to the house to look it up.  There
was a copy of an old ad in the back showing an anvil with the same eagle
logo on the side.  The Fisher and Norris Eagle Anvil Works from Trenton,
N.J.  In fact, there was even a nice write up in the book about the history
of this same outfit and how they made the best anvils around.  It also had
stamped on the side of the anvil US Government and a Gov. serial number.
Must have been government surplus at some time or another. Cast into one of
the legs the number 40 in raised numbers. Some time later, me and several
friends managed to lift it up and set onto a borrowed set of platform
scales.  Thing weighed in a tad over 400 lbs.  Sometime after that, I did
see one that was larger - a 600 pounder.  It was in a museum in New Mexico.

A couple of weeks later, this ole fellow stopped in the store and asked me
if I had heard about the lady selling all of her husbands stuff.  I told him
that I did hear something about it.  He then went on and on about how
disgusted he was because he had heard about this huge anvil down there.  By
the time he had gotten there it was gone.  I just smiled, shook my head and
said "what a shame".

Had a lot of fun pounding metal on that old anvil in my blacksmith shop.
Somewhere I have a picture of the big 400 pounder with my much smaller 110
pound anvil on top and my even smaller 77 pounder stacked on top of that
one.

Keith Rucker
Tifton, GA

Tom Price rightly takes me to task:
>>  Yeah, but, but, but...  HE TRADED AN OLD TOOL FOR A STATION WAGON!  For
>>heaven sakes, it was a "new" one at that!
>
>Wait, wait, wait... He took care of SWMBO by buying her a _car_ and one

  Yeah, but if he wanted to gloat about it, he could have at least claimed
it was going to be his "lumber wagon".  ;)

  Speaking from a "best gloat" perspective, not a "most realistic" one.

>she wanted, to boot. He slew the mighty mammoth and brought home the
>bacon, so to speak. This was a stroke of genius. He scored major points.
>He bought himself the freedom to hunt for tools for a long, long, time.

  I just take my wife with me.  She's got a better eye for rust than I do.
Sure, sometimes I lose out on a tool so that she can get something she
_really_ wants, but that's ok, it just tends to let us both get the stuff
that we _really_ want, weeds out some of the cruft and keeps the goodwill
(brownie point, etc.) meter pretty well pegged for the both of us.

>He is a wise Galoot.

  I certainly could have phrased my original comments a lot better.  I was
trying for a gentle ribbing and came up with something else...  Sorry about
that.

>Still Waiting For The Big Score And When It Happens I'll Spend It On
>SWMBO, Too

  IME, spending a little here and a little there is _much_ more satisfying to
both of us(*) than chasing the "big one."  Or to put it another way, it's a
lot easier to bring home a pork chop here and there than a whooly mammoth all
at once.  YMMV.

(*) My lovely wife and I.

Tad Anhalt
Des Moines, Ia.
Where bacon-on-the-hoof is at truly bottom-feeder prices right now.

got the better of him that day.  Having spied a "block plane"
in said pile (why is it every plane to a non-woodworker is a
"block" plane?) he ventured out, snatched it and proudly
presented it to me when I got home from work that night.

And if they don't call it a "block plane" then it a planER!

Well - here's my contribution.  About 20 years ago I had a friend
who was what then was called a "second-hand dealer".  He used
to go around and clean out attics, garages and basements, charge
for his services, and keep the good stuff.  Bill was quite a character.
He was Jamaican and quite an accomplished boxer. Probably came
to Connecticut to pick tobacco and stayed. He also had quite a liking
for grandfather clocks and was quite good at repairing them.

Anyway, being Jamaican, he was somewhat hesitant to knock on doors
in the wealthy Hartford suburbs and offer his services. So he played the
hired hand and one of his workers knocked on doors and played the
boss.  I used to stop and see Bill every 3 or 4 weeks and we trade things back
and forth.  Now Bill knew lots about clocks and furniture but not much
about tools.  One day as I walked in, he pointed to a small box and
said "take a look".  Well there were 2 Stanley's I didn't recognize
and a  #71 router.
.
I said "How much"?  Bill said  $10.  Sold!

Now this was in the days before Walters price guide, PTAMPIA was
still at the printers, and old tool info and prices were tough to find.  It too
k
me a few months to figure out I had:

a minty  #97
a 66 hand beader with a fence and some blades
a type 1  71.

In some ways, we don't know how good we have it today. Things like
Stanley B&G, the collective knowledge of this group, all the reference
material available, and the instantaneous  response are almost
overwhelming at times

Paul Honore
Hebron  CT

        Congratulations to the winner - Jeff!  The rest is exceptionally minima
l
oldtool and VERY "Galoot".  The "exploding" outhouse kinda hit me.  Hence
this post.
        Some years ago I rebuilt, on their existing location, outhouses by hand
tools as a Saturday job (the old tool content here).  This work was mostly
in Harpers Ferry, WVA.  Anyway, I'm sure the jobs "atmosphere" gave me a
strong affinity for the subject.  Hence, I found a book called "American
Outhouse" or something similar in the bookshop.  It contained pictures of
the still standing or recently demised "facilities".  I spent more than a
few times looking at this obviously all-American original coffee table
work.  But I never bought it.
        I deeply regret that.  This is a request to any Galoot who may have the
book to consider selling it to me.  For years I have carried deep within
the depressions of my mind a vision that the "exploding outhouse" story
rekindled.
        Mind you, there are more types, shapes, and configurations of outhouses
than the simple "one holer".   The one that has particularly stuck, and re
triggered by the explosion, is the nine hole, THREE STORY one attached to
the end of a Colorado hotel, ca. 1880.  Now picture it.  It was a three
story hotel and there were three "holes" per floor, one directly on top of
the other.  From the picture, I judge the ceiling height to be about 9 feet
between floors.  The only final "repository" was below the first floor.
Oh, and each "hole" was side-by-side with the others and all were
straightly aligned vertically top to bottom!  Nothing was marked "Men" or
"Women".
        Ok, got the picture?  So, what was the etiquette?  Did the upper floors
always have right of way?   Did lower floors carry umbrellas?  I have more
questions, but won't ask.  The guests of this hotel had to be REAL Galoots!
 At least in the explosion story the "explosion is a one time event.   I
can't imagine!
        So, if you have the book, can I have it?  There was a second book produ
ced
on the subject, but it's pictured facilities lacked the finess of the first!

***********************************************
*   Karl W. Sanger                               *
*       Desperately seeking antique       *
*               Machinist Tools!!!           *
* (Email: sangerkw@m...)   *
***********************************************

 It's the story of bow I got my
>first old tool. First one is free and then you pay...

OK, I know that it's after the deadline and all, but this sentence was so
funny, I had to respond!!

This one is bit different, but a more similar one follows.  Some years ago
(I really can't remeber how many), I was helping my dad on a project (not
sure which of the three buildings it was) and I asked for my own Toolbag.
Throughout all of my childhood (not that I'm grown up now, but I AM older
than I was then), I had wacthed my dad do all the fix-it-up jobs I could
ever imagine existing, and for all the ones that involved carpentry, he
would put on his toolbelt, you know the ones, they fit on one side of your
body and you have to get a separate hammer holder to fit on your belt.
Well, I wanted one of my own.  Although young, I was tired of running for
supplies all the time, or having to ask my dad for nails because the
handful I had had gotten used.  WELL...  One Saturday my mom goes to town
(not unusual) and when she got back, she started walking out toward us and
I started walking towards her to give her a hug (I like hugs:^)) Before I
get there, she pulls out... an 11 pocket toolbag!!!! Granted, it doesn't
seem like too much now that I'm writing about it, but it was AWESOME back
then, and I still get a special feeling when I use it.  It always reminds
me that my parents thought enough of my ability and cared enough to spend
the money (which was tight with 8 kids) to get me my VERY OWN toolbelt.
I've got it with me, now, up at college, and although I haven't really had
a chance to use it since Christmas Break, I hope to be able to use it on a
Habit house this spring.  This tool isn't exactly OLDTOOL as I understand
it, but it was free to me and it means a LOT to me, as an ever constant
reminder to me of how much my parents loved me.

And now the more common one.
I posted a question about which plane to get if I could get only one.  I
got many responses, including one offering me a plane.  I accepted, and
became addicted faster than I ever thought imaginable, and here I am,
working on a getting a basic set of shop tools, and enjoying the
woodworking I have time to do.  I actually did make an entirely galoot
project last Saturday.  I made an holder for a code-reader that attaches to
a copier, and it only took me about 3 hours!!  Granted, it's not fine
furniture, but it works.  I originally thought that the tool was given out
of kindness, but now that I am in deep, I can see the truth of it all that
it was a lure which I swallowed and now am destined to carry out the happy
future of all galoots ;^)
later, and thanks all for the great list.
Paul Aud

At 08:15 PM 2/13/99 -0500, Karl W. Sanger wrote:

>       Some years ago I rebuilt, on their existing location, outhouses by hand
>tools as a Saturday job (the old tool content here).  This work was mostly

That explains the "full of s..t"

Ha ha

Tony

________________________________________________________
        Old tools..don't leave home without them
________________________________________________________

Tony, about my "Outhouse" post wrote:
        

        Well, not entirely!  Someday, I'll post about the 80 horse stalls I
cleaned every morning for 4 years.  I got really good at separating good
and bad straw and properly squaring the sides of the wagon the waste
"materials" were stacked on.  It IS an art form!

        Karl - all this was certainly proper training for my career in the Fede
ral
Government

> furniture, but it works.  I originally thought that the tool was given out
> of kindness, but now that I am in deep, I can see the truth of it all that
> it was a lure which I swallowed and now am destined to carry out the happy
> future of all galoots ;^)
> later, and thanks all for the great list.
> Paul Aud

"First one's free, kid! But now you have to pay!!"
 B^) B^) B^) B^)
But don't worry, there's a wonderful support group for this
problem, and you're part of it! TSGFH!! B^) B^) B^) B^) B^) B^)