The Lesson of the Handsaw

My dad was a craftsman. Sears may have named their Craftsman line of tools after him. When he worked at the Magnolia Refinery, later the Mobil Refinery and now the Exxon Mobil Refinery, he was a journeyman machinist (a union man, but we will deal with that later). He was a stickler for taking care of tools.

I must have been 8 or 9 when I decided to build something from some scrap lumber. I worked in the back yard with the lumber on saw horses. I have no memory of what I was building, but I know that I used dad’s handsaw, his Craftsman handsaw, in the process. I know this because I did not put it away when my ADD kicked in and I rocketed off to a different activity.

I committed a cardinal sin, leaving the handsaw lying in the grass overnight. That particular night the dew was in fine form and the steel of the handsaw was particularly susceptible to producing iron oxide - RUST.

This photo is not the saw, but it is a fair approximation.

When dad discovered the rusty saw in the grass of the backyard, he was less than pleased.

Dad was an exponent of corporal punishment - spare the rod and spoil the child. {I was not spoiled by this standard.} Dad also was granted wisdom by his Lord and Savior and in this instance he shifted his anger into wisdom mode.

I spent the next couple of days in the garage using a wire brush, steel wool, emery cloth and a concoction including turpentine to restore the saw to its original pristine shine.

I hated it. I really preferred playing with my buddies rather than saw scrubbing. From that day forward I treated my dad’s tools and later my tools and those belonging to others with a lot of respect. Respect learned through steel wool and turpentine. Dad did the right thing.