My swiss army knife and me.

Ever since I can remember, I have owned a pocket knife.  I am pretty sure that one of my first knives was a cub scout pocket knife. Not too much unlike this one:

What I would not give to still have that old knife.  It was not long before I graduated to a swiss army knife.  For the uninformed (and any one that has never watched MacGyver), the swiss army knife is a mulit-purpose knife with a large blade and a variety of other tools which usually include a screwdriver and can opener.  In the late 1800's, Switzerland's army began distributing such knives to it's officers - and thus the Swiss Army Knife was born.  Over the years, it's utility and variety of available tools has made it synonymous with versatility.  A coworker was once asked to do a job that was outside his normal skill set and range of responsibility.  He answered, "I am a Swiss Army Knife - I can do anything."  Indeed, the Swiss Army Knife is sometimes lampooned for the variety of functions it can perform.

  

Most everyone knows about the swiss army knife in general, but only the discerning know about the "Original" vs "Genuine" distinction.  Early on, I discovered that the knife's popularity had spawned many cheap imitators.  I also noticed that quality ones had a crossbow (not an umbrella like I thought at first) engraved on the bottom of the main blade.  They would also say "OFFICER SUISSE" and many would have "VICTORIA" engraved on it as well.

I soon learned that this was the mark of a Victorinox and that there was another "real" swiss army knife made by Wenger.

 
It turns out they are both real swiss army knives (but this can be said for only those two brands).  Victorinox is branded as the "Original Swiss Army Knife" and Wenger is the "Genuine Swiss Army Knife".  I gravitated toward Victorinox as the superior brand much the same as Coke is better than Pepsi.  As if the superior design of the Victorinox can opener over the lesser Wenger version was not enough and the fact that Victorinox later aquired Wenger and mercifully allowed them to keep their brand....as if these two facts were not enough, the clincher is that MacGyver used a Victorinox in all but 3 of the 97 episodes where a swiss army knife was employed.  Inconceivable as it sounds, there were 42 episodes where he did not use a knife at all.  It seems that he favored the Spartan.

This brings me to my preferred model.  Boy Scouts and Swiss Army Knives go together like peanut butter and chocolate.  Each is wonderful on their own, but together they are amazing.  I like to carry the Huntsman.

The stock Huntsman has a corkscrew.  The Boy Scouts figured that 12-18 years did not really need to open anything that was hidden behind a cork, so they wisely replaced it with a phillips head screwdriver.  The other two tools that make this model stand out are the saw (what self respecting Boy Scout does not need a saw from time to time) and the scissors.  Ah, the scissors - those glorious scissors.  It is that which inspired me to write today's entry.  Before I get to my scissor story, let me tell you about my Huntsman.

My knife has been put to good use and well tested.  I have used from the backwoods to the front office and everywhere in between.  Some where along the way, I noticed it was getting a little grimy.  What better way to clean it than put it in boiling water to remove all the impurities?  Appearanlty, boiling water considered the glue holding the red plastic covering to the metal to be an impurity - and away it went.  For several years, my poor little knife was half naked.  Red covered on one side and naked on the other.  Finally I restored its dignity and glued the other side back on.  I can easily tell my warped sided little buddy from any other look-alikes.

Back to the scissors.  One of the most frequent uses of my swiss army knife is clipping my fingernails with the scissors.  They just work so much better than any cuticle scissors or fingernail clippers that I have come across.  Over the past couple of weeks, my nails have reached the stage of needing some attention.  My knife occasionally likes to play hide and seek from me and has eluded me for several weeks now.  It does this from time to time but always comes back to me.  This time, however, I was starting to become desperate.  After looking in all my pockets and my gym bag and my car and my bedside, I still could not find it.  If I did not do something soon, I would have to paint my nails.  To quote that great maritime philosopher (Popeye): "I've had all me can stands and me can't stands no more". In desperation I stole borrowed my wife's nail kit.  The clippers just would not give the satisfying "click" sound as they broke through...because they wouldn't break through.  I tried the little scissors.  The just slipped around the nail side ways like a piece paper sliding through children's safety scissors.  Then it hit me.  I had the perfect idea.  I dashed to the closet and pulled out the shoe box.  You know the one.  The one with my grandfather's watch, my set of Superman collecting cards, my Eagle Scout ribbon,  my pinewood derby car, and other such prized possessions.  I opened it up and rummaged through it.  There it was.  The object of my search.  My SwissChamp.  The one my mother had bought for me IN SWITZERLAND when she took me as a 12 year old.  I know the Huntsman will turn up soon.  I am not worried.  But today, the SwissChamp, that 3.5" beauty with all of its 33 various tools, would save the day.  I found the scissors and trimmed my nails to manicured perfection.  My swiss army knife did not let me down...and it never has.

Mr. Cheerful

If you know much about Atlanta, you know that Interstates 75 and 85 go right through the middle of it.  The two interstates are like two wires wrapped around each other but separated on either end.  The twisted part in the middle is in the heart of Atlanta and is known as "the connector" which runs North and South.  Intersecting perpendicularly, and running East and West,  is Interstate 20.  The convergence of all these interstates creates quite a traffic snarl on most mornings.  Travelling from West to East and then merging North onto the connector can take a quite a while, especially in the mornings.  With all those cars backed up, it has a prime place for the homeless to look for a little good will from the daily commuters.  For the better part of the last 20 years, this is the guy that me and several thousand other commuters would see nearly every day:

Although I never knew his name, I was always fascinated by him.  He was always smiling or waving or saluting.  From what I saw from my car window, he always appeared fresh and clean.  Never dirty or disheveled. His cheerful demeanor was uplifting.  The fact that he was so cheerful despite what must have been difficult circumstances often encouraged me to smile through my own trials.  Just seeing him brightened my day.

Some say you should never give handouts since it is a positive reinforcement and a discouragement for hard work at an honest job.  Other say the homeless are human beings just like you and me and deserve the same respect and occasional helping hand that we would hope to receive.  That is a worthy debate to have, but it is not the purpose of this post.  In fact, on some days I would get in "his" lane so that I could give him a sandwich or a few dollars.  On other days I would get in the right lane just so I would not feel pressured to give him anything.

He is certainly not the only homeless guy in Atlanta.  In fact, in the past few months he was one of three or four in the same small area.  I was forced to do more than a little introspection when I found that it was much easier to turn a blind eye to the unshaven and dirty sad looking guys than to Mr. Clean & Cheerful. What makes it so easy to be drawn to this guy and so easy to look past those around him?  I'm afraid the answer likely reveals a darker part of human nature.

In the past few years, I have discovered a shortcut that would take me on some side streets and get me on to the connector much faster than those that drove past Mr. Cheerful.  Although I would no longer drive past him, I would look across the way just see if he was still over there.  He always was.  Occasionally, I would do Google searches to see if I could find anything out about him.  I thought surely someone else was enthralled with him as I was.  Nothing ever came up.

Last week I happened to go the way of Mr. Cheerful and saw this:

There was no traffic that day, so there was no Mr. Cheerful.  I found the display curious and feared the worst.  A few days later, I went that way on purpose and found a new guy in the same spot.  After giving him a few dollars, I asked him what happened to "that" guy (pointing to the display against wall).  I was told that while he was sleeping in that very spot in his tent, a DUI truck left the road and ran right into him as he slept.  He died on the spot.  A news story confirmed the account.  The memorial showed that I was not the only one that would miss Mr. Cheerful.  I contacted the writer of the news story and learned that the man's name was Johnny Johnson Jr.  I also learned that a group named MOTION had helped Johnny and others for years.  They were the ones that first broke the news of Johnny's death.  Although his obituary was rather brief, the comments were a testament to the fact than there were many people, like me, that were daily encouraged by a complete stranger.  I will miss him even though I never really knew him.  I never knew him by Johnny until after his death. His death is a reminder that each of the homeless are more than just a problem to solve, more than just a beggar - they are a fellow human being with a name - even if we never  know it.