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 “I
bet the person who created the door knocker won a Nobel prize.”
Did you ever see an object and wonder why in the world it wasn’t
invented sooner? For instance, a doorbell? Or, did you ever observe
an object and wonder what the heck it is? Such is the fodder for
today’s column.
This past weekend, I helped a friend organize “The Prairie State
Longrifle Show”. It was held in Princeton, IL, and had approximately
60 tables of presenters. I’m currently learning about muzzle
loaders, Kentucky Rifles, and Schuetzens. It’s all very confusing
but definitely interesting. I’m amazed at what our forefathers; the
frontiersmen, created, improved upon, or crafted.
Guns, tomahawk, fur trade items, and related articles of the period
were permitted as well as books, documents, pictures, etc.
pertaining to early gunsmiths.
As you will see by the picture accompanying this article, I found
and purchased a treasure. It is approximately 25” long, by 5” at the
widest. At the broad point there are 36 nails about 3/8” high. What
is it? A room full of wise elders with lots of antique expertise
didn’t know.
The guesses were as follows: A mail fumigator. Back in the late
1800’s early 1900’s yellow fever and other diseases were rampant and
feared. Mail carriers and staff would use objects to punch holes in
letters and other correspondences and then spray on a chemical to
kill all the nasty germs and microorganisms of viruses. Is that what
this is? Others suggested a flax hatchel/ hatchell/ heckle/hackle. I
don’t agree with this because the nails are too short and too far
apart. Others were sure it was a sinew rope maker tool. Cotton
carding comb was touted to be the answer. Yet others were positive
it is a back scratcher for tough ombres or a spanking tool for
unruly children. One young man positively stated it was a pillow for
a bed of nails. We have no idea what kind of wood it is made of
rather than it came from some sort of tree. It was definitely
handmade as the carving is indicative of a hand whittling sculpture.
It is quite heavy. I absolutely love this thing but have no idea
what it is. If any of you readers have an idea, I would love to hear
from you and report back to other inquiring minds. I’m like Paul
Harvey and want to know, “The Rest of the Story.”
Another wonderous object from our beloved frontiersmen was a window
sash alarm. It is placed on your windowsill and if someone tried to
enter your home via this particular opening a small but mighty black
powder cannon would shoot. I. Loved. It. I was so disappointed to
see that the price was “NFS”. How I hate those letters. (Unless it’s
my product on my table)
How awesome would that be to have some scoundrel try to creep into
your house and be blown away by a miniature cannon?
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As if that creation wasn’t incredible enough, back in the day they
had the best mousetrap ever. It was another tiny, black powder
charged cannon. You put bait out under the muzzle of the barrel.
When the mouse takes the lure, the cannon shoots the dang varmint
into oblivion. Now, as a girl that hates mice and loves guns; I need
one of these. I don’t know how they ever went out of favor. Yes, I’d
gladly clean up the remains for the satisfaction of obliterating or
annihilating every mouse/rat/nasty varmint that dares to enter my
home.
I am putting this mousetrap at the top of my Christmas list. I will
definitely let you know if Santa can deliver.
Now let’s go to the present-day unexpected items at the show. In the
bathroom of all places. The new hand drying machine is maniacal. One
puts both their hands down into a box of high flowing
electricity/fingers literally dripping with water/to dry said
extremities. I. Was. Terrified. Everything Mother told me about
safety was on trial here.
Electricity….water….my beloved digits were all exposed to some
strangers’ idea of drying my hands. Then….Then…THEN…the dratted
thing smiled at you! Yes, an emoji would joyfully beam up at you. It
was terribly creepy. I chose to wipe my hands on my blue jeans.
I went into the lady’s bathroom at another point and it, was in
pitch blackness. As I walked through the door; the lights
automatically turned on. From way back of the restroom a tiny voice
from the handicapped stall called out, “Thank YOU! I was scared.”
How long had the poor dear sat there afraid of tripping in the dark
to get out of the lavatory? That’s cruel and unusual punishment. Who
is the idiot that decides how long the lights stay on in a
windowless public restroom? I’m thinking the same person who
developed the cars to stop running at a stop light or perhaps the
insurance people who decide how the medical field will handle their
patients. Hmmmph! I encourage all of you to carry a little
flashlight on your person if you plan on being in a community
restroom any time soon. One doesn’t want to be groping around
blindly in a communal bathroom.
My last find of the weekend was an early 1900’s bar of Packers Tar
Soap in its original tin. I couldn’t get it open so asked the
old-timer dealer for help. He was a delight. Dressed in a white
shirt, buckskin jacket, silk top hat, blue jeans and white tennis
shoes he was quite the dapper salesman. We couldn’t pry the lid off,
so he and I operated in tandem using one of his bowie knives to pry
off the top. I felt so important. We wheezed as the odor
of100-year-old tar soap filled our nostrils. Of course, I purchased
it on the spot.
My advice is if you see the words, “Identity is not Fixed” buy it!
Put it on your coffee table and let the suppositions and
speculations fly.
L. Maxine McQueen
may be contacted at
maxmac.1@juno.com
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