Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Lches above the auctioneer, under the humid ignorance of tools. <lHe has no idea what he's sell-
eaves of an almost empty shed, wasps bounce as ing," Tom keeps whispering to me. A real profes-
if on strings, rending their paper nests. UFolks, sional, he says, would be done by now.
I've been doing this for thirty-five years," the Atop one of three hay wagons, a skinny teenage
auctioneer barks into his wire~ boy with a crew cut stoops
less headset. His voice, am- down to the rusty junk piled
plified by two portable speak- at his feet and hoists a bow saw
ers, crackles across the into the air. It is an exquisite
afternoon. "First thing I ever specimen, just like the ones
auctioned was a birdcage. It I've seen in books. "Lift her up
sold for $1.25. Bidding went nice and high, Ben," the auc~
up by a quarter back then." tioneer says. Bow saws are
He is a short man with a big shaped like the harps angels
gut and a scrunched face, the play in cornie strips. They are
face of a circus clown without both ingenious and primitive,
his makeup on. His denim held together by the tension
newsboy cap matches his den- in a twisted loop of rope.
im suspenders. "God's been "Howaboutabid, twenty,"
good to us so far," he observes, the auctioneer chants. "I've
interrupting his banter to gaze got twenty. Howabourabid,
anxiously at the horizon to the west. "But I'd twenty-five~five-five?Twenty~five. Twenty~seven
better hurry. I want to beat the rain." and-a-half? Now thirty. Thirty, thirty, thirty?"
After one of the longest winters in recent mem- People have been using versions of the bow
ory, spring has finally arrived in Lower Michigan, saw for hundreds of years, but not until the tum
a fitful, moody spring full of sudden changes. Last of the twentieth century, when motorized jigsaws
night a thunderstonn scattered hailstones across were rendering them obsolete, did anyone think
Washtenaw County. Now the sun is out, steam is to salvage them from the scrap heap and preserve
rising off the fields of timothy and winter wheat, them for posterity. For decades, this particular
and the air smells pleasantly of mud. [f it does saw was as valuable as it was useful to the farmer
smrt raining again, Tom Friedlander will likely who owned it. Then one day the farmer grows
hold the auctioneer personally responsible. All too old to farm, his children excavate the molder-
day Tom has been complaining about this clown's ing contents of his bam, hire an auctioneer, the
lack of professionalism, his fondness for banter, his auctioneer runs advertisements in local papers
Donovan Hahn teaches English at Friends Seminary in Manhattan. His last essay for Harper's Magazine, "Anawmy
Lessons: Evan S. Connell and the Documentary School," appeared in the December 2001 issue.
:.... ---====1
and in Auction Exchange, drags the saw out into pensive comfort food, or among handmade quilts
the sunlight along with the test of the fanner's be- and kerosene lanterns in the windows of West
longings-rakes with btOken handles, a wall clock Village lx)Utiques. I considered such Americana to
made out of a slab of polished wood, nails fused by be so much nostalgic gimcrack. The inflated prices
ruSt into pointy lumps-and the next thing you old tools commanded I attributed to an ambient
know, you could have purchased ten new saws dissatisfaction with modernity. The more ex,
for what this useless one is selling for. pendable we felt in our jobs, the more complicated
Earlier that morning, while we were inspecting and computerized our lives became, the more
the contents of the hay wagons, an old lady wig- hardware made of metal and wood seemed to sym-
gled what looked to be a miniature iron hoe at bolize all that we had lost-we Americans, but es-
Tom and asked him what it was. pecially we American men.
Until recently in America, manliness was pro'
portionate to handiness. The ancient Greeks had
Achilles and his shield. The British had Arthur
'!he more complicated and computerized and Excalibut. We had John Henry and his ham-
our lives become, the more old tools come mer, Paul Bunyan and his axe, Queequeg and his
manly harpoon. Our national poets sang hymns
to symbolize all that we have lost to the broad axe and the village blacksmith. Our
prophets didn't merely wander in the wilderness;
they built cabins there. The adzes and bow saws
"That's an ash rake," he informed her. "For with which anxiety-beset urban professionals
emptying ashes from a stove." now equip their apartments originally belonged
"I don't have a stove," the old lady replied, sen- to self-reliant, self-employed, self-made yeomen
sibly, "so I don't need ir." and artisans--or so the traffickers in nostalgia
Like het, most people imagine that the fonn of wished us to believe.
a tool is a pure expression of its function and It was a lie, I knew, this Luddite fantasy of an
that its value is a measure of its usefulness. Saws artisanal golden age. That legendary Yankee in,
cut. Hammers pound. On the antique~tool mar~ genuity was born not only out of an ardor for
ket, however, value is largely aesthetic and sym~ craftsmanship and independence but also out of
bolic. Hammers do not only pound, saws do not a shortage of skilled labor and an abundance of
only cur. They also mean. cheap, pilfered land. European settlen; had picked
As the bow saw transubstantiates from a piece up many of their cricks (hollowing a canoe with
of junk into a collectible before our eyes, Tom fire, fertilizing com with fish) from natives whom
Friedlander listens closely to the ascendant bids, they repaid with alcoholism and infectious disease.
stroking his beard, but stays out of it. Bow saws And besides, mowing a field of hay by hand
aren't his thing. Too pricey. Too desirable. Ever was backbreaking work, nothing romantic about
since bidding began several hours ago, he has it. Homespun textiles required endless, mind,
kept his head down, except when he wants to numbing cottage industry. Likewise the chum,
catch the auctioneer's eye. To place a bid, he will ing of butter, the curing of meat, the hewing of
glance up, nod gravely, and curl his fingers toward beams and chiseling of mortises. No wonder so
his heart, beckoning. So far today he has pur- many of our agrarian forebears fled to cities at the
chased a hand-forged chopper, a bam-beam auger, nrst chance they got, or else bet the farm on mo,
two antique motor~oil bottles with cone~shaped torized combines and harvesters.
spouts, a box of early automobile starter cranks, I also had personal reasons to be suspicious of
a set of speed wrenches, a fence stretcher, some~ tool collecting. Although I come from a family
thing called the Tox-O-Wick cattle oiler, and a of insufferably handy men-men able to wire a
plastic bucket full of implement wrenches mari~ house, rebuild a transmission, or frame a wall
nating in melted hail. without calling an expert or consulting a book-
"I've got fifty," calls the auctioneer, "fifty- I am profoundly unhandy. By the traditional
fi ve-fi ve~fi ve, fifty ~seven~and~a~ measures of American manhood, I am, essen-
~ half." tially, a Frenchwoman. When my brother and I
were teenagers, he and our father would adjourn
1 hree years ago if you had asked me what I to the garage after dinner, hook a cage light to
thought of tool collecting, I would have told you the underside of an elevated hood, and spend
that it sounded like the sort of sentimental pastime hours passing tools back and folth like shiny
pursued mainly by men with soft minds, thick thoughts. while upstairs I lay on the couch read-
wallets, and lonely wives. In Manhattan, where I ing mildly pornographic fantasy novels. To this
lived at the time, one sometimes encountered day, when I do it myself, I can never be sure
woodworking tools and funning implements on the whether I am improving my home or conduct-
walls of pastorally themed restaurants serving ex~ ing experiments upon it.
FOLlO 47
As is true of many people who spend their television den represented only a small sample.
days working with kids, there is something «The rest," Tom told me, "are in
perennially youthful about Tom. At family the bam."
reunions when I was a child, he would tell my
brother and me that he kept things in his
beard--coins, bluebird eggs-and then he'd
S outheast Michigan can be beautiful in leaf or
under snow, but that winter it had hardly snowed
bend down so that, half believing him, we at all, and the Friedlanders' nature sanctuary was
could investigate its scratchy depths. He'd a desiccated, khaki-colored wasteland. The silver
catch insects with his bare hands and rell us blimp of a septic tank glowed between the bare
their names, both Latin and common, as well branches of bushes planted to obscure it. Behind
as their secrets-why fireflies lit up or why the house, where corn once grew, an ocean of
cicadas left their exoskeletons on the trunks of goldenrod-still brown and dormant-stretched
my grandmother's trees. He'd seemed omni~ to the woodlot on the horizon. On the way to the
scient to me then, wizard~like. He could recite tool bam, we passed the greenhouse Tom and
~ntire Monty Python routines by heart, as well Martha had built out of corrugated fiberglass.
as long portions of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Two plastic barrels full of frozen rain stood sen,
Galaxy, and he sometimes spoke in peculiar try beside the entrance. Inside I could discern
voices, impersonating robots or masters of the shadowy forms of succulents (one of Tom's
Kung Fu. He said things like, "Take this marble previous taxonomical obsessions) weathering the
from my hand, Grasshopper, and your training hostile biome in balmy serenity.
will be complete." Although there was a barn-sized bam on the
That afternoon in his television den, I asked property-a dilapidated cavern full of owl shit,
Tom how large his tool collection was, and he led darkness, and mildewy hay where Tom kept the
me to his study, which contained a library of antique tractor he used to mow paths through the
botanical texts with titles like Trees, Shrubs, and goldenrod in the summer and plow the driveway
\Voody Vines of the Southwest, or Botanical Mi- in winter-the prefabricated steel structure in
crmechnique, or World Without Trees. On the oth~ which he stored his tools was scarcely bigger
er side of the room, home~ than a two~car garage. We
made bookshelves teetered entered through a side
under the weight of old door, stepping awkwardly
hardware catalogues and over three metal spheres
reference books about huge as medicine balls
tools, such as P. T. Rath- while fluorescent tubes
bone's History of Old Time flickered on overhead.
Farm Implement Companies My first impression was
and the Wrenches The)' Is- an abstraction: I did not
sued and Eric Sloane's clas- see the hundreds of hand-
sic A Museum of Early saws hanging from pegs like
American Too~. From a nail keys in a locksmith's shop,
in the doorway hung a clip, or the iron shoe lasts
board, to which was arranged in pigeonholes ac,
clipped a stack of sheets. cording to size, or the tow,
This was Tom's inventory.
• ering steel file cabinets with
Whenever he returned handwritten tags taped
from a tool hunt, he added
• above their handles, or the
his new quarry to the running tally. He'd ac- railroad jacks congregating on a shelf, or the flock
quired his fmt old tool by mistake while shopping of meat scales and wooden pulleys suspended
for a hole punch at the local Kiwanis thrift store. from the ceiling by hooks; what 1saw was the idea
The box lot that contained the punch he want- of multitude, Be fruirful and multiply, the Lord
ed also happened to contain a foot~long engi~ had commanded, and we had, we Americans;
neer's wrench. A few months later, discovering an here all ar9und us was our labor's rusty fruit.
identical wrench at an antiques store, he experi~ "There are over five hundred drawers full of
enced what he describes as "an instant vision of stuff in here," Tom told me. "That's the sort of
symmetry." 'TI,at was 1988. By March 2002, when scale. Plus the walls. Plus the floor. Plus con-
I first visited his home, he had accumulated, and tainers. It's all organized. For instance, this is the
rudimentarily classified, approximately 25,000 overflow hammer drawer." He yanked open the
formerly useful things, not counting the keys. drawer in question. Wooden hafts lay atop one an-
Almost 18,(){)() were wrenches (Tom's specialty), other like matches in a matchbox. Tom selected
a few thousand were screwdrivers, and several a mallet with a head like a half-melted marsh-
hundred were soldering irons. The exhibit in the mallow and held it up for my inspection. The
FOLIO 49
rusty implement wrench. "No serious fine-tool scrawled beside them. Newspaper advertisements
collector would want this, but I want it. Got it for for estate auctions fluttered under pins. "Retired
a dollar. What a beautiful wrench. It was under from fatming," they typically began, "1 will sell
water-a wet place-and it died." The wrench the following list ..." If the owner of an estate had
was beautiful, though I couldn't have told you died, as was often the case, the auctioneers re~
why, any more than he could. sotted to participles: "Selling personal ptopetty
That spring, I was teaching high school Eng- of the late Hazel Shiba at public auction ..." I
lish and had recently assigned excerpts ftom Let unpinned one. The personal property it inven~
Us Now Praise Famous Men, the literary docu~ toried-walnut dressers and whipple trees, old
mentary in which writer James Agee and pho~ magazines and hay forks and Depression glass--
tographer Walker Evans illuminate the material
lives of tenant farmers in Alabama during the
Great Depression. Examining Tom's tools, some
"1 read like a kind of material obitu~
ary, a portrait of a life in things.
of which bore the signatures of blacksmiths, oth- 've got fifty," calls the auctioneer. uFifty~fi.ve~
ers the stamped initials of extinct railroad com~ five~five, fifty~seven-and~a~half."
panies, still others the tarnished trace of some Ben, the teenage sideman, revolves atop the hay
dead laborer's sweaty palm, I was reminded of wagon, patading the bow saw like a trophy high
the passage in which Agee describes a pair of above the tipped bills of a hundred baseball caps
overalls. "They have begun with the massive yet emblazoned with logos and slogans: RIFKIN SCRAP
delicate beauty of most things which are turned IRON & METAL CD., I'D RATHER BE HUNTING, WEST-
out most cheaply in great tribes by machines,u PHALIA AlJID SALVAGE, PURINA, GOD BLESS AMER-
Agee writes, "and on this basis of structure they ICA, MR. ASPHALT. Across Tom Friedlandet's blue
are changed into images and marvels of nature." ball cap a galleon embtoidered trom gold thread
And yet Agee's had been a scavenger hunt for the sails above the legend H.M.S. Victory. Most of the
present, nor for the past. He and Walker Evans auctiongoers are e1de"y farmers; with his ponytail
had sought "to perceive simply the cruel radi- and great Victorian beard, Tom seems as out of
ance of what is"-not the quaint glimmer of what place among them as Darwin among the Patago~
nians. Save for his blue cap, his brown hiking
sneakers, and the turquoise decorations on his
leather belt, he is dressed entirely in green~reen
Where lies the boundary between meaning work pants, green work shirt-and vaguely re-
and sentiment? I wondered. 'Between memory sembles an anthropomorphized plant.
The bow saw finally sells for $87.50, and Ben
and nostalgia? What is and what was? the teenage sideman next lifts an ink~jet printer
into the air. "Something for your computer," the
auctioneer says doubtfully. He starts the bidding
was. Where lies the boundary between meaning at fifty dollars but, gefting no takers, lowers it:
and sentiment? I wondered. Between memory forry dollars, thirty-five dollars, twenty-five, fif-
and nostalgia? America and Americana? What is teen, ten, seven-and-a-half. Finally, he gives up and
and what was? Does it move? banishes it to lithe dog pond," a corner of the
Martha appeared in the doorway of the tool shed reserved for items no one wants. Only a few
bam, summoning us to dinner. Tom turned off the years old and still in its original box, the ink~jet
fluorescent lights and padlocked the door. Night ptinter has already passed into that limbo of worth-
had fallen. A ciry boy since birth, I was used to lessness that exists between novelty and nostalgia.
light-polluted skies. Here, only an hour southwest "Nowadays things are almost obsolete before
of Detroit, the stars were as bright and plentiful they leave the drawing board," Eric Sloane, the
as in a planetarium show. The Friedlanders' ranch seminal romancer of antique tools, observed forty
house, lamplight streaming from its windows, years ago. "How lucky we ate that so many of the
looked like a ship adrift upon black swells. old tools and the things that were made with
That night on my way to bed, I stopped in them wete dated and touched with the crafrs-
the carpeted hallway where an entire wall had man's art." Sloane believed that the value of a
been papered in cartography. From a pushpin in thing should be a measure of its quality, much as
the comer of a particularly enormous map dan- reputation was once regarded as the measure of
gled a shoestring. This was, I saw upon inspec~ one's soul. My generation, more narcissistic but
tion, the radius of a vast, Midwestern galaxy the also more jaded than his, seems to treasure most
nucleus of which was the Friedlanders' fatm. Red the consumerist dross we remember from child~
hash marks divided the string into increments, hood, irrespective of its inherent worth. In our
counting off miles. Towns throughout Michi~ collecting we are autobiographers, not connois-
gan, Indiana, Illinois, Ohio, and Ontario had seurs. I find myself wondering how long it will
been circled in felt pen, and dates and distances take before this ink~jet printer escapes the dog
FOLlO 51
Time, it seems, is an ironist. That spring, the color of toothpaste bloom everywhere, on the
spring of 2003, factory workers were being laid off stone foundation of the barn, on the rusty farm
in record numbers-Michigan alone lost 171,000 equipment~cultipackers, harrows, plows~
manufacturing jobs between 1999 and 2003- spread out like modernist sculpture across the
and the riveters and machine operators Sloane de~ sodden lawn.
rided seemed like skilled artisans compared with Even in the too~insistent imperatives of the
the technicians and sales associates replacing snack wagon's patriotic hymn, I think I can dis~
them. The era of the wrench, like the era of the cern an undertone of foreboding and grief. It's
plane before it, is ending. Predictably, the ranks there, too, along with happy chatter about last
of wrench collectors recently have begun to swell. night's hailstorm, in the conversations of the
Although still worth far less than a desirable auctiongoers. They walk among old furniture and
plane, a rare and pristine John Deere tractor collectibles as if through lost time. They spin the
wrench can now fetch hundreds ofdollars at auc~ dial of the Lone Ranger radio and say to their
tion. Partly this reflects the enthusiasm in rural spouses, look at this, check this out, remember these.
America for the antique uactors with which such They fondle the porcelain doll with the cracked
wrenches were originally sold. Bur the populari~ skull and the jaundiced nightgown, then punch
ty of other wrench varieties-pipe wrenches, au~ the keys of the old Remington cash register, smil-
tomobile wrenches, buggy wrenches, battery ing when the different prices-all charming-
cable~pulling wrenches~is also growing. The ly low-spring up behind rhe little
decline of American manufacturing has given ~ pane of glass.
rise to pastoralism's postindustrial ana-
logue: a romance of rust. 1 hat summer Tom and I drive to auctions all
FOLIO 55
pity and awe. Gathered on lawns and hay wagons, death, no ecstasy), they are monstrous---or as
items explain one another, like words in a lan~ Blake put it, "Satanic." Machines are largely
guage. However miscellaneous they seem, these autonomous and threaten us with obsolescence,
belongings share a kind of logic-the ordering whereas a tool is nothing without us.
principle of human personality. One can trace "Considered functionally," British paleontol-
among them the lineaments of an inner life. Po~ ogist Kenneth P. Oakley wrote in his influential
litical affiliations, religious beliefs, memories, 1949 monograph, Man ,he Thol-Maker, rools
vanities, even dreams, are spread out for strangers "are detachable extensions of the forelimb"-a
[Q browse through. Here is a man's hairpiece, . definition that any potter, toeing his wheel,
here his wooden crutches, here his numismatic might reasonably protest. Perhaps it would be
map of the world festooned with faded stamps. more accurate to say that tools are detachable
Here is the Carter-Mondale button he once wore. extensions not of our forelimbs but of ourselves.
At another auction on another farm in another "Like the nails on a beast's paws," Eric Sloane
material universe, the items on offer include the writes, "the old tools were so much an exten~
October 1959 issue ofMan-;age: The Magazine of sion of a man's hand or an added appendage to
his arm, that the resulting workmanship seemed
to flow directly from the body of the maker and
to carry something of himself into the work."
Gathered on lawm and hay wagons, items Although Sloane was an anti~unionist liber~
explain one another; like words in a tarian, on the meaning of tools he and the
author of the Communise Manifesto agree.
language. 'I'hey share a kind oflogic "Estranged from labor," writes Marx, "the labor~
er is self-estranged) alien to himself."
For the most serious tool aficionados, or Uga~
Ca,holic Family Living, a USDA bulletin called loots," as they sometimes call themselves, the
Making Cellars Or)t, a miniature souvenir tool kit hegemony of mind and machine over hand and
commemorating the Catholic Shrine at Indian matter entails an estrangement more profound
River, Michigan ("largesr crucifix in the world"), even than the one Marx imagined, an estrange~
and three framed jigsaw puzzles of pastoral ment not only from self but from time. Old tools
scenes-sheep, glades, brooks. imply an entire way of being, an artisanal cos~
Walter Benjamin blamed mechanical repro~ mology. One night, lurking on a newsgroup for ga~
duction for diminishing the auras of unique loots, I come upon the following credo:
works of art, but mass~produced artifacts also
exude auras-auras created through ownership I refuse to be in such a hurry that I squeeze the aes~
and use. They become, as Agee wrote, "images thetic value our of everything to gain a few min~
and marvels of nature." Even separated from utes of time-time which will then just be filled
their owners, even incoherently grouped, with morc rushing and more mass~prod.uced, soul-
less junk. In the drive ro achieve instant gratifica-
objects remain faintly numinous, like the relics
tion, we haye spent a century trying to shorten the
discovered in ancient tombs. This is especially learning curw and eliminate the cha,!ce of error in
true of tools, which perhaps retain the traces of every human activity. There is much good in this,
their owners more strongly than do most but something has been almost lost in the process.
human artifacts. The Galoots are the guardians of that which was
Today we refer to anything useful, from com~ almost lost: the challenge of trying to master a skill
puter programs to ideas, as tools. This was not that can never be fully mastered, the creative free~
. always the case. According to Eric Sloane, in dom that comes from intimacy with a medium as
antebellum America the word "tool" denoted an complex as wood, the sense of self,sufficiency that
implement that could make one thing at a time. comes from knowing that you can make a useful
object with tools so simple that you can make the
Reconstruction~era industrialization broadened
tools too, and the peaceful meditation of trying to
the meaning of the word to include any imple- bring eye, hand and wood together into harmony
ment involved in the manufacture of a product, through finesse and understanding rather than
necessitating the coining of the renn "hand brute force.
tool" to distinguish traditional implements from
what came to be knQ\\Tl as "machines." Here, old tools are relics of a mythic past, but
The difference between these twO mechani~ they are also antidotes to automation, standard-
cal species, it seems to me, may be more a mat- ization, acceleration, infantilization, and to the
ter of culture than of engineering. Machines are docile brand of utopianism rhar holds all
borh rhe rival and the antithesis of humaniry. change to be progress.
In rheir complexity, they resemble us. In their Many of the galoots I have encountered in
simplicity (all those parts, and yet no Oedipus chat rooms and at auctions fulfill my worst
complex, no withdrawal symptoms, no fear of expectations. Unlike other collectors, galoots
FOLIO 57
desi~~ Van Deurs~n is goofy for Progress: g~nzo possible, and "best" today means safe and user-
for Change. Everything is getting better. And friendly as well as functional. But his customers
this is very exciting. often shop irrationally, nostalgically. In.Califor-
Over lunch in 'the corporate cafeteria, I ask nia, Stanley's framing hammer comes with a
van Deursen and Stoutenberg if they are famil~ black, wooden axe-handle because in California
iar with Sloane's museum. "VerY,1l Stoutenberg that's what house framers have traditionally used.
says, rolling his eyes. No one at Stanley knows why. When van Deursen
I concede that Sloane was "a cr~nky guy" set out to turn Stanley's rop-of-the-line chisel
.\vim strong opinions and a romantic view of the into an ergonomic marvel, he learned that both
past. Still, many of the tools l've seen at tool amateur and professional carpenters prefer chis~
auctions look superior-sturdier, prettier, more els with translucent yellow handles, even though
finely wrought-than those on sale at Home translucent plastic was itself a novel material
Depot. I sound like a regular galoot. I'm speak- only Hty years ago. As a group, tool users are late
ing the gaspe!. I adopters. U\Ve wanted to add rubber," van Deursen
"I would use the analogy of the cars," van says. "We add too much rubber, and the guy isn't
Deursen says. "It's easier to say that the old cars going to buy this, because he doesn't see his tra-
were better because they were thicker steel, but ditional material." The result is a quintessen[ia}~
yet if you were going to have even a forry,mile, ly twenty,first,century tool, ergonomic, user,
an~hour collision, what car do you want to be friendly, accompanied by safety precautions, made
in? Give me any new car. And that's becf-use of from a combination ofspace'age metals and poly~
the technology that's involved." mers, including translucent yellow
Van Deurscn begins to get excit~
l
plastic, and exhibiting, in van
cd. "Look at the measuring tape," Deursen's words, "all the cues, on a
he says, in a way that reminds me of global basis, of a chise!."
Tom Friedlander. "From the 1922 Just before I leave, van Deursen
Farrand tape to the tape we made a lets me have a sneak peek at the hot
few years ago, the end would break new hand tool Stanley will be rolling
off after multiple retractions. In the out in time for Christmas, the fe,
past three years, looking at thar, ad~ designed SporrUtility ™ Outdoors,
dressing that problem, we figured man ™ Knife, the name of which
out how to solve it with technolo~ came [Q him, like inspiration from
gy that was invented for helicopter on high, while listening to a news
blades in Desert Storm. We applied report about SUVs. Invented to cur
clear armor made by 3M to the last roofing tile and drywall, the tradi-
six inches of me tape and increased tional Stanley utility knife, market re-
its strength ten or twenty times." search showed, had become popular
Aftet lunch we head to the design with hunters 'and fishermen. So van
department, where van DeuTSen gives Deursen and his team added a 3Y2,
me one of these high-tech, battle- inch "folding sport blade," some
tested measuring tapes to keep as a sporty styling, thought up a snazzy
souvenir. Power Lock REINFORCED name, and doubled the suggested re,
WITH BladeArmor 2X BLADE LIFE, the tail price. This is what tools in Lhe
package say'S. This is an extreme mea- twenty,first century have
suring tape. This is a tape you could become: not hardware, gear.
measure warheads and spider holes
With. Packaging, I learn that after-
noon, is where much of Stanley's in-
H istory tends to memorialize
great changes, which, technologi'
novation and design now occurs. cally speaking, means great inven-
Even the tools themselves have been tions. Tools are inherently conserv-
packaged, decorated, and branded ative and humble artifacts. Their
with superfluous design elements- history is largely accidental, writ~
ribbed black blobs of rubber, accents ten in the margins-of warfare,
of Stanley yellow-all in order to outperfonn the architecture, economics, religion. In the history
competition not in the workshop or at the con- of technology, inventions are the generals, the
struction site but at Home Depot and Wal~Mart. geniuses, the monarchs; tools are the common-
Functional refinements, like BladeArmor, are mi~ ers, the craftsmen, the serfs. This is one reason
nor compared with the cosmetic changes the old tools have become Americana. At once
tools neverendingly undergo. democratic and utilitarian, individualistic and
Van Deursen's job would be easier if this weren't traditional, they resemble us. They are techno,
the case-if he could simply design the best tool logical leaves of grass.
FOLIO 59
Like Rybczynski, \ find the experience of tour- sub-subclass 444 (axially shiftable element
ing the museum dizzying. The central gallery located between and wedging against compo~
vaults six stories to the roof, and standing at the nenrs) , and, finally, sub-sub-sub-sub-sub-sub-
middle of it is like standing ar rhe bortom of a class 445 (with threaded surface for cooperat-
twister that has sucked the entire nineteenth ing with mating~tool structure).
century into its windy coils. Buggies. wagons, Mercer, on the orher hand, divides all human
and sleighs float in midair, one above the other. artifacts into two kingdoms, primary and sec~
A thirty- by six-foor whaleboar hangs from rhe ondary, which he subsequently organizes not for~
ceiling on chains. Every surface is encrusted with mally or funcrionally but culturally, relativisti-
the antiquated remains of America's material cul~ cally, according to how the tool was used. Primary
rure. Across one wall, a trio of ox yokes fly like tools are those used to make or procure necessi~
strange pelicans. ties-Food, Clothing, Shelter, Transportation,
A walkway ar the periphery of rhe cenrral and, of course, other Tools. Secondary tools are
gallery spirals me upward past dozens of those used in human activities less rudimentary
alcoves, each devoted to a different craft or to survival, which Mercer groups into seven cat~
egories: Language, Religion, Commerce, Gov~
ernment, Art, Amusement~ and Science. For
~ favorite ofthe tools I encounter at each class, primary and secondary, he offers a sin~
gle exemplary object. A tuning fork falls under
eM/?rcers Museum is the hatters bow, Art, a pair of spurs under Transport. A multi~
purpose device might belong to several different
which looks like a cellists bow, only larger caregories, depending on who used it and how. An
apothecary's mortar and pestle is an arrifucr of Ap-
plied Science, but a baker's mortar and pestle
rrade, from wheelwrighring ro glassblowing, would be an artifact of Food. The museum itself
nearly every single one of which industrialism is a kind of three~dimensional,seven~storymag~
has rendered obsolere. My favorite of the many nification of this scheme, a taxonomical honey~
tools I encounter on my ascent is the hatter's comb of dioramas.
bow, a yard-long implemenr thar looks just like It is a beautiful thing, this taxonomy, like a
a cellist's bow, only larger. Haberdashers would good, old tool, elegant and useful even today,
pluck the bow's taught, catgut string above a despire its simpliciry. I can think of objects thar
mass of loose fur, causing it, the curator's cap~ might blur Mercer's lines but none that would
tion explains, "co interlace and produce a semi~ fall outside of them. Unlike Eric Sloane, Mercer
compact, oval sheer of fibers called a 'barr.'" regards objects as artifacts, not symools. He
On rhe third floor, inside a glass display insists that his tools not be treated as romantic,
case, I come upon a diagram of Mercer's tax~ nationalistic icons, for ancient antecedents to
onomy, his uClassification of Historic Human early American tools carl be found worldwide.
Tools," an elegant scheme that is to the Not only does his book include primitive exam~
Byzantine classification system devised by the pies of the wrench; he expresses disbelief rhar
u.s. Parenr and Trademark Office whar archaeologists have paid so little attention to
Linnaean taxonomy is to genetic sequencing. this implement, given its importance in the his~
The USPTO organizes tools firsr according ro tory of machines.
the action they perform, and further according "This singular collection is the child of an
to highly particularized nuances of engineering opportunity which will certainly never occur
and design. The wrench, for instance, belongs again," Mercer is quoted as saying in a display
to Class 8\ {tools}, Subclass 52 (wrench, near the museum's entrance. "Let my words
screwdriver, or driver therefor), which con~ inspire you one and all to refrain from destroy~
tains tools ufor engaging a work part and exert~ ing historical specimens of this kind which hap-
ing or transmitting a twisting strain thereto, or pen to be in your possession." There is some~
means for imparting or transmitting an actuat~ thing poignant about this wish, poignant
ing force to such a tool." Subclass 52 is in turn because the idea rhar one could possibly pre-
divided into sub~subclasses,sub~sub~subclasses, serve the material world, make time pause,
and so on. A particular kind of Allen wrench arresr "all things illustrating the life of a people
belongs to sub-subclass 436 (having work- at a given time," is itself antique. Mercer's ele~
engaging and force~exerting portion inserted gant classification system, the vestige of a far
into cavity, e.g., Allen wrench, screwdriver), more knowable world, contains a fatal flaw: it
sub-sub-subclass 442 (inserred portion having cannot accommodate whatsits. To classify a
relatively movable components), sub~sub~sub~ tool, he must first know how it was used.
subclass 443 {having camming or wedging ele- For practical reasons, Mercer limited his col~
ment for moving components}, sub~sub~sub~ lection to pre-industrial rools. Had he included
FOLIO 61
copy of Darwin's Journal of Researches and, read- head to the section of the grounds labeled AN-
ing it, was struck by how anachronistic-how TIQUES. Among the tables of John Deere mem-
innocent, even-his exuberant curiosity orabilia and hand-painted weather vanes I find
seemed. His entries are rhapsodies of descriptive a few tool dealers, but Tom is nowhere to be
prose. Forms of the words "interesting" and "sur~ seen. I wander the grounds, past concession
prising" toll among his sentences like a refrain of stands peddling corn dogs and fried dough, and
wonderment. "I was much surprised to find par~ sepmagenarian blacksmiths demonstrating their
tides of smne above the thousandth of an inch lost art. On and on I search, up and down the
square, mixed with finer matter," he writes of a seemingly endless rows of gas engines and trac-
handful of dust. It is as if no one in the history of tors, whose proud owners sit beside them in fold-
the world had ever paid attention before, as if ing chairs, drinking beer and playing cards. A
Darwin and other Victorians had been born at hundred years ago, these antique machines, near~
the dawn of creation, rather than at the twilight Iy all of them now lovingly restored, brought in-
of an empire. dustry to the farm. They are, in effect, factories
For Melville, [QO, the seas were a sublime on wheels. Passover is thought to have begun
chaos of Leviathan mysteries-mysteries that, as a shepherds' feast, the rituals and symbols of
in a famously dense chapter on l<Cetology," Ish~ which outlasted the way of life that gave rise to
mael endeavors to solve, wielding taxonomy as them. Something similar, it seems to me, is hap-
deftly as Queequeg does a harpoon. Although he pening here, at this celebration of obsolete tech~
"swam through libraries and sailed through nology. Caravaning multitudes have made the
oceans," a systematic classification of the whale, pilgrimage in order to sacrifice a few gallons of fos-
he concedes, would take generations to com~ sil fuel to the Gods of Industry. Out of the smoke-
plete. Never could Melville have predicted that stack of a Leviathan diesel mill with a flywheel
within seventy-five years of Moby,Dick's publi~ weighing three tons, perfect rings of smoke chuff
cation, when the last American whaling bark, one by one at rhythmic intervals, expanding as
Wanderer, sank off Cuttyhunk, nOt only would all they rise.
the species of the once unfathomable cetacean The day is well past its meridian when I real-
order have been fathomed i,e that the Jay County fair-
but many would be nearly grounds are far larger than
extinct and the whale fish~ I had thought. In one cor-
eries nearly exhausted. ner of my map, north of the
One wonders to what de~ spark-plug exhibit and east
gree Darwin, Melville, and of the tractors, the word
other taxonomical Victori- "parts" appears twice, adrift
ans realized that their in a terra incognita of white
travelogues were sp~ce. Here, in a vast and
eulogies. shadeless field, I discover a
postindustrial bazaar. The
U o n my return to place feels like a makeshift
Michigan, [ decide to take
one last field trip into the
American junkyard. For
,. village or the camp of a
.- bivouacking army. Booths
and tables, overspread with
five days in late August, ....:~.. mechanical organs and im-
the thirty~eighth annual plements, form thorough-
Tri-State Gas Engine & fares several acres long.
Tractor Show will be held at the Jay County There are dealers who specialize in antique spark
fairgrounds in Portland, Indiana, a town 200 plugs, antique railroad jacks, antique wooden
miles from Ann Arbor. Hundreds of tool deal- pulleys, antique hog oilers, antique tractor-seat
ers will be in attendance. To get a jump on cushions. There is even a magazine srand peddling
other collectors, Tom drives down ahead of such periodicals as Green, a John Deere fanzine,
time and spends the eve of the show in a motel. and Farm Collecwr ("Dedicated to the Preserva-
I arrive the following morning a little before tion of Vintage Farm Equipment").
noon. The dirt parking lots reserved for the When I finally locate Tom, he is standing
show are nearly full. Throughout the surround- alone at a Coca-Cola kiosk, tinted shades
ing neighborhood, people are renting out park- clipped to his glasses, two duffle bags at his feet,
ing Spots on their front lawns. The cars, hailing both bulging with loot. Since not long after
from across the Midwest, may very well number sunrise, he has been working his way from deal~
in the thousands. er to dealer, filling his bags and returning to his
Imagining that Tom's blue cap and long beard truck to empty them. He has already acquired
wi II make him easy to spot, I procure a map and more wrenches on this hunt than on any other
FOLIO 63