Elk Horn Buck 110
This is a Flicket
Not at all sure about nowadays, but way back when it had been common for we ordinary sailors to carry Buck 110 Folding Hunter knives on our belts while wearing dungarees. They were universally tolerated for their workaday utility.
Some among us were quite well-practiced at drawing and opening one of those one-handed. Generally with the assistance of something called a flicket. Need for which item one fellow sailor vastly disdained. This was a certain Johnny Lee Amons, formerly of Paris TX. He’d taught himself to do without. And not merely just that. He was lightning fast on the draw, just like some movie gunslinger of old.
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I was very much impressed. Enough so as to demand he show me the trick of it. It very much helps to not have overly large hands. And mine being some smaller than his, I picked up his method with only a bit of practice.
Although not having carried a knife for some twenty years or longer, I still very well remember how it went.
Johnny Lee’s technique went like so...
No less flashy is to resheath it one-handed. Some care is needed so as to avoid closing the blade onto the backs of one’s own fingers.
Martial artists will surely have noted. The above is not so very dissimilar to the classic samurai draw and cut in one smooth motion. Likewise an elegant return to scabbard. Which was my own thought at the time. Back when I still shared the common delusion about “samurai honor”.
Which I’ve since learned, is largely just so much nostalgic bunk. Care to learn better? Here for your edification is a very eye-opening article on that which I compiled some years ago: BullShido
Despite certain reservations, from nostalgia alone I feel compelled to add also this. To facilitate easier opening and closeing, do not weaken hinge point. All you’ll succeed in doing is partly wreck a very fine knife. So here’s much better advice.
Rather instead, polish it. Obtain from a rock hound’s supply vendor a small quanty of their finest polishing compound. Mix that up with some 3-in-1 oil. Dribble this into the hinge point, then work the knife open and closed many, many, many times. Maybe as an absent-minded activity while watching TV.
Finally rinse out all the polishing compound with yet more 3-in-1 oil. Once again, over and over while watching TV. With, of course, a bowl in your lap because of all the dripping out. Anyhow, that’s what I did so long ago.
Although what has become of that knife, I have no idea. Maybe I gave it away? Don’t know why I might have done that. That one had utilitarian uses. Other knives I did give away. They simply weren’t of any practical use. Bought on a whim for the most part.
Just before getting out of the Navy, I’d begun reassessing my life. My long-standing Buddhist inclinations had during the prior four years needed at least public supression. Once out, I could at last give them at least somewhat free reign. It wasn’t until being officially welcomed into an authentic Buddhist congregation, however, that the idea of merely owning such things as very exotic knives began to mentally chafe. Whereupon, knowing of a certain friend who had for long coveted my little collection, I gifted one and all over to him.
The stupidest one was an exceedingly heavy WW1 replica trench knife. Surgical steel, with brass knuckle handle and all. Totally useless. Seriously, how did they carry those things? Can’t see it fitting in a sheath. Definitely not in a boot; hardly could the wearer avoid artifically limping for the extra weight. Probably just one of those weapons intended to give the holder artificial courage.
Not the elk handled folding Buck knife, however. I remember still having that one after. Although where it is now, I can’t imagine. Since almost forever I haven’t given the matter any thought. Just now, though, I’m set to wonder where it might be. Yet one more sign of old age?
The incident happened circa 1977. I was on TAD with the original SLMM team under Lt Gentry and Gunner Balderrama. We were a team specially selected to follow a group of civilian engineers designing a brand new weapon: the Mk 67 Submarine Launched Mobile Mine. One of which testing expeditions was carried out at Solomon’s Island MD.
It must have been either a Friday or Saturday night. The Navy had put us all up in what I’d describe as very nearly a flea bag motel. It was quite late, and everyone else had gone out bar hopping. I had declined to tag along because of having shortly before given up drinking. At least long enough so as to not fail in my decision to give up smoking. Always before my non-smoking resolution had failed after not more than two or three drinks. This time I was determined. And so, a most uneventful evening was in the offing.
Or so I thought. In due course I got hungry. And an old-fashioned, sit-down pizza parlor was not far away. The short-cut to it led diagonally across an empty, and very dark, parking lot. Part way along, a trio of locals began to cross that same parking lot from the direction which I myself was heading. Not wanting to meet anyone in so lonely a place, I angled somewhat off to the left so as to pass the group with a comfortable margin in between.
The trio veered likewise, clearly intent that a meeting should take place. One supposes I might could have run. But where too? And what if they chased? Better, I thought, to just stand my ground. Not bravery by any means. This I assure you. I simply didn’t know what else to do.
Not entirely trusting my quick draw for being already a bundle of nerves, I had already transfered the Buck knife from its sheath into the pocket of my jacket and was gripping the blade top, as yet unopened, between the pads of thumb and bird finger.
When they caught up, one circled around behind while two faced me in front. Out came my knife. With a single, unhurried move, I had it open.
One of the two in front had already started to speak. Deeming that one to be the leader, I said, “Whatever happens, I’ll be going for you. Just only you.”
I had enjoyed almost a full minute to be thinking that one up. It worked well enough. The two in front backed off right away. They detoured around to join their third party, who was already a half dozen paces further along.
Now I can’t say for absolute certain that they truly intended menace. But at the time, it seemed very likely. Whatever the case, they went their way and I went mine. Deliberately, I took quite some time enjoying my pizza. When I came back along the same route, no one at all did I find lurking.