Ding, dong, ding. Ding, dong, ding.
Through open windows and around fences into back yard patios, the clang of a bell, blocks away, closer and closer through the tick, tick, tick of garden hoses and the squeaky sound of an old swing set. Women rush out their front doors, feet clad in slippers, hair half combed, a few dollar bills wadded up in their palms, calling to neighbors. Outside they scurry, brandishing scissors and butcher knives, proclaiming “the knife man is coming, the knife man is coming”.
A ritual of summer, in city and suburban neighborhoods of middling class stature, a sound imprinted on memory like Mother Goose calling her goslings.
The Knife Man Cometh!
I remember the knife man, from my childhood and our little neighborhood in Maywood. Once, maybe twice a summer, the ding, dong, ding of the man in the great big red wooden pushcart would be heard, his magic grindstone wheeling down the street. My Aunt Christina would always run out, her favorite butcher knife in her hands, poised and anxious for a well-honed blade. It was that same well-honed blade that cousin Louie came charging out the back door with one summer’s eve, hurling toward us; Teddy and Dottie and Penny. We scattered like ants at a picnic, Uncle Joe yelling out the back door “don’t run, he’ll fall and get hurt”. No way were we not running. A three-year old running toward you with a butcher knife was not a lesson in how to line up in single file and walk slowly, but, that is a story for another day.
My mother was once visiting our little house in Elmhurst, sitting on the couch. With Katy just a baby, Jennifer approaching four years. I heard it, in the distance. A bell. Almost primal, then familiar, and I shouted “it’s the knife man!” Ma, I remember, looked at me, in wonder, then realization. The Knife Man Cometh! “Hurry”, she said, “get your knives”, and then, as mothers are wont to do, no matter how old her child “don’t run”. Jennifer came with me, out the door, knife pointed downward, and we gathered with neighbors to have our knives sharpened, that day the knife man came.
There are several knife grinders in the Chicago area. Their stories appear in local papers each year, as steady as the first blooms of daisies and coneflowers. This picture is one. Mr. Tony Del Ciello. Many Chicagoland neighborhoods claim him as their own, though he travels far and wide with his ancient grinding stone and century old cart, up and down neighborhood streets and appearing at local farmers markets.
I would hazard a guess that most traveling knife sharpeners have inherited their carts with bells, foot petals, and grinding stones, from their fathers or grandfathers; some who may have brought their carts from Italy as they emigrated from other countries. Some carts have survived a century or more. I’m sure other countries have their own carts and men, but, my experience has been of skilled men from Italy, with their strong accents, kind faces, and great skill.
I wish, how I wish, the Knife Man would cometh down the Cut Off , for my scissors and gardening tools are a sorely in need of some old-fashioned sharpening. I’ll listen. I will. Perhaps I will hear the distant peel of the knife man.
Ding. Dong. Ding. Ding. Dong. Ding.
How many times I have had that thought, Penny! Where have they gone, because we still want them; and all the ritual and community that went with them?
Wonderful post. Thank you.
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Thank you, Kate. I mean to see if i can find this man, at least at a farmers market. You know, besides the sharpening skills, they are always such interesting people with stories to tell and harken back to a by-gone era.
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What evocative memories, Penny. And somewhere in the deep recesses of my own memory bank, I’ve discovered a similar one. I have knives and a machete that need sharpening, and I keep putting it off. Nowadays I have to take them somewhere and leave them (tools anyway) for a few days, then drive back and collect them. I’d far rather run out (whoops, I mean stroll in leisurely fashion) to a knife man. I’d rather have him going up and down the streets than Mr Whippy. Thanks for the memories.
PS What an opportunity this could be for an unemployed but skilful knife sharpener.
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It would be an excellent opportunity, Juliet.
These old carts are wonderful. I’m sure they are well cared for by the men (maybe some women?) who own them. Children always would gather to watch and to listen as the women, for it was mostly, probably still is, women who have their knives and scissors sharpened. Thank you.
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This is such a gem of a story, Penny. I hope the Knife Man comes your way.
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I wish he would, Andra.
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How interesting. We never had a knife man. We took our knives and scissors to a small, dark, interesting shop. I would have loved the knife man. Your story did remind me of the rag man. He would ride his three wheeled bicycle around the city collecting rags. He would ring a bell and call “Old clothes and rags collected here”. He gave you something for the rags, I think it was a pot holder or something. Then months later he would come around selling home made rag rugs. He always dressed in an interesting array of clothes. I’m guessing they were remnants that hadn’t quite turned into a rug yet.
I hope you find your knife man and I wish I would see one.
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I know you would have liked the knife man, Janet, who is similar in principle to the rag man with his cart and wares. Wouldn’t it be nice to have one of those rag rugs around now? I think there were rag men in the city years ago, I just don’t remember them. I do remember the fruit vendor, though, with his pony and cart. The knife sharpening carts are pushed with the bell ringing. It is a sound hard to duplicate in writing; distinctively the knife man. A string of some sort must be attached to the wheels. When he stops, it takes a few steps to slow the cart down, then a seat whips up so the knife man can sit, pump some foot petals, and turn the grinding wheel around.
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Dear Penny, I don’t think there ever was a knife man in Independence when I was growing up; nor in nearby Kansas City. In fact, I’ve never heard the term and I so like your “The Knife Man Cometh.” Right now, maybe I’d like to see “the Ice Man”! It’s so hot here, upper 90s today. Peace.
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I think the knife sharpeners were more common in the even bigger cities than Independence and Kansas City, Dee. I don’t know if they were/are common in New York, but, most Chicago neighborhoods, as well as suburbs, know the knife sharpener. Glad you liked the title. You’ve had quite a bit of heat and humidity down there. Wouldn’t it be fun to see an ice man – though I like my electric refrigerator with a built in ice maker.
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Lovely! I don’t remember a knife man from my childhood but have been charmed by their appearance from time to time here in my adopted town. Some do now tend to appear in a van… but one travels round with a goat that does balancing tricks whilst the knives are being sharpened, which is different. And they announce their arrival by playing pan pipes.
When I was working in a bookshop, someone asked me for ‘The Ice-cream Man cometh’ which I found amusing. (William Boyd had recently published ‘The Ice-Cream War’ – I’ve never forgotten the lovely mix-up.)
Axxx
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A knife man with his traveling cleverly balancing goat! How fun that must be for all, Annie. I can almost imagine the sound of the pan pipes announcing their arrival. If he comes sometime when your camera is at hand, won’t you please take a picture?
Ha ha! That is an amusing mistake. Thank you for sharing it, Annie, and giving me a bit of a chuckle this morning.
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Now there’s a blast from the past.
I haven’t even thought of the Messerschleifer (knife sharpener) for many decades. He used to come to our neighbourhood and everybody else’s neighbourhood I’m sure) in Germany, just like the rag and bone man did.
Now you only the supermarket delivery vans.
How do knives get sharpened nowadays? My husband does it on a steel but it’s not as good a job as the knifeman used to do.
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Messerschleifer. I’ve heard that before. It sounds much nicer that the knife man. These tinkers of the world that had hard work to do and often some stories to tell.
Right now, mine are in need of some sharpening, Friko. I have one of those steel rods, but, it doesn’t quite “cut it”, as the phrase goes. My grandmother used to sharpen dull blades on the cement steps at times (and no, I’m not going to do that). I know there are tools one can get, but, right now, I wish the messerschleifer would come by.
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I loved this. I have never heard of these fellows. I don’t know what rural American women did without them! Or at least my part of it. I’m just amazed, and really happy they still exist. Just wonderful.
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Thanks, Nan. These fellows roam the city and suburban streets, still.
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Oh, yes, Penny, I could use a visit by the knife man as well. What a treat to see the apparatus used. Thanks for this entry!
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You are welcome, Belle. It is such a quaint, and necessary, experience to see these carts and the craftsmen that turn them.
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I have never heard of a knife man–let alone one who “cometh.” 🙂 How tremendously interesting, Penny. I’m amazed to hear that there are still some who peddle their expertise. Surely you’re correct that they have inherited their carts and equipment, and probably learned their skills through generations of family business. My knives and scissors get dull and I suppose over time I end up replacing them, simply because I don’t really know where to take them for sharpening. I could research that, but it would be so much better if someone came up my street. Maybe you can call and request a house call? What a sweet memory you’ve retained of your mother and your little girls, all off to see the knife man! Lovely!
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Such peddlers of trades like knife sharpening are still about, though becoming rarer. I wish such a cart would chime down your street, especially when those little darlings are around. The knife man has a service of sharpening knives, but, also a bit of history of the US and of their native lands. They all seem to have the gift of gab, as well, and are itinerant story-tellers. Unfortunately, they don’t carry business cards – or I would put in a call, Debra.
I know Crate and Barrel and Williams and Sonoma sell sharpening tools, and a few comments above mention businesses that do knife sharpening. Knives are expensive to replace. My dear niece gifted me with some excellent ones a few years ago, for which I am exceedingly grateful.
Okay. Back to my garage sale.
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A wonderfully nostalgic post, Penny, which took me straight back to my early childhood when we still lived in town and the knife man came round. 🙂 In these days of inexpensive knife sharpeners, I very much doubt Britain has any old-fashioned knife-grinders left, though I’d love to be proved wrong.
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I thank you, Perpetua. It would be grand, I am certain, for you to see a knife-grinder again in your parts. Besides having nicely sharpened knives, I think the approach of the knife man brings folks together for a short time to chat, catch up, learn something new. I guess now we all do it on the computer. Sigh. Hope you are having delicious weather there.
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I do remember a man in a van who used to come round our north London suburb in the early 1960s…but nothing as romantic looking or sounding as your knifeman Penny. I certainly haven’t seen or heard of one for years. This post is another delightful piece of social history, the kind that you do so well. Jx
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Thank you, Janice. Your kind words are appreciated.
It is rather romantic, isn’t it? I always wondered where the cart was kept; in a garage, barn, truck? and I’ve wondered what the knife man sees as he walks about. Here I go again, off on a tangent. I hope you are having a good weekend.
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Love this nostalgic post and I wish there was someone like this who could come to my house and sharpen my knives. I was thinking lately about the ice cream man and how we all ran after him and his truck when we were kids!
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So pleased am I to hear that, Sunday. We used to do the same think with the ice cream truck. I actually remember, before the trucks, boys would ride a bicycle with the freezer in front and bell, pedaling ice cream up and down the streets. Now, I am feeling old . . .
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