The Grinder

The Grinder

In the early 1950s, a very old man would walk to the neighborhood ringing a large bell. He carried a heavy grindstone on his back. He’d set it down on a corner and women would come down (or send children down) with scissors and knives to sharpen. He would carefully turn the wheel and hone the blades for five cents a piece. When he was done, he’d haul the wheel onto his back again, pick up his bell, and walk a few blocks down to set up shop once more.

He came around about once a month, and I never saw anyone else once he stopped coming. I assume he was the last of his line, the last of his kind.

Friday, while getting a haircut, my stylist told me she was getting her scissors sharpened once she had some free time. The sharpening guy, Gary, had arrived for his monthly visit.

I asked what he charged and she told me $25 a pair. I asked how many pair he would typically sharpen during a visit. She told me about 20, which comes to $500. If he visited four salons of this size daily, that’s $2,500 daily during a five-day week. Do the math.

“What does he have in his truck to sharpen the scissors,” I asked, expecting a laser.

“Oh, a large grindstone.”

© Alan Weiss 2016