January 28, 2025

Trading Pocketknives on the Courthouse Steps

It was an old tradition in the South drawing its last breath.

Sitting on the steps of the courthouse in Monroe County, Tennessee, with a half-dozen denizens of the county, most of them in bib overalls with straw fedoras to shade them from the midday July sun, I reached into my pocket and retrieved a stag handled pocketknife, opened it up, and began peeling an apple for lunch.

With the eyes of an eagle, one of the men nearest me whose nickname was “Mutt” said, “That’s a Hen & Rooster brand, ain’t it.” It was a statement, not a question, as he had been trading knives here on these steps for ages. I replied, “Yeah, an original from Bertram Cutlery in Solingen, Germany.” Mutt then asked, “Don’t recon you want to trade that, do you?” I responded, “No. Belonged to my daddy, who carried it on the railroad the last 10 years of his life.”

At this time early in my career, I was working a territory for Caterpillar heavy equipment, and much of that territory was in rural Tennessee. One of the greatest challenges of that job was gaining acceptance into these mountain communities and earning the trust of the locals, as the prevailing wisdom was, “Don’t trust outsiders.”

I generally had two plans to gain that trust.

One was to find the breakfast meeting place and get a seat with the locals at what I call “The Big Table” and try not to say anything stupid. The second was to swing by the local courthouse around noon and see if there was a group sitting on the steps. Because if there was, they would be talking and trading pocketknives — a subject I knew something about.

However, you could get skinned alive in that game if you weren’t careful.

Little did I realize I was participating in an old tradition in the South that was drawing its last breath. For decades in the rural Antebellum South, men would gather on the courthouse steps, usually on Saturday, to talk politics, chew tobacco, settle disputes, and trade pocketknives.

Pocketknives were an essential part of day-to-day life in farming, ranching, and hunting for much of our history. Some were designed for very specific tasks, and one in particular became inextricably linked to the Southern tobacco farmer. The “Congress” knife is so named for the way the blades of the knife come together. There are equal numbers of blades located on both ends of the knife, which come together or meet in the middle of the handle when closed. The pattern has identical sheep foot blades on each end with opposite ends containing a pen blade and a coping blade.

With this tool in hand, the tobacco farmer could top and sucker the tobacco plant, and when one blade became dull, there was an identical one on the other end to enable work to proceed. The coping blade was used to whittle or scribe and the pen blade for drilling or other fine work.

Although this pocketknife pattern was originally used in the early 1800s for making quill pens, it soon gained widespread utility. Abraham Lincoln had one in his pocket the night he was shot at Ford’s Theatre. But soon the pattern became almost exclusive to the South. It was the pattern I saw traded most often on courthouse steps.

“What else you got to trade CAT man?” I reply to Mutt, “Well, got a 9 dot Case Stockman with stag handles back in the truck.” (The dot system was a series of dots stamped on the tang of the main blade as a dating system used by Case knives.) Mutt responds, “Well, go get it — and leave your daddy’s knife here for us to pass around and look at. Don’t see many original Hen & Roosters.”

And here’s where the trust factor comes in — I’ve got to give it to get it. I left them my father’s knife and walked to my truck.

Upon returning, they hand me back my father’s knife and begin passing around the Case knife I brought them to look at.

Three steps up a man named Earl says, “Been lookin’ fer one just like this for my boy. What you lookin’ for CAT man?” I reply, “Well, I’ve never had a good Congress knife and sure would like one.” The group laughed and Earl says, “What for? You don’t look like no tobacco farmer and we ain’t seen you chew so you don’t need it to cut a plug.”

Then Earl reached into his bib overalls and pulled out a beautiful Case green bone Congress knife from the mid-‘60s and says, “But if you want one, this here’s the best but I’ll need a fair amount of boot [extra cash] on the trade.”

Now “green bone” handles or knife scales from the Case-tested XX era (1940s-1960s) are not truly green but a translucent bone that ranges from brown to merely a hint of green. It was a process that used cyanide during the treatment/dying process to achieve the effect, which obviously is no longer used. They are basically a pinnacle for knife collectors.

Now here’s where you have to be careful: If they beat you too bad on the trade, you’re a rube; and if you beat them too bad, you’re a shyster. Either situation more or less blackballs you in the region.

We swapped knives and I forked over some boot.

Earl rubbed the 9 dot Case stockman against his overalls shining it up a bit and said, “Yeah, this is a goodun…”

I finished my apple and said, “Well boys, I got to get up the road.”

Mutt says: “Hey CAT man. Drop in on my buddy Jack over to Coker Creek. He’s looking for a new bulldozer for his farm and he run off a couple of salesmen that showed up trying to sell him one last week. Said they was pokin’ around too much and askin’ too many dumb questions. Said one of ‘em even showed up wearin’ Sunday Church shoes… Tell him I sent you.”

I sold Jack that bulldozer. Before signing the papers, he said, “You know, I’ll do this deal on one condition — always wanted me a vintage Case green bone Congress knife. If you can come up with one of those…”

I had owned that beautiful mid-‘60s Case green bone Congress knife for just a week.

Like I said — if you aren’t careful, you can get skinned alive.

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