Confessions of an Addict

By Thomas Banks

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A few weeks ago there was a story on the local news about a lady who called 911 because she was having problems breathing.

When the EMT’s arrived, they could not get in the driveway because it was overgrown with bushes and limbs. Leaving their vehicle in the street, they made their way to the front door. The lady cried out that she couldn’t make it to the door. She told them to come to the side of the house.

Upon reaching a window on the side of the house, they saw the lady lying in a bed beside the window. They also saw that they could not enter the house because it was cluttered from floor to ceiling with “junk”.

Turns out she was a “Hoarder”. They had to administer aid through the window. It took three and a half hours to clear a path so they could get her on a gurney and remove her to the hospital.

Of course, the media had a psychiatric “expert” to explain this phenomenon. His explanation was of chemistry and electrical flow in the brain. Then he made the statement that all collectors suffer from this affliction.

Wow! I always knew I had a problem. Now I had an explanation from an “expert”. I always blamed it on an incident that occurred in early 1974. I now realize that my brain chemistry and electrical impulses were forever altered that day.

I was visiting the Oshman’s Sporting Goods store in Greenbriar Mall lusting after a Ruger Super Blackhawk. This was in the days when a sporting goods store had something besides high priced, ugly tennis shoes.

Being frustrated at not having enough money to get the Super Blackhawk, I decided to walk around the mall and clear my head. As I passed a bookstore, I decided to go in and have a look.

After finding the Sports and Hunting Section, a book cover literally jumped out and hit me in the face, Knives and Knifemakers by Sid Latham. That book had five of the most beautiful knives I had ever seen on the cover. I immediately bought the book and headed home to devour it. I realize now that my brain chemistry was forever altered that day.

I read that book at least 20 times and looked at those pictures hundreds of times. Then I took the plunge and picked out three makers to get a brochure from. I enclosed some money for the brochures and mailed them off.

A week later, I had a Corbet Sigman catalog in hand (the other two makers never responded). Mr. Sigman’s catalog was truly loaded with info – how he made his knives, what steels he used and why, what to look for in a custom knife, and what handle materials he used.

After a lot of looking and thinking, I filled out his very detailed order form and mailed it off. Twelve to fourteen months delivery time. I didn’t know that time could be that slow. At about 11 months, I got a letter from Mr. Sigman. My excitement turned quickly into disappointment. He stated that he was relocating his shop and that the knife would not be ready in the appointed time. He said he would refund my deposit or I could wait another six months.

I told him I would wait. After several letters with questions from Mr. Sigman regarding exactly what I was going to use the knife for, sending a tracing of my hand, and letting him know if I had changed my mind on handle material, the letter saying my knife was ready arrived. After about a week and a half, my knife arrived.

After I got that box open and got that Model 7 Drop Point in my hand, my brain chemistry must have really boiled. A 4” blade of 154cm steel, hollow ground, mirror finished, finely tapered tang, nickel silver guard, and black micarta with yellow stripe handle. What a beauty! I realized very quickly that a knife is just like a Lay’s potato chip. You can’t have just one. An addiction that I couldn’t shake had been born.

A Drop Point Hunter. After all these years and many knives and makers, the Drop Point Hunter still fuels my addiction. I take in a semi-skinner from time to time, but the Dropped Hunter has the beauty, feel and form that this addiction cannot resist. The Dropped Hunter is and will always be, to me, the ultimate art knife.

Collecting custom knives has been, and continues to be, a great pleasure. But make no mistake about it, like all of life’s endeavors, there are some bumps and potholes in the road. There are some so called knifemakers out there who will take your money and not deliver, refuse to return your letters, phone calls and emails. Such is life and you adjust accordingly.

I have never purchased a knife for investment potential. It has always been for the love of the knife and that feeling that is released in my chemically unbalanced brain! For those of you that have that collecting disorder, you know how I feel!

I am sad to say that the Sigman knife and many others are no longer with me, as life has its financial woes along the way. But I continue buying when I can, because there is always another Dropped Hunter calling out to me. Addiction personified!