Down Time

My last adventure was the high water mark of my metal detecting career; a 1786 Carlos III reale. That was on Monday, Labor Day, 2016.

It was followed by a crashing, fiery low point two days later.

OK, maybe ‘fiery’ was a bit much, a little over-the-top, but you get the idea.

If you’ll recall a while back, I was having issues with my Garrett AT Pro; VDI numbers up and down the spectrum, changing at a rapid pace even as I pointed it skyward. Checking my records, I was disheartened to discover that the two-year warranty on my machine had expired twenty-four days prior to this event. An impassioned plea via email to Garrett Electronics’ Customer Care department was made…and they responded less than 24 hours later, informing me they’d cover the repair under the expired warranty as long as I got the control module and my coil to their facility by August 1st. FedEx Ground made it with a couple days to spare and Garrett sent me a brand-spankin’ new control module ( I had to get the FedEx plug in there; I used to drive tractor/double trailer for them from Columbus to Rialto, California then to Portland, Oregon and back to Columbus for a period when I was out of law enforcement due to a spinal injury ).

Excellent! After receiving the return package I reassembled my machine and went right back to work with it, making some pretty outstanding ( for me ) recoveries, including the reale, over the next five or so weeks.

Then came September 7th, 2016, and Nickel Plate Beach in Huron, Ohio, on the shores of Lake Erie. I’d driven the 60 or so miles that sunny Wednesday morning filled with anticipation; after all, it was a scant two days after Labor Day, the holiday that tells most of America that summer is over, and I was sure the beach had been packed over the weekend. I arrived at 0930, pleased to see there were only a couple of cars in the parking area but rather displeased to see another detectorist already at work, headed east along the sandy shoreline, coil swinging side-to-side but not stopping very often to investigate promising tones. It would be the last I would see of him.

I geared up for my beach/water hunt and went to work, finding a clad quarter within the first minute. Awesome!, I thought, this ought to be a great session! I’d planned on spending five or 6 hours at this place, hoping to find gold and/or silver jewelry along with the always-present beach cash.

I started working the area where two volleyball nets were set up, happy to see evidence of heavy activity. With all the jumping, diving and twisting that happens during beach volleyball games, there was sure to be treasure awaiting recovery.

That’s when I noticed something wasn’t quite right with the AT Pro.

I passed over a target right-to-left, iron to be sure, but when I swung the coil in the opposite direction…nothing. Back to the left and there it was, a couple of inches into the sand, a deep grunt sounding in my headphones; back to the right and the ‘phones were silent. It ended up being a bent nail, but now I was concerned about my machine.

Over the next hour I recovered some clad coins, the usual trash and a silver-plated child’s ring but the VDI started going crazy again, so much so that I trudged out of the knee-deep water I’d been working and shut the machine completely off. Performing a factory reset, the wild fluctuations continued in the same manner.

I walked dejectedly back to my truck, dropped the tail gate and geared down, trying to control my frustration. This was an AT Pro, waterproof, the ‘AT’ standing for ‘All Terrain’ and useable in a water environment…submersible. I’d used it in just that manner countless times over the two+ years I’d owned it and never, ever had a problem. Garrett had been quick to cover the initial issue when it first reared its ugly head at the end of July and now, a week into September with the brand-new control unit, here it was again.

I’d parked next to a concrete walkway that led to the rest rooms at the beach, the sidewalk lined with four-and-a-half foot tall wooden posts, I suppose to give it that nautical feel. I walked over, checked the nearest post with my pin pointer to make sure it wasn’t full of nails or staples, and sat my AT P on the top, the coil extended horizontally. The VDI was still demon-possessed. I shot some video on my iCam of the display’s activity for documentation purposes, finished packing up my gear and pointed my GMC homeward, first stopping at a Dairy Queen for a peanut butter shake ( which always improves a bad mood ).

Once back at Ram Field Ranch, I opened my laptop and formulated another email to Hilda at Garrett’s Repair Department office; she’d helped me immeasurable during the first incident in July, and told her of the new trouble. I attached the video I’d shot to the email and sent it off, receiving a reply within twenty-four hours. Again I was asked to send them the control module and coil; the repair would be covered this time under the ninety-day ‘repair’ warranty, costing me only for shipping to get it there. I sent it out Friday.

So now, here I sit, watching YouTube exploits of guys like Shannon at Palmetto Digger, Hiluxyota, MentalMetal, Tony Eisenhower, Gravedigger Max, Dave at AmericanCoinHunting, Jimmy Maya and NuggetNoggin, guys that I enjoy watching and learning from, waiting patiently for that FedEx truck to arrive later in the week with my repaired gear. In the mean time, I’ll also be tapping away on my laptop, creating more entries for this blog and my cop-related one at http://mpd135.blogspot.com/

…and doing some yard work, wishing all the while I was out swinging a coil somewhere.

 

 

Plans Changed…I’m Glad They Did

Wow, so much has happened in the last 48 hours. First and foremost, the rib problem I’ve been battling interrupted my plans for yesterday; I stayed at home, where the heating pad and a couple of prescription pain meds became my best friends for the day. Prior to that occurrence, I discovered that my Ion Sports Cam wouldn’t record, either video or photos; I’ve had it for over two years and used it heavily, with almost all my Youtube videos being shot with it. It’s small, waterproof to ten feet and very easy to operate, and you can imagine my disappointment. I wasn’t looking forward to shelling out extra cash for a new waterproof cam.

As my wife and I sat on our patio sipping our Tim Horton’s black gold this morning, I remarked that my ribs weren’t hurting at all. As we had no plans other than to grill out later in the evening, my redheaded angel said she wanted to get some housework done and then do some shopping…and added that if I wanted to go metal detecting it would be fine. Now you see why I call her my angel!

I’d already thought about what I might do; with today being Labor Day, I knew the Lake Erie beaches would be busy and many depositors would be leaving behind things that us detectorists love to find. I’d also previously scouted out a couple of new river spots I wanted to hit, so I made the decision to go river detecting. After all, tomorrow or Wednesday would be prime times to hit the thinned-out beaches up north.

I readied my gear for water detecting, kissed my wife and told her I’d be back around 3PM, maybe sooner if I wasn’t having any luck. I backed my 2004 GMC Canyon out of the garage and headed for the Mohican River.

First, though, and without my Chief Financial Officer’s blessing, I made a side trip to Walmart and picked up a new video cam and micro SD card. It’s best to commit the sin and ask forgiveness later than ask permission beforehand and be denied.

I arrived at my spot near where the old settler village of Newville had stood, geared up and headed into the water about 200 yards east of the Pleasant Hill Rd bridge. I was in luck; no one else was at the spot fishing, which its very popular for. I tethered my floating sifter to my belt, secured a lanyard to my waterproof pin pointer and then switched on my AT Pro.

The hunt was on.

The pickings were slim, aside from all the iron targets. i did find an old Zippo lighter early on, which I’ll try to clean up to see if there’s any sort of inscription. Some clad change, a couple of wheat cents, an old broken spoon and a junk kids’ ring rounded out most of the three hours I spent in the water, aside from the two canoeists who glided by in the gently flowing river.

I’d left my gear bag on a high and dry rock just off the river bank and was making my way back to it, with the intention of calling it a day. The rocks became the size of moss-covered cannon balls, making the footing treacherous. Still, I continued to swing the detector’s coil, as a lot of material gets trapped between and under rocks.

Withing about fifteen feet of the bank I hit a semi-high tone. Centering it, I withdrew my pin pointer and searched an area between two large rocks; soon, I pulled up a short length of fishing line with two small shot weights attached. After bagging them, I stuck the pin pointer back into the small space between the rocks, which was in about two feet of water; I was still getting a signal. The space narrowed until I could only squeeze two fingers in and began brushing away the sandy silt, pausing every so often to see if the target had moved.

Deciding it would be my last target for the day, I brushed a few more times before rechecking the crack…and the target had moved. I relocated it in the small pile of material I’d just brushed out, holding my hand-held machine on the spot while grabbing a handful of pebbles and sand. I had the target, whatever it was.

As I opened my hand once I’d cleared the surface of the river, I saw a small, dime-sized coin; giving it a quick once-over, I decided that’s what it was, and a badly-worn dime at that. I put it in the fat pill bottle in which I keep my smaller finds, closed it up and climbed out of the water, tired but happy to have been doing something other than sitting in the recliner at home.

As I loaded my gear for the trip home I phoned my wife, telling her I’d be there in about a half-hour. “Great”, she said, “you’ll be just in time to start the grill.” Brats and burgers were to be our evening meal, me being the grillmaster of the house.

I arrived home shortly thereafter, telling Stacy of my rather meager finds.

“But you had fun, right?”

“Absolutely.”

I unloaded my gear bag, thermos, .40 caliber M&P Shield and my ‘finds’ container from the passenger compartment, pausing to shed my soaked tennis shoes and socks in the garage. Once inside I stripped off my shorts and t-shirt, heading for a much-needed shower. It was luxurious.

After getting dressed, I emptied my finds onto a paper towel to take a closer look, which is habit. I used my small, high-intensity flashlight and magnifying glass to examine the dime, hoping to at least get a date off it.

What I saw shocked me.

Although I now knew the coin wasn’t a dime, I could easily read the date: 1786.

SEVENTEEN-EIGHTY-SIX!!

What in the world had I recovered??

As I sit here telling you this story, I’m still not 100% sure, but I think it might be a Spanish 8 reale piece, which now makes it my oldest coin yet.

Sometimes, a change in plans is a good thing.

Headed for an Old Canoe Livery

Tomorrow, bright and early, I’ll arise; I’ll fix my extra-large cup of Tim Horton’s black gold, which is an absolute must to start my day. I’ll have my toasted Wheat Thins with peanut butter and honey ( right after my 15-unit injection of Humalog ) and then my customary cup of yogurt.

I’ll don my oldest pair of jeans shorts, socks and beat-up tennis shoes to go along with a black T-shirt with cutoff sleeves, then brush my teeth and take all 7 of my once-a-day pills ( 6 are prescription, the other is a multi-vitamin specially formulated for us middle-aged men ). I’ll kiss my red-headed angel of a wife goodbye…

….and then I’ll be off for another water metal detecting adventure.

This time I’m headed for a spot we used to canoe from when I was a young teen. Our church youth group would embark on canoe trips at least twice a summer, and it was always great fun…especially if I had the opportunity to share a canoe with Becky Ellington, our pastor’s stunningly beautiful daughter. We’d always been flirty but, alas, eventually her father ended up transferring to a larger church up near Cleveland somewhere. I never saw or heard from her again after that.

Since those days long ago ( back in the early 70s ) thousands upon thousands of canoeists have traveled that particular stretch of watertway. Some canoeists aren’t as adept at navigating the waters as are others, and hundreds…if not thousands…have overturned their crafts, meaning items were lost to the river. There’s no telling how many undiscovered treasures lie on the bottom of the Black Fork River from those days til now.

Hopefully, Ill find some of them in the morning.

The End of a Great Spot

Yesterday dawned with overcast skies but the forecast was good: sunny later in the morning, with temps in the mid-80s. Of course, I had a metal detecting trip on my mind.

Acres of park-like grounds beckoned at Gatton Rocks, the place where I’ve been detecting in the river, and I wanted to get started as early as possible; our grandson, Butch, would be coming to stay with us at 1430 hours, so my time would be limited. As soon as my bride left for work, I began readying my gear, transitioning from a water configuration to land.

I left the house at around 0930 after finishing a few small chores, eager to make the drive down SR 97 to Clear Fork High School, where I’d make a right on Dill Rd and arrive at Gatton Rocks a couple of minutes later. After reaching the spot, I parked and dropped the tail gate on my truck, withdrawing my needed items: trash pouch, hand trowel, pin pointer, my AT Pro and a small hand towel I use for piling dirt on if I dug a deep target. Makes it much easier…and neat appearing…when the time comes to refill the hole.

After liberally applying mosquito repellant, I donned my gear and turned my machine on, ground-balancing it once I was able to find a spot without metal in the ground. That’s a tough thing to find in most parks because, well, people are pigs. There can be a trash receptacle ten feet away and most folks will still throw their trash on the ground.

Soon I was scanning the ground…and not having much luck. Beer and pop bottle lids dominated the targets  and pull tabs also made their presence known. I did manage to find a dime and quarter, both clad coins, and had just started scanning an area near a section of river bank when, through my head phones, I heard the sound of an approaching tractor. I turned and saw a scraggly-looking bearded guy headed my way across the expanse of grass; I’d seen him twice before as he worked while I’d been in the river and he’d always waved, a pretty nice guy. What he had to say wasn’t so nice.

As he shut off the tractor’s motor I took my headphones off. I greeted him.

“Good morning!”

“Howdy. I’m supposed to tell you they don’t want no prospecting here.”

I was a little taken aback; it was obvious I wasn’t panning for gold, wasn’t it?

“I’m not prospecting, I’m metal detecting, taking a LOT of trash out of the ground while doing so.”

He scratched his unkempt, thin beard. “Well, they don’t want that, either. You can go downriver past the bridge, where the gold prospectors have some land…”

I knew where he was talking about. I also knew you needed to be a member of the gold panner’s club to hunt there, which I wasn’t.

“No, that’s OK, I have plenty of other places to go.” I indicated my bulging trash bag on my waist. “All this sharp metal, glass, trash, bottle caps and such, you want me to put it all back on the ground, where I found and removed it.?” His eyebrows shot skyward above his steel-rimmed glasses.

“Oh, NO! You can dump that over there in the trash can. We appreciate you cleaning up, but they just don’t want no prospecting here.”

I looked around, indicating a couple of places where people had started fire pits, litter scattered about the areas. “So, folks can come down here, trash the place, drink and carry on while letting little kids run around barefoot across all this stuff that could hurt them, but I can’t dig it up and make it safer for kids while metal detecting? I know its public-use, but the property owners would be liable if, say, someone got cut bad on a shredded can laying in the grass.”

Now the bearded employee was getting a little mad; I couldn’t really blame him due to the way I was baiting him, either. “Look, they just don’t want no prospecting here!”

I shrugged. “No problem, I have other places I can go, pal. You’re just doing your job. I understand.” I had to get that one last shot in, though, me being me…

“I’ll give you the thirty-five cents I found, too, since it rightfully belongs to the property owners and all…”

After a quick look of puzzlement, bearded man said “No, they don’t mind if you keep that, I guess…”

I flashed him a smile. “Great! Look, I understand, I’m not upset or anything. You have a great tractor-riding day.” I hefted my AT Pro, Sampson shovel and headed for the truck, disappointed but satisfied that I’d made my point.

After gearing down and packing it all away in the back of my red GMC, I drove the twenty minutes to the house, thinking about that place and my exchange with the Wade and Gatton employee. Then the idea popped into my head.

I can still go there and swim. I can wear an underwater face mask while swimming in that rope-swing area I hadn’t explored yet….

….with my pin pointer tucked in the leg pouch of my trunks.

Sometimes the River Laughs

After two forays at what should be an excellent site to metal detect in a river swimming hole, I can tell you this:

It’s either feast or famine

A guy who goes by the name of Hiluxyota on YouTube is feasting, and has been for roughly ten days or so. This detectorist found a section of river chock full of gold signet rings and old coins, among other things. He’s a very nice guy to boot, too, who does his research. His channel can be found here:            https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC4yLniERekWqAXh0NwOqaqw

His success, along with that of a few other detectorists I subscribe to, inspired me to give river metal detecting a try. I’ve done it three times so far, the third being a boulder-infested stream, with little success.

That’s the famine part.

That’s OK, though. I could stand to miss a few meals, and I’m far from finished with the location I’ve chosen. So far I’ve recovered probably three bucks in coinage, all newer stuff, a bunch of .22 caliber bullets, fishing lures, lead sinkers, the usual unidentifiable metals, a rail spike…but no jewelry worth saving.

I’ve been upstream and downstream. I’ll need to make a trip to a sporting goods store for a diving mask to check the bottom of the rope swing area, but I’m holding off on that till after Labor Day in order to give potential depositors one last chance at losing that ring or bracelet. Aside from that, there’s a pretty large picnic area waiting to be harvested.

Land metal detecting, which apparently is what I do best. I’ll scan that acreage by the river….

…as I listen to the river laugh at me.

 

Adventures in Self-Construction

I’ve been watching a ton of online videos of metal detectorists working in water. Have been for awhile, so much so that I’ve tried it myself…and loved it.

I’ve seen some guys working with a floating sifter, ones they’ve built themselves, which seems like a good idea. Most of the ones I’ve seen were constructed of PVC pipe bound with those foam pool worms. The sifting screen is usually something called ‘hardware screen’, a material that’s sturdy but not made of metal, which means your pinpointer will be a big help in that pile of gravel/sand/clay in the sifter.

So, I took the plunge.

Made a trip to my favorite big-box building supply store looking for the materials I’d need. Inch-and-a-half PVC pipe, 4 ninety-degree elbows, joint cement…all easy to find. I asked one of the clerks for hardware screen; he directed me to the area where repair materials for window screens were displayed.

The screens were all metal.

I told the man what I needed that particular screen for; he looked at me as if I were speaking  Japanese.

“It’s non-metallic screening material, and I need it in 1/8th-inch size.”

I got a look of bewilderment in return. He then directed me to the lawn and garden center to check out their landscape weed barrier material.

Now I was frustrated. I didn’t want to have to visit a half-dozen stores to find what I needed.

As I was shoving my cart in the direction of the registers I passed an aisle that displayed plastic tub containers…and a light bulb went on. I returned all my items back where I’d found them, then went back to those storage tub displays. I found a rectangular flat one, about six inches deep, and snatched it off the shelf. Since I already had some pre-cut pool worms, all I had to pick up was some sturdy zip ties. This should be easy.

After getting home and mowing the lawn at Ram Field Ranch, I set to work on making my sifter. First, I laid out a grid on the bottom side of the tub where I proceeded to drill 40 quarter-inch holes. The pre-cut sections of pool noodles were placed along the four sides of the lip  of the tub and secured with thick zip ties. I added attach points for a clip-on  lanyard and voila! It is ready to go.

My only concern will be cracking of the tub floor once the weight of a scoop of sand and gravel are added; hopefully, the thickness of the plastic will hold up. If it doesn’t, I’m only out five bucks and fifteen minutes of my time.

Then I’ll go the PVC route, IF I can find the hardware screen.

Stay tuned, sports fans…

The Wonders of Medicine

A couple of days ago I posted about trying to move a concrete slab in the water and injuring myself, in pursuit of a target that turned out to be a piece of tin.

That injury eventually was diagnosed as torn cartilage in my rib cage, which in turn caused extensive muscle spasms in my upper left abdomen. Those spasms were almost continual; pain meds didn’t help much. I wouldn’t be doing any detecting for quite a while…or so I thought.

Enter the physician for whom my wife works. This man called our home at 2200 hrs ( that’s 10 PM for you non-military types ) and told her to bring me in first thing yesterday morning. He’s a pain management doc and, after hearing from his office manager about my ailment, took the time to call us directly. When’s the last time a physician called YOU at 10 PM?

I was at his office at 0830, in extreme discomfort. Out of the previous 48 hrs I’d slept a total of three, unable to find a comfortable position, sitting, standing or laying. The good doctor examined me, poked, prodded and interrogated, and also reviewed my x-ray and CT scan films. Finally, he performed a nerve block in the affected area, injecting a long-lasting numbing elixir mixed with a mild analgesic.

Relief was almost instantaneous.

After returning home I caught up on much needed sleep, out for most of the day in my recliner. This morning, aside from some mild soreness in the site where the nerve block was performed, I feel almost normal again…to the point of telling my wife I was considering going detecting this day.

I think she took my AT Pro with her, locked in the trunk of her car, because its not where I left it.

My wife is a smart woman who knows me well.

 

Just My Luck…

Most of my time is spent metal detecting in parks or around old houses and buildings. However, recently I’d decided that I wanted to venture into water features with my Garrett AT Pro, especially after watching a few videos on YouTube of fellow detectorists making some pretty awesome recoveries from creeks, rivers and lakes.

I’d already worked some beaches over the past couple of years, the most recent being the beaches of Edisto Island in South Carolina in July, where I made my second beach ring find.

Last Tuesday I traveled to a little country swimming hole in a river, one that’s been active since the early 1920s, to try my hand; I had a little luck finding a few coins, but no silver or gold. I hadn’t really expected to, being the novice water detectorist that I am. I enjoyed it so much, though, that I went back Thursday morning, spending three hours early in the day in mostly mid-thigh deep water.

Not having much success, I decided to wade into an area right next to a couple of huge trees that have rope swings attached and started working from the edges inward. Eventually I hit a low-80s signal on my machine’s VDI display and decided to recover it. Feeling my way with my hands in eighteen inches of river close to the bank, I discovered that the target was beneath a huge slab of concrete that was probably a good two inches thick. I set my machine and long-handled scoop aside and hooked my fingers beneath an edge…and moved it slightly. Getting a better grip, I redoubled my effort and got it moved aside enough to work the target signal, which turned out to be a piece of tin. Just my luck.

As people were starting to show up, I scanned a few more times in the area and decided to call it a day, having collected a few modern coins and not much else. I trudged back to my truck, geared down, stowed my machine and headed north towards home. I called my wife, as is customary, and let her know I was done for the day.

It wasn’t until a little later that I began feeling an intense, dull ache in the area just beneath my left rib cage, the ache getting worse by the minute; by the time I was stepping out of the shower it was becoming hard to stand erect. My wife got home from work, noticing that I was having trouble, so I told her about the pain in my abdomen.

Before the night was through, I ended up in the ER.

Diagnosis? A partially torn muscle just below the rib cage.

So now here I sit, in extreme discomfort, waiting on the pain med and muscle relaxer to do their jobs. That’s all I can do for a week…sit. And heal.

And no metal detecting for at least a week.

Just my luck.

Here we go…

 I love metal detecting.

Period.

I started in the early spring of 2014, about six months after I hung up my badge and gun belt for good. My wife’s brother, Steve, was at our home visiting one afternoon and excitedly started telling me about his new hobby of metal detecting. He hadn’t found much, he’d said, but he was having fun.

“You ought to try it. We can go detecting together.”

My lovely redhead of a wife chimed in. “Yes, you need a hobby or something now that you’re retired. I don’t want you in the recliner watching TV all day.”

She was right, of course; I’d started to fall into that trap. Once I’d gotten a few projects finished, all I had to do was yard work and such. The rest of the time I spent watching history programs and cop shows. I figured, Why not? As much as history fascinates me, maybe I’ll like it, plus I’ll be getting some exercise.

Steve and I talked a bit more about the types of detecting I might be interested in and my search for a machine was on. I found a couple of metal detectors that interested me, lower-priced models in the $300 range. I figured I wouldn’t jump in whole hog because I wasn’t sure how much I would like metal detecting.

I settled on a Treasure Commander TCX2, the Si Robertson model. It came packaged with a pin pointer and finds bag; I figured I’d use my garden trowel to dig with. I was set.

I started out in our yard finding, of course, every piece of metallic debris it held. I also found a few coins and one of my son’s toy cars that hadn’t seen the light of day for the last ten years. Pretty cool! I still wasn’t committed, however.

I started watching YouTube videos…hundreds of them. These folks were finding jewelry, old coins, artifacts and relics from times gone by. That’s what I wanted, to find something amazing. I was a part-time school bus driver at the time, often driving athletic trips to other schools and parks, so I started taking my TCX2 along.

It proved to be an excellent idea.

I’d driven the track team to a meet at a small village school, one that had an old railroad bed across the highway from it, and figured I’d try my luck there. The rails and ties had long been removed, leaving only the gravel bed and berm area which ran for hundreds of yards. After unloading the kids and parking my bus, I crossed the highway and slid down an embankment to the abandoned rail line.

I’d dug a few beer bottle caps, a rail spike, some old nails and a few other odds and ends when I got a rather loud signal on my machine. It indicated that the item was only a couple inches deep, in an area along the bed and I started digging. And digging. I was being schooled in the fact that large items can be deep and small items shallow, no matter what your detector tells you.

At six inches I felt and heard a metallic ‘clunk’, telling me I’d found the target. As I reached into the hole my fingers felt a rounded object; a couple more scoops of the dark earth revealed the find that set the metal detecting hook in me.

A railroad switch lock.

It was gorgeous and in fantastic shape. On its face were the letters ‘WB’, raised from the surface of the lock itself. I brushed off all the dirt I could, staring at my find and wondering how long the padlock had been in the ground.

I couldn’t wait to get it home so I could research its origin on the internet, the track meet seeming to last forever. Finally, the kids loaded up and I got them back to the school, parking my bus and making the trip home in my truck in record time. I excitedly showed Stacy my find and told her the story, she being unimpressed but happy for me.

Once on the ‘net I discovered that the ‘WB’ stood for Wilson Bohannon, a lock manufacturer that had been in business since the 1880s in Brooklyn, New York. I called the company the next morning, finding that they’d relocated to a city forty miles southwest of me here in Ohio. I spoke with a man in the sales office who told be their catalogs, dating back to 1899, were all online on their website and, if the top loop of the lock was stamped ‘Brooklyn, New York’, it was 1930 or older. It was. Before hanging up, the man asked if I’d like to donate the lock to their lobby display.

No way.

I found my treasure in their 1930 catalog. As with many other detectorists who find older items, my mind wandered…who was the last person to touch this lock? What was their life like? How was it lost? All questions I’ll never know the answers to.

That’s OK with me, though.

I know who has it now.

 

 

 

 

WELCOME!