Keeping sharp: local man is built to last

Gilbert Grubbs, of Dexter, gets up in the morning and mills about his garage. Shelves are neatly lined and stacked with things from his past. Some pictures can be seen of him with deer and other hunting trophies. One picture is of him with his class at meat-cutting school from more than 50 years ago.

"My wife says it's all a bunch of junk," Grubbs chuckles. "But I have some use for pretty much all of this."

Grubbs activates a light over his work bench and quickly sets to the process of sharpening an old Yankee Steel straight razor.

"There are some pits here. It's going to take some work. I hope you aren't in a hurry," Grubbs says. "We'll get this taken care of."

Grubbs starts to slowly drag the blade across the grinding wheel, throwing a light spray of sparks. He carefully glides the blade from one side to the other. The walls surrounding him tell his tale.

At the far end of his garage is a small, black and white class photo, when a young Grubbs was in the fifth grade.

"When I was five years old, I got polio," Grubbs explains. "They put me in one of those big braces -- the kind like the kid wore in Forrest Gump. I was like the kid in that movie for a few years."

Born in Indiana, Grubbs moved with his family to Dexter at a very young age.

"We did all we could to survive," Grubbs recalls. "We grew our own vegetables, and by the time I was out of my braces and had a few surgeries, I was in the field picking cotton."

Reminiscing about school, Grubbs remembers struggling with math.

"I just couldn't get it," he says. "And I couldn't get the help I needed."

Working hard from a young age, Grubbs decided school was no benefit and dropped out before his last year of high school.

"I decided I just needed a job," he comments.

Grubbs ventured out to Toledo, Ohio and enrolled in the National School of Meat Cutting.

"There weren't many places like that," Grubbs laughed. "It lasted about eight weeks, and it wasn't easy."

Without the advantages of modern machinery at the time, Grubbs had to learn to bevel a blade and then put an edge to it by hand.

"I think the way that I was raised showed me the value of preserving what you have," he remarks.

As Grubbs polishes the old razor, he notes that most things aren't built to last.

"We live in a throw-away society," he notes. "I have a cast iron skillet that's over 100 years old. I still use it, and it works great."

Grubbs has been retired for a while, but tries to keep himself busy. One thing he enjoys doing is sharpening blades.

"I basically just like to help people," he explains. "And it's fun for me to see what some people have held on to. If someone brings in an old pair of King Cutter scissors, I can put a fine edge on them real quick, and they'll cut through anything. One of these modern, cheaper pairs of scissors, though... I can fix it to where they'll cut paper like they're supposed to; but, not much else."

As one looks around Grubbs' garage and sees the firearms and blades, as well as the many books and boxes neatly aligned on the shelves, one gets the impression of witnessing living history.

"I like keeping things because of their functionality," he explains. "If something works and it serves a purpose, then why wouldn't you take care of it?"

It's a question that may seem lost on a younger generation.

Grubbs goes on to explain how he eventually found work with the Tea Company in Indiana, the state he called home for more than 30 years.

"After 35 years, the polio caught back up with me a little," Grubbs laments as he rubs his knee. "I did what I could for as long as I could."

While he struggled with his declining health, the stoic Grubbs refused to say anything to his employers; but, a declining economy saw his employers forcing him into retirement anyway.

"I moved back to Dexter and built this house," Grubbs says, now seated and trying to relax. "I've lived a conservative life. If my wife and I hadn't lived so conservatively, I don't think we could have made it."

The day before, a friend dropped off a long-barrel goose gun that needs some work. Grubbs was more than happy to oblige.

"I only chased one woman ever in my life," he chuckles. "For 50 years, it's been the same woman, and I have been very fortunate to have her. But I've chased a lot of guns. I've put my hands on, and played with a lot of guns."

As with his blades and old cooking pans, Grubbs enjoys the functional quality of old firearms.

"I just can't understand -- if you can put just a little bit of effort into preserving something -- why wouldn't you?" he asks. "There are a lot of good things to enjoy today. I love computers, and I'm trying to learn how to work with them. But the internet is a matter of money going out vs. money coming in."

Grubbs can't help but chuckle at the idea of so many people studying "doomsday preparedness."

"I read that stuff and keep up with it," he says with a smile. "But it's all stuff I've known how to do for a while."

Grubbs' memories start south of Dudley in a tin roof shack, and have led to his quiet home in Dexter where he spends his golden years. Through polio and other struggles he's encountered -- like the old blades he so patiently works to polish and sharpen -- it seems clear that Grubbs, too, was built to last.