Today, by sheer chance, I happened to inherit my grandfather's Gillette Safety Razor. The old stainless steel, double edged dinosaur was called back into active service.For as long as I can remember, I've been shaving with a 'safety razor', the invention that followed the straight razor but preceded the ghastly disposables which are so prevalent today. Sure, when I cut myself, the cuts would bleed like mad. But eventually I developed a feel for it, and I firmly believe that nothing on the market today offers a closer, cleaner shave in experienced hands.
This evening, after letting the old beard settle in for two days, I lathered up only to realize that my old razor was gone! I think it fell in the garbage and went out with the trash last week. I was immediately gripped with dismay over the prospect of going to Leavitt & Pierce to drop a pretty chunk of change on a new one. Those triple blade lubricated jobbies are for the birds if you ask me.
Then, on a whim, I ran up to the upstairs apartment, where my parents live. My dad is an incurable pack rat. We've made fun of him about it for years. But tonight his compulsive behavior came in handy. I asked him if he still had any old stuff that belonged to Nonno Peppino (my namesake, Giuseppe 'Peppino' Di Nardo). Within minutes he produced a shoebox from the attic. Inside, among other trinkets, was this little rusty box:
And in the little rusty box was my grandfather's razor:
"Can I have it?" I blurted out. "Sure" said my dad. I took the thing, ran downstairs, popped in a fresh blade, lathered up and had a terrific shave. Afterwards I put the razor back in the box, and put the box back in the medicine cabinet, in the same spot where Peppino kept it for over forty years. ( We live in the apartment that belonged to my grandaprents. They bought the house in 1964. My kids are the fourth generation in my family to live here.)
The ghosts in my house just got a little bit happier.