I'm going to drop the 3rd person for this story, guys. It's too good for the curator schtick.
Just got back from an upscale jeweler's called Leonardo's in Red Bank, NJ, which is this hip little town down the road from me. The little repair shop called Gem of an Idea in the town where I live closed during the pandemic apparently, and I had my doubts when I walked in with the machete wrapped tightly in cloth under my arm. Wealthy ladies wearing fake hair, fake nails, and more gold than Montezuma were browsing well-lit cases. A lady behind the counter came over and I asked her if there was a jeweler on the premises. I said I didn't want to alarm her, described what I had and why I was there, and unwrapped it enough to show her. She said, "We have just the man," and told me to wrap that back up and disappeared down some stairs.
A few minutes later this aging hermit with skin the color of old leather and multiple hinged-lens jewelers' glasses on his head emerged in the doorway and came over.
I repeated part of my story and revealed a little of the machete and his eyes lit up and he immediately beckoned me to give it to him despite and completely ignoring the lady's misgivings about unwrapping it in the store. Before he even inspected the blade he was saying the inscription to the lady in Spanish and he became so visibly and verbally overcome with emotion that the lady put her hand on his arm and asked him if he was okay. She looked even warier as he took it by the handle and brandished it exactly like a weapon but under perfect control, not striking motions, like drill & ceremony motions, with a few quick deft moves, blade straight down, and in broken English started telling a story about his grandfather fighting fourteen men. I can't begin to describe with how much poetry he was re-telling this story, describing the men falling to the floor one by one as he searched our faces to see if we believed him or not. Without shame I tell you that I started to tear up myself. There I was standing in cargo shorts, shitkickers and a t-shirt in a wealthy jewelry store listening to a 4'11" inch guy who they keep down in the shop cleaning and fixing wealthy people's jewelry talk about his grandfather fighting in the Mexican Revolution. He obviously hadn't seen one in years. I wasn't sure if he was with revolutionary or counter-revolutionary forces. It was hard to follow, but clearly involved Bueanvista de Cuellar. When I mentioned Museo Toma de la Zacatecas, he said, Si, Si, norte. It was very clear that he was insisting on me knowing the significance of what I had and how there were very few men who know how to really handle a machete correctly.
When the moment passed I asked about the pommel and guard and he immediately said, "Aluminium." Not aluminum, but the element name.
I asked if he was sure, and he said he was, but said he would take it down to his shop and asked my permission to make a small scratch and showed me where he would do it. I said something about an acid test and he just made a scowl.
The lady and I looked at each other and she said she had never seen him like this before.
He came back up and said again, "Aluminium."
When I said that was disappointing, that it was probably a replica, then, not real (my Spanish is not good, so I was searching for the right word to get my point across), he finally understood my concern and shook his head back and forth violently, like I was an idiot, like I was besmirching the memory of his grandfather, saying, "genuino, autentico". Holding it out with two hands and bending it. "Excellence," he said, in English. I asked if he was saying that they were casting aluminum around the steel tang at that time and he said yes.
Oh, and I'm home, but the machete is still there. He wouldn't let me leave with the nicks in it. He insisted on fixing them and sharpening the blade.
"Muchas gracias," I said, and when he went back downstairs to his shop, the lady told me he had been with them for 40 years and nobody in the entire outfit, not even "Leo" himself, which I take it is the "Leonardo" in the store name, knew more about precious metals and gems than him.
His name was Jose.
Last thing I expected when I drove down there. Still can't believe it happened.
on your parade.... While I know the aging hermit means well by wanting to fix the scratch and sharpen the blade, and I'm sure it's too late to stop him, it might potentially harm the value of the machette. Usually, items like this are valued better in found condition, especially if the "fixes" don't get done right or are botched....just sayin'...
