The original fifty year bag, made of original Victory Canvas, 1945. Photo Socotra.
I am sitting here at the table, stewing in Steve Job’s juices. I am pecking at the MacBook, the iPod 4th Gen is charging on a cord attached to the computer, and by peck, my fingers, and the iPad is resting in the Sixty Year Bag.
Steve was 56 when he passed last night- younger than me, which goes to show the strange way things work out, him being a genius and a figure for the ages and me being- well, whatever that is.
I am having lunch with my pal Mac, who is not a computer, and is still sharp as a tack at 92- and dealing with the warehouse issues that go along with 88-year-old-Raven, my dear Father, who has taken up his wandering ways again, and got himself on the eviction list from the haven of assisted living at Potemkin Village in the Little Village By the Bay.
The radio is murmuring about both Jobs, Steve, and jobs, no capital, and things are a mess in all directions.
It is funny: it was Steve Jobs who is leading me to perhaps create some jobs in China.
Here is the deal. I have been lugging my old Agency-provided leather bag around for years. It is a great thing, more mailman’s sack than briefcase, and almost commodious enough to use for luggage on short trips.
Hell, it is luggage for farm visits. But over time, it has filled up with a portable office, checkbooks, stamps, mailing things, spare glasses, books, magazines, old bills destined for the shredder at the office, sunglasses, small tools, business cards and generally more of a closet than a bag.
With the advent of the iPad tablet 2G 64 gig, I had a capability to replace the Kindle and the laptop with at least some functionality, and the iPod and another couple devices. I started looking around for a carrying case for the slender but capable device.
I looked in the closet and saw something that might work. It is an old pal. The green canvas bag joined me in 1960 or so. Raven would take us to Silverstein’s Army-Navy Surplus Store on expeditions of discovery.
Mr. Silverstein specialized in moving out the left-overs of the Great War on Fascism from the Government attic. His lot, inside and out, was filled with assorted militaria: Air Corps Navigator seats, Navy direction finders with intricate gyroscopes; uniforms, bayonets, insignia and patches, crates and bins filled with all the crazy implements of mass conflict, marked down and sold in lots for a song.
My brother and I loved the place, and Raven was a sucker for gadgets of all kinds, so it was a pleasant male place of diversion. They even had a massive olive-drab DKW- a Duck- a the entrance. A Duck, if you have forgotten, is one of those massive boats-on-wheels that I still see driving around town hauling tourists, and with the clear implication that it could drive into the Tidal Basin and survive.
Unlike legendary former Chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee, Wilbur Mills, and the equally legendary Argentine Firecracker, Fannie Foxx.
Anyway, one of the things Raven let us buy on our modest 50-cent allowances was the green canvas bag. It was a delightful size for a kid; almost the size of a small back-pack, yet compact and with a sturdy canvas strap. Under the weather flap were the words: “Victory Canvas 1945,” and the proud US initials on the front.
It was perfect for playing Army, and later, as I aged, the bag came along with me. It was a perfect school tote bag, with just enough room for a spiral composition pad, a bologna sandwich and an apple.
It even survived the divorce, since by the turn of the millennium it had become bedraggled and a little forlorn, even if still stoutly stitched. I marveled that it was perfect for the iPad, a novel, and my sunglasses. The perfect poolside companion.
I began to take it to the office instead of the mailsack, and had it on the bar at Willow one evening, describing the provenance of the canvas.
Jim looked at me and said: “Goddamn chewed up piece of crap.”
Chagrined, I said: “It still works.” But I took his point. The Fifty Year Bag was good for that, but maybe it was time for a replacement.
When I got home, I decided to see if I could find out what it was. The joys of eBay revealed that the little sack was not an anonymous Army thing In fact, the Green Machine had assigned it an official nomenclature: MK 413, Bag, General Purpose, Supplemental Ammunition, Canvas, one each.
With the name in hand, it was a synch to find vintage versions for sale, but as a curiosity from the earlier age of the Empire, some were far pricer than I wanted to deal with.
Then, a mouse click and I saw one, brand new, and for a price that probably reflected slave labor and raw materials only:
MK 413, Bag, General Purpose, Supplemental Ammunition, Canvas, One Each, new.
I bid on it for the forced labor price and was mildly surprised to win. Along with the notification came this note:
“HELLO,dear Vic,Thank you for your time. I have shipped the item to your registered ebay address after the payment was clear. I am in a remote area of China so the shipping time is a little longer. It should take 20-28 days for the shipment to arrive. The item is good quality and I am sure you will be pleased with the value. If you are satisfied with the purchase and our total service, your comment is very important in our business success. Please take a minute to leave us a positive feedback with an overall Detailed Selling Rating (DSR) of 5.00. If you have any other questions, please write to us immediately so that we can do our best to resolve your problem. Once again, thank you and hope you enjoy shopping with us! Please contact me if you have any questions. Best regards to you and yours!
MA NING YU”
If the bag arrives, and if it is as advertised, I may go into the MK-413 bag business, and call it what it is: the last bag you will ever need. Good for a lifetime.
The Sixty Year Bag. Papa’s got a brand new one.
Copyright 2011 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com