Why Every Man Should Own a Leatherman Tool

March 01, 2011, By Greg Hoard 14 comments

Greg Hoard

Just before Christmas, I agreed to drop off some books at a friend’s house. His wife was out of town, he was putting together a new home theater, but eager to get his hands on Cormac McCarthy’s trilogy: All The Pretty Horses, The Crossing and Cities of the Plain.

“I got a week,” he said. “I’m gonna read good books, watch good movies and get rested for all the holiday horse****! It’s always the same: same people talking about the same s***!”

He’s crusty. He’s smart. He’s set in his ways. He did two tours in Vietnam as a Navy Seal, and it took him a long time to get past it. I’m not sure he ever did.

When I arrived at his house, there was a note on the door: “Come down to the basement,” it said. “I’m way deep in this theater.”

Film is very important to him. He loves the Coen Brothers and Quentin Tarantino. He’ll watch anything that features Willem DaFoe or Christopher Walken. Yeah, Billy has a dark side. But he balances it with Abbott and Costello, the Andy Griffith Show and the Three Stooges.

He does have restrictions. He won’t watch an Andy Griffith episode that doesn’t include Don Knotts, and won’t watch the Stooges without Shemp Howard. He knows everything about the Stooges. “Shemp and Moe went to P.S. 163 in Brooklyn and then went to Baron De Hirsch Trade School,” he once told me. “Moe studied to be an electrician. Shemp wanted to be a plumber.”

One time, when we were talking about the genius of Knotts, he said: “Did you know there is a statue of Knotts in Morgantown? That’s his hometown. Had a hard life. God bless Morgantown. I think I would like to live there.”

Billy Chambers is a complicated, interesting man. He knows a lot of things – books, movies, directors, how to live in the wild and how to kill an enemy with his bare hands. Yet, there is always a gentle smile on his face. That’s why I like being around him.

That’s why I trust him.

When I got to the basement, Billy was entangled with wires and speakers. More than a couple of empty Budweiser bottles were scattered around the room.

“Great,” he said, “thanks for bringing the books. I plan on making this a massive vacation. Almost finished here. Want a beer?”

All the while, he was twirling a tool in his hand like Nunchucks and working feverishly. He would spin it one way and he had a knife. He would spin it another way and he had pliers or wire cutters. I was mesmerized.

“A beer? Sure!”

“Over there, the fridge. Help yourself.”

Honestly, I was more intrigued by the tool.

“Billy, what the heck is that?”

“This? Oh, it’s great. It’s got all kinds of things. Everything you might need. I’ve had this for awhile.”

He handed it over. “Amazing,” he said.