Hail to the hammer

"Everybody has a hammer in a drawer somewhere," said Ian Tattersall, curator in the Department of Anthropology of the American Museum of Natural History in Manhattan. "It's the most ubiquitous tool we have."

My father was 34 when he died unexpectedly in 1959. I was just 3 years old. Except for some snapshot memories, he didn't leave much behind.

One of the few things handed down to me was a ball peen hammer he used to bump out a small dent in the front fender on our 1953 Ford Customline. When I was in high school, I had the handle replaced. Since then, I have kept the hammer in my tool box. I hardly ever use it. I keep it for one clear memory.

I am playing in the driveway, and I see him working on that front fender in our garage. I can almost still hear the thump, thump of the hammer. The sun is warm, and he's working shirtless, keeping one eye on the fender and the other on his son.

My mom remembers his working on that fender, too. And she remembers that the little boy in the driveway had a plastic hammer and was banging on the side of a tractor.

I'm not alone in my feeling about hammers. Whether you're a master craftsman or a can't-screw-in-a-light-bulb type of homeowner, one tool is an absolute must. "Everybody has a hammer in a drawer somewhere," said Ian Tattersall, curator in the Department of Anthropology of the American Museum of Natural History in Manhattan. "It's the most ubiquitous tool we have."

It's been that way for about 2.5 million years - ever since primitive man used sharp stones to rap and tap with. Early stone hammers were used to crack animal bones so humans could suck out the nutritious marrow, Tattersall says. And animal bones and antlers also were used as hammers before the rise of metal-forging techniques.

Over the millennia, a swinging hammer, more than any other tool, has helped humans perform an infinite number of tasks, from shaping other stone tools and driving wood nails to hanging picture frames and cutting rare gemstones.

But despite its evolution into modern models that feature polished heads of titanium steel, ergonomic designs and soft-grip handles, the hammer's basic role hasn't changed much. It's still about "a need to bash things," Tattersall said.

"The hammer is a very personal tool, more personal than any tool we use," added Ron Hazelton, host of a syndicated how-to television program called "Ron Hazelton's HouseCalls." "The weight, the balance and how it feels in the hand; there's something special about it. It's like a good golf club or tennis racket."

I agree. There's even a famous song about it, "If I Had a Hammer," by Pete Seeger and Lee Hays. As far as anyone can tell, no one has written lyrics extolling wrenches or screwdrivers or a pair of needlenose pliers.

One result is that aficionados like Dan Comerford, a longtime Stony Brook resident, get historic over hammers. Collectors hoard and display antique hammers unlike any other tool, said Comerford, who co-authored the self-published book, "The Hammer: The King of Tools."

A retired social studies teacher, Comerford started gathering hammers while collecting antiques with his wife, Kathie, in the early 1960s. One of his first such prizes was a 5-ounce saw-setting hammer he found in a box of old tools. Over the years, his collection grew to 5,700 hammers, perhaps the largest single collection in the world. It includes a skull-boring surgical hammer from the Civil War, a barrel-marking hammer from the late 1800s and three Roman hammers, each 2,000 years old.

"Some of my favorite hammers are double-clawed hammers that were common after the Civil War," says Comerford, whose original collection is down to about 300 since he moved to Jupiter, Fla., four years ago. Because so many Civil War soldiers returned to their farms or rural jobs without the use of both arms, the double-claw hammer was developed. One claw held the head of the nail, enabling a one-handed user to push the nail into the wood to start it, Comerford said. "Then you would turn the hammer over and strike the nail."

Comerford also has three rare Roman hammers. The hammers were discovered in 1961 during an archaeological dig in Scotland's mountainous Perthshire region near an ancient fortress called Inchtuthil. The fortress was one of the Romans' northernmost military outposts from 83 to 87 AD. When the fort was abandoned, they buried some 875,000 iron nails and more than a few hammers.

Carrying the nails away was not practical, and "the Romans did not want them to be melted down and used by their enemies as projectiles and weapons," Comerford said. After their discovery, the hammers and some of the handmade nails found their way to collectors, including the Glasgow Steel Nail Co. An amateur archeologist acquired some hammers and eventually gave three to Comerford. Today they're worth about $1,500 each.

In addition to the Roman hammers, Comerford's personal favorites include an old David Maydole "adze-eye" hammer he found in 1969 when remodeling his Stony Brook farmhouse, which dates back to the 1820s. Maydole, a Connecticut-based blacksmith and hammer designer, is credited with developing the modern-shaped hammer head more than 150 years ago. Maydole's adze-eye kept the head secured to its wooden handle and virtually eliminated the tool's only failing - hammerheads flying off handles.

"We were removing an old wall and the hammer was behind the wall, probably left behind by a worker," Comerford said. "I said at the time I must be destined to do something with hammers."

Perhaps fate also had something to do with Dave Pahl, who operates a hammer museum in Haines, Alaska. In 2002, while excavating an exterior wall in the building that would become his museum, Pahl found an 800-year old Tlingit warrior's pick. "It's a ceremonial hammer," said Pahl, who began collecting hammers in the 1970s. "It's also called a 'slave killer' because it was used to kill slaves who were buried with chiefs." As in other cultures, local Tlinglit Indian tribes sacrificed slaves so they could continue to serve their chief in the afterlife.

Pahl's museum, a renovated three-room building that was part of a 1900s Army fort, attracted about 2,000 people this past tourist season, from mid-May to mid-September. "People don't really expect much, and then they get in and go, 'Wow,'" Pahl said of the museum, which is less than 1,000 square feet but features five mannequins - including a cobbler, blacksmith and woodcarver - working with hammers. "They see about 1,400 hammers, and they'll tell me they didn't realize hammers were used in so many ways."

Admission to the Hammer Museum is only $3, but Pahl often lets visitors in for free. "I tell them to come in, take the tour, and if they don't think it's worth it then they don't have to pay."

But in the end, they're knocked out by the hammers.

"Almost everyone pays," Pahl said.

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