Every once in a while comes a story worth being told.  Here is just such a story, replete with challenge, romance, adventure, and the ruthless pursuit the human spirit can endure for a lifetime of adventure. This, my friends, is the story of John Thomas "Red" Harbaugh and "Ol' Red" as told by my friend "Ol' Dave."  I feel it is important to share this story for posterity, so that others might learn from "Red's" journey through life!  A special thank you to Dave for acting as scribe for history's sake.

John Thomas "Red" Harbaugh

April 15, 1869 - April 14, 1912

John Thomas Harbaugh was born April 15, 1869 in Hooter Hollow, Tennessee. The son of John Timothy and Martha Stewart Harbaugh, he was the ninth son in a family of 13 girls and 11 boys. Red's father John Timothy "Gutless" Harbaugh was a drunkard and gambler who earned his nickname working in a Southside Chicago Slaughterhouse where after he was done his work the carcasses were "gutless". His mother Martha Stewart "Busybody" Harbaugh was a crippled, blind, bad breathed, overweight, reformed alcoholic who earned her nickname when she worked in a bordello in Pittsburgh, frequented by Union soldiers normally deserters, during the Civil War. Neither of Red's parents could read or write and both had no idea who their parents were. Red grew up in a violent, dysfunctional home that was none the less full of love, probably because of the many strange men who spent the night there when his father was out drinking and gambling.

Red's childhood was spent like many a child of that time, in sheer terror that he would be abandoned or worse yet sold by his parents into a growing child pornography ring. Red would spend most of his time hiding from his father, who would come home and make the kids deal "Texas Holdem'" for hours on end, or his mother who would make him change the bed sheets in her room almost hourly. Despite the constant fear and endless hours of card shuffling and sheet changing, Red found the time to study and do his school work. This attributed to his reaching the 5th grade in school before he quit and joined the Tennessee National Guard "Naval Division" at age 19.

When Red quit school and joined the Tennessee Navy, he vowed to his siblings that he would be the first Redman to make something of himself and see the world. Red collected his meager belongings and on the way out the door of his home he picked up the one possession of his father's that he knew would piss the old man off when he found out it was gone; a yellow handled three bladed stockman knife. It was the knife that his father used at the slaughterhouse, the very knife that had gutted many a chicken, pig, horse, cow and occasionally a cat, the same knife that had earned his dad his nickname. Red thought that if the knife had brought such fame and prestige to his drunken father, certainly it could bring him luck and in the process get his old man fired from his job.

Red headed off on the journey that would change his life, a journey that held so much hope and the promise of unlimited potential and wealth. His first stop was at the pier located 25 yards from the house he grew up in and had just left, where he was inducted into the Tennessee Navy and where he met his so to be life long friend, Nathan "Hotdog" Bun. Nathan had earned his nickname working for the Detroit fire department where he had repeatedly risked his own life to carry smoldering canines from a burning kennel. Over the next 4 years, while stationed at the pier 25 yards from his house, Red learned the ways of the sea, poling his John boat up and down the Mudflat River, hauling bootleg liquor, the mainstay income of the Tennessee Navy. Red became quite homesick, being 25 yards from home will do that to a young man in his early 20's and "hotdog" bun would comfort him and distract Red's thinking by teaching him how to use and maintain the yellow handled, 3 bladed stockman which Red carried in his shirt pocket at all times. From the time he was 20, no one could remember a time that Red didn't have the knife on him. When Red began to fear that his drunken father might one day come looking for his knife it was Hot dog who assured him that his father could never track him down. Red worried and worried despite Hot dog's repeated assurances. Finally Hot dog told Red that the only way to protect his knife, just incase his father ever did show up, was to have it marked with "Red" on the shining yellow handle. Hot Dog convinced Red that the markings on the knife would be enough to keep his father from recognizing the knife as his own. The markings however would be no defense against his father beating Red to a bloody pulp or worse yet making Red deal Texas Holdem', so Red did the bravest thing he could do, he deserted the Tennessee Navy, said goodbye to his life long friend of 4 years and moved to Alaska.

An educated experienced seaman of twenty  three, Red had no problem getting a job in a fishery gutting salmon for a living. Armed with his advanced education, sea experience and proficiency with the yellow handled 3 bladed stockman knife, Red quickly worked his way up the ladder and in a mere 7 years was made assistant to the assistant head fish gutter. For hours on end, Red would shine, lubricate and sharpen the stockman that had brought him such fame and fortune.   Red wasn't satisfied with the lofty position to which he had ascended and his fierce determination to make more of himself led him to go to night school to learn a foreign language. Red knew down deep that his vast experience at fish gutting would pay off and that he needed to expand his horizons if he ever wanted to realize his true potential. So, Red gave up his native language of Tennesseese and studied for 3 years to learn English.   Upon graduation, Red felt that there was very little room left for advancement at the fish guttery, and that realization coupled with a longing to go back to sea, led him to apply for a position on one of the many cargo ships which made port close by.

As before, Lady Luck was with Red and he was hired as a part time 3rd assistant apprentice trainee fish scalar on a Japanese fishing trawler. Red felt fortunate to have such an opportunity and through hard work and attrition became a full time 3r assistant apprentice trainee fish scalar known throughout the Japanese fishing industry as one really dumb white boy. Red and his yellow handled 3 bladed stockman knife scaled their way through the Pacific and within no time at all, 5 years to be exact, Red was promoted again. Now 38, Red had learned 4 words in Japanese and would entertain his shipmates by telling them stories in Japanese of his adventures in the Tennessee Navy and shuffling cards. The real hit though was Red's yellow handled 3 bladed stockman. It was coveted by most of the crew and Red would have to guard his keepsake, sometimes staying awake all night. This created a real problem as the grueling work offish scaling requires a man to be well rested and alert, two things that began to elude Red. Early one morning off the coast of Hong Kong, Red's work performance hit bottom and his luck ran out. The Captain of the ship, tired of picking fish scales from his soup, decided he'd had enough and Red and his knife were tossed overboard some 73 yards from shore. Red managed to grab a piece of driftwood and for 5 days drifted clutching the driftwood, praying that he would be washed ashore. As already established Red wasn't the sharpest pencil in the box and he failed to realize the greatest danger was being hit by one of the cargo ships entering the harbor or one of the thousands of the junks that navigated the waters. Red would reach in his pocket and try to keep his hopes of making land alive by clutching his trusty knife and remembering the great adventures and accomplishments they had and had attained together. Red would think of the knee deep pile of salmon guts and the fish scales that used to cover him from head to toe and those thoughts are what saw him through his ordeal. There was a downside to the knife he held onto though. From time to time during his plight guilt would wash over Red, not the guilt of stealing his father's knife, but the guilt of knowing his siblings had to pick up his share of the card shuffling and sheet changing back home. Once again Red recalled his vow to his brothers and sisters and as he held his knife high above him he screamed "As God is my witness, I will not let my family down. I will make something of myself and become famous." It was right at that time that Red was knocked unconscious by a huge passenger liner owned by the White Star Lines of Liverpool.

When he awoke, Red was aboard the passenger liner in a hospital bed. His first thought was of his knife "Ol Red" and he shot straight up in bed yelling and screaming. The orderlies rushed in and when they figured out what he was yelling, (it was not uncommon for Red to revert to his native language in times of stress) they showed him that his knife was safe, sound and warm in the bed next to him. Although on a lubricant drip IV the knife had survived after hours of cleaning and care by some of the best knife makers aboard the ship. Both Red and "Ol' Red" showed wear and scars from their long journey at sea as castaways, but both recovered quickly. It wasn't long before Red and his knife were entertaining the hospital workers and soon passengers aboard the ship would visit Red and be held captive, almost in a trance as they listened to Red tell of his life's adventures. Few aboard the ship were multi lingual and some of the story was lost in translation, but the listeners were none the less excited to have a chance to see this dumb white boy from America (or at least they assumed Tennessee was in America) spin tales of poverty, cruelty, success and adventure.   Taken by Red's charm and worldliness, the Captain offered Red a job as chief cork inspector of the ship's refrigerator units. It appears at this point the Captain took into consideration Red's education, experience, multi-lingual skills and the fact that he carried "OP Red" and passed the normal apprentice cork inspector program hiring Red as HMFIC of cork despite him being a FNG. This was the break that Red had been waiting for in life. A position of importance where he and his knife could prove to the Captain, crew, passengers and in fact the world that he was worthy of making sure their lamb chops and beer was safe and cool. Red worked hard and despite being locked in the fridge for days, he and his trusty yellow handled 3 bladed stockman did their best to fight off the cold and dark and inspect every square inch of the cavernous refrigeration units.

After a year of faithful cork inspecting Red's life took another twist that nearly cost him his relationship with his trusty knife. Bored beyond belief (as are most reader's of Red's story by this point) Red decided to break all the rules and partake of the refrigerator's treasures. One night, although because he had been locked in the reefer for over a year Red had no idea it was night, Red, hungry and thirsty, decided to have a cold salmon and a beer. Sneaking behind a large pallet of eggs, Red and his trusty knife skillfully gutted the salmon as they had a million times before and he ate the forbidden meal. Sated with food, and choking on bones, Red gulped the beer and was immediately transformed into his father's son. Two years of darkness, drunkenness and cold gutted salmon and beer made Red's life unmanageable. In drunken rages, Red would lash out at God, cursing him and vowing that he would never take another drink. (At least after he had finished the beer he held in his hand.). Red had dreams of the good ol' days when he and "Ol' Red" would spend lazy spring afternoons gutting and scaling, scaling and gutting and his despair became more. Red knew he was lowering his expectations and that his job performance had slipped, but he couldn't stay away from the corner of the refrigerator with the cold salmon and beer. Oh, the knife! One night or day, made no difference to Red, in a drunken stupor Red, enraged by the thought of not being able to ever face his family or his old friend "Hot Dog" Bun, threw the knife in disgust. It took Red about a week and a lot of cold salmon (un-gutted) and beer before he found his old friend.   That was about the same time that the ship made port in England to restock the beer cooler and the Captain was fired for running out of pale stale ale for the passengers. At his Naval Inquiry the Captain said he had no idea his passengers were drinking that much. Despite his pleas for mercy, the Captain was sentenced to death by hanging from the yardarm.

On the night of the execution, Red just happened to be staggering by and when he saw his old boss, flailing and kicking from the end of a rope, Red pulled out "Ol Red" and in an act of bravery seen many times in his life, Red calmly cleaned his fingernail with the small blade until his old employer quit kicking. It was that very same night that drunk out of his mind, Red staggered up the wrong gang plank and passed out on the deck of a ship just being fitted for her maiden voyage, the Titanic. As luck would have it for Red he had passed out on a pallet of salmon that was quickly loaded into the hold. Red came to in familiar surroundings and simply took to his old ways of cold salmon and beer.

Two weeks passed and Red, thinking he was still aboard his old ship had returned to performing his duties has HMFIC of cork. Late on the evening of April 14, Red had his trusty knife out cutting open another box of cold salmon when the ship shuttered and pitched throwing him back against the bulkhead. "Ol' Red" was broken loose from Red's fingers by the impact and as he was crushed by a shifting pallet of eclairs. The last thing Red saw on this earth was a keg of beer spilling onto the deck and "Ol Red" his trusty yellow handled 3 bladed stockman stuck in the overhead cork. Thus ended the saga and adventures of John Thomas "Red" Harbaugh. An accomplished individual, educated, multi-lingual, experienced seaman who had risen above his poor start in life of card shuffling and sheet changing to become an expert fish gutter and fish scalar as well as a cork inspector, Red was dead. But the saga of his knife lived on...

When the ship sunk and the stern reached a depth of 458 feet the intense pressures caused the refrigerators to implode and "Ol' Red" still stuck to a piece of cork drifted to the surface and washed ashore in Nova Scotia. "Ol Red" was found by a beach comber looking for English pound and American greenbacks which may have washed ashore as a result of the maritime disaster. The beachcomber was none other than J. D. Rockefeller who took it home, cleaned it up and for more than 90 years it was considered a family heirloom cherished by the entire clan. Willed to a great, great, great grandson who was on crack cocaine and painkillers, the knife was put on EBay to support the heirs habit and was subsequently bought by an unsuspecting descendant of Red's living in Hoopie Hollow, WV (seems the Harbaughs have always lived in a Hollow somewhere) for $136,947.13 as part of a buy it now. "Ol' Red" now rests comfortably, retired from a life offish gutting in the "New Blue Compound" in Middleway WV. And now you know the rest of the story.

 Well for the most part. Most of the story, well a good portion anyway.  I'd say at least you know a good bit about most of the rest of the story ecept for any parts left out or not included, perhaps forgotten to be remembered later, and the parts totally ignored.