View Single Post
 
Old 11-20-2014, 11:53 PM
MrTrolleyguy MrTrolleyguy is offline
Banned
 
Join Date: Jul 2013
Location: PA
Posts: 2,081
Likes: 3,653
Liked 2,255 Times in 750 Posts
Default

I have just one and I do not know the model number. It does have five or six options. The original owner was Bille H Redburn.

He was quite an interesting and colorful individual. I will paste a piece about him. His life is a wonderful story. It is from an earlier thread. Enjoy it.






RBScrim posted the following on Billie Redburn some time ago. This might give you a little background on the man and the knife. I hope RB (Rick Bowles) doesn't mind me re-posting it. It's a great read.

I wrote the following article for the Randall Knife Society a few years ago. This article presents a man for whom I had the utmost respect. It also relates how I was introduced to Randall Made knives over forty years ago. That day over Redburn's would begin my involvement with Randall knives. In 1981 I began doing scrimshaw on and for Randall knives that has lasted thirty-three years. I became a Randall knife dealer two years later and I've been fortunate to have designed two knives that carry the iconic Randall trademark.

REDBURN

Randall Made knives have a mystique, history and following that, in my experience, is unprecedented. Time after time I hear folks describe their emotions regarding Randall knives with a reverence that is usually reserved for a beautiful woman or a new born child. I experienced this for myself back in the 70s while visiting an old gun collector friend of mine. Then 60 years old, give or take, Billie Redburn was a tall slender man with a full head of white hair and a matching beard and handlebar mustache. He was proud of the fact that he still wore the same size jeans that he had worn in high school. Like one of his idols from an old western movie, Billie was always dressed the same outfit. His 20X silverbelly Stetson was worn and dirty and sported a rattlesnake band. The remainder of his standard apparel was as you would expect, plaid shirt with yokes front and back, Wrangler jeans and handmade boots from a small shop in Texas. The boots were cowhide, not some exotic critter but they did have custom silver toe and heel caps. His hand tooled belt carried a silver tip, keepers and buckle. The waistband on his right side always, and I do mean ALWAYS, bulged with an ivory handled pre-war National Match Colt .45 auto. Any handgun that Billy would or could possibly ever carry was equipped with ivory grips like General Patton, another hero of his. In the watch pocket of his jeans rested his model 110 Buck folding hunter which, like his guns, had been fitted with ivory scales by knifemaker P.J. Tomes. Billie was an old school collector. He only added to his collection, he never sold. He still had the first gun he'd ever bought, a martially marked Artillery model single action army Colt that he had pulled from a pickle barrel full of surplus handguns and for which he paid five dollars. He also still had his first "real" knife. In his kitchen, next to his sink was an oversized wood cutting board. Above this, firmly stuck to a magnet that had been secured between the cabinets was a six inch belt knife with a stag handle. As my hand was uncontrollably drawn to the seemingly misplaced tool I asked Billie "what the hell kind of kitchen knife is this"? That's a Randall knife, he replied, in a tone of respect that, prior to this, I had only heard him use while oiling his 1911 A1 SINGER government model .45. I pried the carbon blade from the magnet and as the right handed stag found it's proper seat in my hand I instantly noticed the heft and balance of the knife. I wanted to cut something.... It was magical! My eye was drawn down the blade from point to hilt. There was no hint of rust though it was stained in spots from years of cutting everything from fresh juice oranges for breakfast to Sunday's dinner ham. Billie believed in using his tools. Then, as I turned the knife back and fourth with my hand, never changing my grip on the old yellowed pinned stag, I noticed the name in two lines, bracketed by scimitars, deeply stamped on the left side of the blade. Randall Made Orlando Florida I said out loud. Without realizing it, I heard my own voice adopt that same respectful tone. "You like that" Redburn said? Yeah, I answered quietly, my voice still in respect mode ... now that's a knife. Come with me he said, I'll show ya something. Billie was a retired Navy man. He had been an armorer aboard U.S.S. Hornet and spoke with great pride about how, in the predawn hours of April 18, 1942, he had loaded the bombs on Jimmy Doolittle's B-25 in preparation for the first U.S. air raid on the Japanese home islands .
He still kept most of his possessions, with his gun collection being the most notable exception, in sea bags which he called his Amelia Earheart luggage. It was as if he half expected to be called back to his ship at any moment. Laced up and locked, he kept everything locked with tiny pad locks, they lay about the spare bedroom which, before her death, was his wife's sewing room. I followed him into the room and watched as he walked straight to one of the olive drab bags resting next to a well worn recliner. As he sat he pulled a tiny key from his pocket and lifting up the sea bag he inserted the key and opened the lock. I couldn't help but wonder if that one key fit all those little locks or if this key was special, residing in his jeans pocket with other required items such as his pocket knife, truck keys and plastic, clamshell change purse. I soon had my answer as the lock dropped and the bag opened to reveal it's treasures. One by one Redburn pulled Randall knives from their canvas hideout. Each still in it's sheath, he tossed them unceremoniously on the floor. The knives piled up on the brown shag carpet until the sea bag lay flat and empty next to what I guessed to be around thirty Randalls of varying models, handle configurations and blade lengths. Redburn glanced my way. "One knife won't do it all, you need a bunch of'em" he said as a wry grin began to grow under his white, handlebar mustache. Like I said earlier, Redburn liked to use his tools. Several of the knives were handled in ivory, several more carried stag, a few in leather and poking noticeably out of the pile was a massive Bowie with a beautiful burl walnut, commando shaped handle. I grabbed the Bowie. Why is it that boys of any age love knives and the bigger the better? "That's a Raymond Thorp Bowie" he said, as if I should have known who Raymond Thorp was. We spent the remainder of the afternoon in that room. I would pick one from the pile and while cleaning the green stuff from the hilt that had accumulated from years of storing it in it's sheath, Redburn would educate me on that particular model. I was hooked. I had caught the bug from Redburn with which I would remain infected for the rest of my days. As I finished cleaning the last Randall, a model #1-8" with ivory and a compass in the butt, I asked the question. "So Billie, what's a knife like this gonna cost me"? As we began to put the carbon steel treasure back in it's GI safe, Redburn pulled a small yellow catalog from a side pocket of the sea bag and handed it to me. "Twenty-four dollars for the knife and six dollars more for the ivory handle?" At that price I had already ordered three models in my mind when I noticed Redburn's mustache start to twitch again. "Yup, he said, that ain't a lot of money now but it was a bunch back in 1950 when that catalog was printed"!
Billie Redburn, my friend of thirty years, passed away peacefully yesterday at the age of 86. He was a hero of the greatest generation. He led a full life and he will be missed. Good ride cowboy.
===========================================================================

It resides in my safe now. I know that if I ever sold it for any amount I would regret it until the day I die.

Joe

Last edited by MrTrolleyguy; 11-20-2014 at 11:56 PM.
Reply With Quote
The Following 10 Users Like Post: