This story starts back last winter. It was a cold Wednesday morning at the Pickens Flea Market and we really wanted to get a fire going in Ralph Perry’s ancient 1902 vintage stove.
The problem was that there was nary a match, lighter, nor flint amongst us. This being the flea market we were eventually able to find something with which to light the stove, but it gave me pause.
See, I’m not a prepper, but I believe in being prepared. Whether I’m in my car or on a kayak I have what has been called either my “Oh Crap! Bag”, or my “Oh Shit Kit”, depending on how much of Ralph’s moonshine I’ve consumed. That kit will contain some variation of the following:
- A way to cut stuff – knife, machete, hatchet
- A way to dig a hole – folding shovel or trowel
- A way to cover stuff – tarp, poncho, or something to make shelter
- A way to wipe stuff – tissue, handkerchief, towel
- A way to connect stuff – rope, paracord, string, zip ties, duck tape
- A way to wrap stuff – bandages and minimal first aid kit
- A way to burn stuff – matches, lighter, flint and tinder
So imagine my dismay when I found I had no way to light a fire. I remedied that right away. Now I have several lighters stashed around my car and in my car’s toolkit. I put a box of wooden matches in a waterproof holder. I even have a ferrous rod and strike plate if all else fails. I had just about any way to satisfy a pyromaniacal itch…
…or so I thought.
The waterproof holder I got had a small strike plate on the bottom.
However, the safety matches I had would only strike on the box, and not on this small strike plate. By themselves in this container, the matches were useless. I’d completely forgotten about this issue until a week or so ago when I needed to burn something down. I just couldn’t get any of my matches to work.
So, I went to our local Publix to find some strike anywhere matches. These have a white phosphorus tip that’s much more flammable, allowing them to light on any rough surface. Publix had none. Neither did any of the other dozen or so stores I popped into over the next few days.
Turns out that strike anywhere matches are now classified as hazardous materials. That means an added cost when shipping. Some stores, like most grocery and consumer goods stores, just found the cost of shipping to be too much, so they stopped carrying them. Some match manufacturers even stopped making them. Some states have even made it illegal to sell strike-anywhere matches, but they are not illegal to own.
That doesn’t mean that they can’t be found, though. You just have to do some searching, and I was up for it. The lack of strike-anywhere matches was not a problem in the grand scheme of things, by any means. As mentioned before, I already had several ways to start a conflagration. However, my curiosity had been piqued. It would also give me an excuse to wander into one particular weird little store I’d wanted to visit.
I have passed Jarrard Hardware in Marietta many, many, many times, but I had never had a reason to stop in. According to my friend Keith Dover, the Jarrards and the Clevelands were Marietta royalty. John C. Jarrard, known as J. C., opened his hardware store in 1945. His brother Henry opened a grocery store across the street. They basically controlled all of the commerce in Marietta. Keith told me that if you didn’t have any money, the Jarrards would open a tab for you until you could pay it off. Their other brother, Melvin Jarrard, was the postmaster of Cleveland, SC and was a major investor in the ill-fated Echo Valley amusement park.
The grocery store is long gone, but lately Jarrard’s Hardware had caught my eye. I was hoping it would be a cool old-school store much like the C. T. Summer store in Newberry or the Sharon Lawn and Garden Center in the town of Sharon.. I needed an excuse, and this wild goose chase for matches was just the thing.
So, I made the trek up to Marietta. The store is no longer owned by the Jarrard family, but that doesn’t matter. This was an old-style hardware store with all of the bits and bobs needed for plumbing, building, and other repairs. It was fairly utilitarian, not interesting like the aforementioned hardware stores. A blue pall hung over the store. A smallish woman came out and in a voice like a gravel pit asked what I wanted. I told her that I was looking for strike anywhere matches. After some thought, she said, “We ain’t got any of those, but I got a half a book of matches I give ya. It’ll keep me from lighting up another cigarette.”
I politely declined. I heard voices from the back of the store. They also asked what I needed, but confirmed that such a thing wasn’t available. A long-haired, goateed fellow was smoking a cigarillo, and commented on my hat. It read was a gift from my sister, and read, “Paddle faster. I hear banjoes.” My reply was that I did both. I was a kayaker and I play banjo. In all seriousness he asked, “At the same time??”
I knew I wasn’t going to get anywhere with my match inquiries, and the smoke was starting to get to me. I headed to my backup site, Ace Hardware in Travelers Rest. At first the young clerk couldn’t think they had any, but then found some in his inventory. My search had come to an end. My “Oh Shit Kit” was now complete.
