An Uncanny Knack

By ScottWS

Among the many great things I inherited from my dad, two things seem to prevail: the ability to judge the character of people, and a penchant for setting trends.

Regarding the latter, it seems that no matter what I seem to be involved in, within a relatively short period of time, a trend develops. This has never been my intention, nor has it ever worked to my advantage, since it merely increases, popularity, demand, and ultimately the value of such goods. What interests me even more so, is the way that trends develop, and what influences popularity.

This issue is not limited to watch collecting.

One New Year’s eve, whilst I was in my late teens, I showed up at a party toting a bottle of Scotch whiskey, single malt in fact. Beer just filled me up with gas, and made me a frequent flier to the rest room. Oh yes, I remember hearing the jeers of my friends whose mitts were wrapped around cans of Budweiser, about how I must have been so strapped for cash that I had to raid my ol’ man’s liquor cabinet in order to have something to ring in the new year with.

As time went on, whenever I’d see my mates at a bar or club, they’d still tease me about how I could drink that nasty stuff that reminded them of paint thinner.

Many years have passed since those halcyon days of yore, and as of late, whenever I see the guys from my neighborhood, they are nestled up against a glass of single malt Scotch whiskey, usually bantering about how this particular brand has been rated the highest, and pontificating their knowledge and participation in the “single malt” frenzy.

As the 1970s came to a close, there was a rumor that the cost of a pack of cigarettes was going to exceed two dollars. I was in college at the time, and I used the alleged increase as the impetus to quit. Several months went by, and although I was faithful to my decision to quit cigarettes, every now and then I had the desire to smoke. I returned home for spring recess, and met my dad in New York City for a father and son night out. After dinner, we had retreated to the bar for a nightcap. Dad was immediately recognized by the manager, who approached our table carrying a wooden box, “The cigars you suggested I order have come in Mr. S-------, would you like one?” “Absolutely,” dad replied, and he asked me if I wished to partake. I refused, bragging about how I quit smoking due to the impending increase in price. But as dad lit up the cigar and spoke about how he’d rather spend the two dollars for a fine cigar once a week then for a pack of smokes, the aroma of that cigar wafted over to me, and no sooner was I joining dad in tobacco bliss.

Nowadays, I still enjoy my one cigar a week, and with each cigar comes the memory of dad and his thoughts on good taste, moderation, and life in general. Of course those cronies of mine latched on to the cigar craze as well, and that same brand of two-dollar cigar, now costs somewhere in the neighborhood of fifteen dollars when you can find them.

Based on these two incidents, and many others like them (we were the first family I remember that had a telephone answering machine), the day I saw that massive timepiece on dad’s wrist in the late nineties, I suspected another trend in the making.

Since I was about eight years old, dad had sported the same Rolex watch, and when I saw this new “clock” strapped to his wrist, I immediately wanted to know the scoop. Dad went on to tell me about how he was tired of constantly searching for his reading glasses just to look at his watch, and on his travels abroad, how he came across this Italian brand, which had recently been revived out of hibernation. My first inclination was that dad had somehow sacrificed a status symbol for functionality. As the day went on I, found myself becoming increasingly attracted to that watch to the point that I no longer was listening to what dad was saying (a rarity), and eventually asked him to try on that “clunker,” which made my Breitling Chronomat look like a toy in comparison. That was all it took. I became King Arthur (dad’s middle name), and the Panerai became the Holy Grail.

I began to shake the trees of all the watch dealers I knew in an effort to get my hands on one of those Officine Panerai watches that dad had. Finally, a dealer in New York acquired a few, and I jumped on a train and headed to Manhattan. Who would have thought that was where the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow existed? New York… the trend setting capital of the planet.

I left for New York City with an empty wrist, which was a clear indicator that I’d be returning home with a new possession. It was winter in Manhattan, I was walking up Broadway sweating profusely. I barely remember what went on inside the jewelry shop, except that the quest had been fulfilled; I am now a Paneristi.

Dad still has the original Panerai he purchased, but I’ve wheeled and dealed, traded up, down and sideways, straps, buckles, books, toy submarines…what next?

I take issue with Nathaniel Hawthorne who claimed that the “Sins of the father get passed down to future generations.” I feel that every man should be as fortunate as I to have been influenced by such a great person. It is interesting to note that something, which started for my dad as a way to see time more clearly, has allowed me to value time from a different perspective. I see many of dad’s traits in myself, and cherish the time we have remaining together.

Tempus Fugit

I also mentioned that dad had instilled in me the ability to judge character in others. When I log on to paneristi.com, this quality prevails. It seems that there is much more than solely watch business that goes on; I am part of a network of special people who seem to have a great deal more in common than just a passion for Panerai. I take pride in sharing my interest in Panerai timepieces with you all.

As far as a review goes, these are great watches, nowhere nearly as accurate as the Casio G-Shock, and you’ll never forget you’re wearing one. When I look into the reflection of my Panerai, I see dad…or have I really gotten that gray?