Grandpa’s Folgers Cans: The Mystical Junk Drawer of American Manhood

A workshop Narnia where the portal is rusted, smells like oil, and might give you tetanus

When my wife feels overwhelmed by the outside world, she organizes her personal world. It’s full of lists on Post-it notes, new shelving in unusual places, and sending me on epic quests into dark corners of our house. 

After one of these quests, I walked in from the garage, which we had just organized, and on the kitchen table were two Folgers cans that I inherited from my grandfather. You know the type, those that look like they could hold a gallon of coffee grinds, rusted with age, and covered with grease. One used to be bright red, and the other blue but have since had their colors drained by 80 years of use. Everyone’s grandfather had cans like these in their workshops, and only a select few know how special they are.

“Ok, we need to organize and sort your cans,” my wife said.

I immediately started laughing because it was the best joke I had ever heard.

“Seriously, let’s get started,” she said.

“Wait, are you serious?”

She looked at me like I was stupid, and I looked at her like she had just shot a unicorn.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I said.

“Yes, it is,” she shot back.

“Never in a million years.”

Her face contorted slightly. “Ok, why?”

The Folgers cans may look simple, but to a grandson, they are not. They contain the screws and bolts of over a thousand projects over the last century. Weird little connectors that haven’t been in production since 1975. Gaskets made out of leather. The reminder of the hard work of a man who is gone but never forgotten. It’s Grandpa’s Folgers cans. There are things in there that I have never seen before, but I have convinced myself that one day I might need.

Grandpa’s Folger cans are like Mary Poppins’ special bag. You just put your hand in and pull out things. Eventually, you’ll find the thing you need. It’s a magical portal that takes me back to when I was a kid in Grandpa’s workshop, holding his cheap regional beer and hiding his smoking from Grandma while he worked on a lawnmower, Christmas lights, or a water heater.

And without fail, he would say, “Shannon, hand me the can.” Then something new and old would go in, or something needed and found came out. The point is that you cannot sort and organize the mystical. The fact that everything is in a can is as much order as you can hope to get.

I inherited all of Grandpa’s tools. Sets of calipers that look like they have come from outer space, and leather working hole punches covered in the patina of memory.  Homemade tools that were needed for a special project and never used again, like a wrench welded at 90 degrees onto a piece of rebar. And then a special tool made out of brass, looks like a small brick, and weighs about 10 pounds.

When you open it, there is a turn handle and a razor blade attached. I bring it to book signings, and whoever can guess what it was used for gets a free book. No one has gotten it right yet, and I’m not going to give the answer out here.

I also have a lot of my Great Grandfather’s tools. He was a machinist, and the best I can figure, these date from 1910 or so. They are all etched with his name, Oscar. Which is also my Grandpa’s first name. And my son’s. There is a machinist square that looks as perfect as the day it was made. It will go to my son one day. And so will the Folgers cans.

I have added to them myself over the years. Mostly when my wife wants to organize. It’s a little game for me, actually. I love it when she gets in this mood, because it makes the house run so much better; there is less clutter, and she is quite ingenious. It makes me happy to see her happy, and there are times when I have to do a repair that I need something.

I never know what that something is, what it looks like, or the true purpose of the thing. But I always know where I’ll find it. It will be at the bottom of one of the Folgers cans, underneath a pipe fastener, and next to an old piece of lead used for a soldering project. It will have a bolt head that is square instead of hexagonal and will be covered in grease and dirt. The corresponding nut will be in the other can, next to a thousand others. I won’t know it’s the right one until I try 30 others. But every time, without fail, I’ll get the missing piece.

I explain all of this to my wife, and I expect her to laugh or roll her eyes. Instead, she kisses me on the forehead and takes the Folgers cans back to the garage. She finds a good place for them on a shelf, a special place, and we go about our day. In organizing her world, she has organized my head, and I am grateful for her understanding and compassion.

The men who have raised us, the ones who did the work without the fanfare, are often overlooked. But if you pay attention, you can find their legacy at the bottom of a Folgers can. I promise you, it is there.

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About the author

Shannon Carpenter is the author of The Ultimate Stay-at-Home Dad and is a graduate of the famous Second City, where he refined his humor writing to capture the attention of audiences everywhere. Whether writing social satire, essays, or books, he is always able to find your funny bone and leave you with a lasting impression. He has appeared on Good Morning America, CNN, MSNBC, The Wall Street Journal, Slate, NPR, Forbes, The Atlantic, and numerous other publications. Redbook Magazine has named him as one of America’s “Adventure Dads.” Finally, BuzzFeed recognized him as one of the funniest women of the week in 2020, which was weird because he is not a woman. However, he is very funny.