Crowbar: Manly tool of destructive servitude

There is something about the act of picking up a tool and smashing things apart that inarguably defines manhood. Think of Thor and his mythical hammer, Mjolnir. Sampson and the donkey’s jawbone he used to kill 1,000 Philistines. The single swing of a club that brought the monkeys from 2001: A Space Odyssey to manhood. This spring break, I joined the ranks of the manly with my own magical implement:

the crowbar.

I’ve ventured into this arcane world of masculinity in the past. During my childhood, I did some woodworking with hammers and nails. In Industrial Processes Lab this semester, I learned that ever-necessary skill of

welding — an almost-forgotten craft that would have been a pillar of the male experience if my welding instructor had not been a woman named Annie Jones.

But, my friends, remember that the hammer is a heralded icon of construction — not

destruction — as illustrated by the Soviet hammer-and-sickle. Welding inextricably involves the fusing together of metal plates in the creation of something larger. Rising above these charlatans of man-symbols, the crowbar is the ultimate tool of destruction. Its solid steel body is designed for no purpose but to rend particle from particle with glorious force, which I demonstrated yea verily over spring break.

At least four groups from Rice ventured to New Orleans over spring break this year. I went with Campus Crusade for Christ to gut damaged houses at the request of homeowners. We hazarded pools of stagnant water, mold in various stages and petrified kitten cadavers to bring our manly forces of destruction to the Ninth Ward residences — virtually untouched since Katrina. The homeowners had determined that their houses were somewhat salvageable and thus had requested that we remove everything from them — including the walls, carpets and

ceilings — leaving but a shell of the home.

Smashing down interior walls and dismantling door frames was a magnificent spectacle. Even the ladies on our team rejoiced in their newfound manly work. But the opportunities for manhood also yielded occasions for maturation. As we labored and conversed with the former residents, we had wonderful opportunities to minister and pray with them.

We salvaged one elderly couple’s wedding portrait. Another resident relayed the 115-year-old history of the house we were “renovating.” One lady mentioned her work helping Katrina victims through her church even though her own home was devastated.

Although this service project helped me realize my manhood in a new, brutish way, it also afforded many opportunities to serve, learn and grow. Like a magnificent samurai, I was able to aid the downtrodden and hurt through violence and skillful handling of my mighty

katana — I mean, crowbar.

Many of my friends who spent their spring breaks doing less strenuous duties remarked that they felt a little guilty. I cannot personally say whether a mission trip or service project is more worthwhile than spending quality time with family and friends, but I am encouraged that many students are attracted to service and outreach. Such expectations combat the impressions of apathy that sometimes plague the Rice student body.

Then again, perhaps they were simply jealous that they did not get to demolish walls, ceilings, floorboards, furniture, light fixtures and air conditioning units with those superbly savage crowbars. It is a liberating, macho experience that can only be simulated by eating a four-pound steak and raw potatoes.

As a young Padawan, I was instructed by Master Obi-Wan that the crowbar was “not as clumsy or random as a blaster,” but “an elegant weapon.” Nowadays, I tend to relegate elegance to Victorian novels and manhood to the ideals of selflessness and service. The crowbar is a simple reminder that

servitude — noble servitude — can sometimes mean breaking things.

Matt Dunn is a Martel College sophomore.

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