1928 Air Corps Briefcase.

People send us things they're afraid of disappearing from the face of the earth; not Brazilian rain forests, obviously, but little one-of-a-kind things contributing in some way to a sense of well-being.

Things proving that somebody, somewhere, still knows how to do something. Or once did.

(I'm personally haunted by the thought that any morning now I'm going to wake up and hear that the only man in the world who still knew how to build a fireplace died in his sleep the night before.)

This Air Corps Briefcase (No. 2593), came to us through the mail with a few words of explanation.

None needed. I grabbed the thing and left on an extended trip. I lived with it under fire. So many briefcases these days have an overly refined appearance; effete, in fact. Even prissy. They look like they could cost $1,200 and some do. But they are less well-prepared to resist the bumps and gouges of the world than the surface of your eye.

The appearance of this Air Corps thing is very much the opposite. You could imagine Lindbergh taking it along with him, filled with maps, wrenches and a ham sandwich.

Handsome, and definitely not prissy. Strong straps cinch it shut, as necessary. A quick turn latch hold the flap down, otherwise, for quick ins and outs. Imported.

Dimensions: 17 1/4" wide 12" high and 3" deep.

The genius of the thing is inside, the result of a collaboration between an Air Corps officer and a Navy Commander. An unfolding series of compartments provides spaces to hold and batten down pens, papers, calculators, books, possibly a shirt or two, and a copy of the Frankfurter Zeitung.