In early 1946 when my dad returned home from the Philippines after the end of WWII, he brought with him a treasure trove of neat stuff to fire the imagination of a seven year old. All the right stuff was there for exploring the empty lots in our Long Island (NY) suburban neighborhood: knapsack, pup tent, canteen and mess kit. But the canteen was far and away my favorite, for with it, I was free to roam far beyond the limits of the “run home for a glass of water” range. This sturdy veteran of “The War” was to be my introduction to a wide array of containers needed to…
