Who even has cause to utter the word “watchmaker” anymore? I, for one, haven’t worn a watch in many, many years. Nor do most of the people I know. But a lovely gold pocket watch came down to me from my great-grandmother. Its only flaw was that it didn’t run. So I asked around and was told that there was a watchmaker in Bangor, Maine, only a few miles from my home.

The shop was everything I had hoped it would be: small, intimate, with oak cabinets, specialized hand tools, and lovely old timepieces lying in state in a glass display case. The pièce de résistance was the workbench, easily a hundred years old. This bench, flanked by myriad small drawers, was specifically designed to place the work surface at eye level. The pullout, cloth-covered shelf was a clever touch to catch any tiny part that might fall. The watchmaker himself, a white-haired éminence grise, was bent over his work, a jeweler’s loupe in his eye, when I walked in. He greeted me warmly.

I soon learned that Keith Taber had been at the job for 55 years – in other words, since I was in high school. He was a legacy watchmaker, having been trained by his father, who learned the trade at  the Waltham Watch Company Factory  in Massachusetts, now defunct. I presented my pocket watch to him; he examined it and then said two welcome words: “No problem.”

I was moved to ask Mr. Taber a few questions. Did people still wear watches? He asserted that they certainly did and that wristwatches were making a comeback. “Mostly baby boomers and now, younger guys,” he said. Interestingly, he attributed the uptick to the isolation induced by the COVID-19 pandemic. “People stayed home. They found Grandpa’s old watch.”

The stories took wing from there, and I perched ripe for the listening. Any interesting customers? Why, yes. “About 20 years ago, [the musician] David Crosby walked into my shop with his wife’s Rolex. He had heard about me and wound up staying for an hour.” 

How about interesting watches? Yes, indeed. “An older gentleman came in with a Panerai Rolex used by the Italian navy in World War II.” Mr. Taber went on to explain that only 20 of these original diver’s watches were made for two-person scuba teams that could go after German submarines. I asked why only 20 were made. “There was too much radioactive material in the illuminating paint, so they were discontinued. These watches are priceless. The owner came in and wanted to sell it, but on further reflection he changed his mind.” And then there was the time someone brought in a Patek Philippe, “the most desirable brand in the world, some going for millions of dollars.” I asked if he was able to fix it. Mr. Taber’s matter-of-fact response: “Oh, yes.”

Perhaps the most striking story concerned an antique silver pocket watch with a deep dent in the casing. The man who brought it in was a descendant of a Civil War soldier who had carried the watch into battle. The man was shot, but the bullet struck the watch, saving his life. That fortunate event allowed the soldier’s family line to continue generation upon generation. “Maybe that watch was the precursor to the Kevlar vest,” Mr. Taber remarked with a chuckle.

As far as Mr. Taber knows, he’s the only watchmaker between Bangor and the Canadian border. In fact, many of his customers come from these nether regions. “So business is good?” I inquired. He smiled as he said, “I’m busy all the time.”

This gladdened my heart. In this digital age, when the workings of our electronics are invisible to us, and when “replace” has largely done away with “repair,” it’s important to be reminded of a time when the world was mechanical. Things were  so finely tuned that it took a human eye – assisted by a jeweler’s loupe – to keep the nuts and bolts of daily life ticking along.

Speaking of which, I picked up my great-grandmother’s pocket watch three days later and held it to my ear. 

It purred like a kitten.