As I teenager I recall a falling out between my old man and a contractor he had hired to remodel our house. The short version is the guy turned out to be a crook who took our money and didn’t follow through with much actual work. In response, my father confiscated all the tools the workers had left and locked them up in the garage. These included large table saws and other high end items.
Naturally, this caused some distress to the contractor. He continually sent his workmen to our house to convince my dad to give up the tools. Eventually my dad fired the contractor and personally hired all the workmen to complete the job. They readily accepted as it would seem my father was more forthcoming with regular pay checks as opposed to their old boss.
One of the workers eventually confided in my dad the original contractor had been running his mouth saying: “He doesn’t want to mess with me. Something happened to me in Vietnam and I’m a little crazy.”
My old man, a 33 year Marine veteran of Korea and Vietnam, responded with what distinctly sounded like an invitation:
“I know something about making war.”
I don’t recall ever hearing from the contractor again.