Ok, I confess. It seems I lied to you all about the shank diameter of my elf made tuning hammer. It really is 7/16, rather than 1/2". Sorry 'bout that. Rummaging through my bin of random rod and bar stock, I had grabbed a piece of stainless steel rod salvaged from some large, ugly, obsolete but once obscenely expensive piece of data processing equipment. That was after I had checked out some mild steel 1/2" stock and decided the 7/16 SS was stiffer. Unfortunately, the wrong part of the process stuck to the inside left rear quadrant of my alleged brain as a faulty memory of what I had finally done. Looking at the thing every day as I used it didn't apparently trigger any sort of belated corrective cognitive processes until now either. Deeply strange, and I really can't account for it. If I had a triple redundant mental reality cross check system, I could internally validate veracity before opening mouth widely enough to accept foot - but that would seemingly require at least two more brain cells. If that's the case, I'm doomed. It's probably genetic... It's my ancestors' fault - but I still like the hammer. Ron N
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