THE WOODEN BOWL

A Facebook Friend posted a message today that my dear  8^th Grade “Shop” teacher had passed away – he almost made 100 years old, a great run I thought…unless you are 99…

And then I was in that Bacon School basement room of the machines and the sweet smell of wood and linseed oil. 

The “Shop” as we called it; the “Manual Training” classroom as the educators called it – but it was the place where for a couple of times a week we learned stuff we could really use for a change – the stuff that would last far longer than Latin, or A + B =
…stuff I still use after 60 years.  Thank goodness.

Mr. Moloney was presiding from his “special” workbench at the front of the room. 

We were well into the school year by now, past the basics – like hammers and nails and now into wiring and the much awaited turns on the power woodworking machines that lined the walls.  And the making of “projects” that not only earned us a grade but produce fine things, we made ourselves, that we could proudly take home to mom.  (For some reason, moms always seemed to be the prime recipients of a school boy’s craftsmanship.

My first project was a much better looking bird-house than the crooked one I attempted the past summer.  This one had a little porch and the proper sized round hole – because birds apparently are pretty choosey about where they poke their beaks.  I painted mine with grey enamel and added an apple green roof. 

Next after we practiced some basic wiring we applied ourselves to the creation of a “pump lamp” which was a nifty contraption.  When the pump handle (a dowel on a hinge) was lowered, it pulled the chain of the fixture to turn it on and off – this indeed was a shop boys Moloney favorite.  After the stain dried on my finished creation I carefully took it home and my mom put it on her night table and it illuminated her going to bed routine for decades to come.

But now Christmas was coming and as Mr. M concluded his instruction which focused on the inherent dangers of working with power tools, he showed us the workings of the wood lathe – which we all had been for, and not too patiently waiting to work on since day one.  Every boy since first grade talked about the great adventure of “turning” a masterpiece on this Sears Craftsman beauty.

Mr. Moloney cautioned, “Boys (as there were never girls in this class in this day and age) it time to think about making your moms a nice and useful Christmas present.  Why no turn a beautiful piece of wood on the lathe - that may do the trick.”

My mind immediately shifted from daydream mode to high-gear analysis -  what I could make my mom – on the lathe? 

My primary goal had been to just use the lathe which resided across from the mighty wood pile that fed our handyman endeavors.  Until now the product produced was secondary – but now the product had become much more important – a Mom’s Christmas gift always had to be something very special.  And now this year it wasn’t going to be another bottle of smell-good from the 5 & 10.

But...What could I make?

 Then I was saved by the bell and I had at least a couple of days to ponder as we only took shop two days a week and music the other three.  Music – yuck was all I could say when I thought about tomorrow and another day of sing song torture.  I was definitely not very musical.  

I woke in the middle of the night – my idea hit so hard it actually woke me up form a really great dream – which is not easy but - now I knew what I was going to make my Mom for Christmas.

A family sized salad bowl for Sunday dinners. 

This seemed a perfect job to “turn” out on a lathe.  For one thing, it was round.  And another factor – it had no moving parts; not much to measure, glue together or try to make straight. 

  

On my next day in the shop. Mr. Moloney checked me out on the big lathe explaining how sharp the carving tools were; that one must always where the goggles working here as shards will fly; and most of all TAKE YOU TIME!

He suggested that I “laminate” two pieces of wood together with carpenter’s glue and make a “two-toned” bowl.  “Much nicer with two colors and grains that you bring out when you rub it with linseed oil,” he advised.  I picked a large block of mahogany and another of maple – one dark, one light.  This was starting to “turn out” I thought.

The next class period, nervously I began with Mr. M standing by to make sure I was up to the task.  We practiced on a scrap piece of soft pine wood from the big scrap pile.  “This was easy,” I thought to myself.

But pine I would learn isn’t maple!  Nor is it mahogany – both are hard woods that don’t give up to the cutting tools easily as common old pine.

I began decked in apron and safety glasses.  

The lathe started rotating my big piece of laminated wood faster and faster.  I had carved off the edges of the blocks on a bandsaw.  My plan was to whittle it down a bit and then begin to carve the bowl part of the bowl.  

I touched the tool to the wood – BAM!  The lathe jumped and a big piece of wood went flying across the room.  BAM!  Another chunk hit me in the safety glasses – that I was glad I remember to put on…this wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.

I worked for several class periods on my creation, and each turn of the lathe was an adventure.  After several hours of work to my chagrin - my family side salad bowl was now a small sized dish.  I had chipped away more than half the wood.  

Mr. M. came buy as I was finishing up and said, with a slight smile, “Hum I guess Mom is getting a nut bowl instead of a salad bowl this year?  Maybe she can use it for something like that…?”  He walked away with a chuckle.

But I wasn’t laughing.

I had chipped away my great gift idea!  But I knew I had to carry it through.  I hand rubbed my little prize for hours.  Until it shined like satin.  That Christmas my Mom got a gift that held straight pins instead of lettuce - for the rest of her life. 

And for the rest of my life…I had learned a great lesson.  The skills of a craftsman have to be honed with hard work – great crafts take lots of practice.  And Mr. Moloney practiced his craft of teaching young men what they needed most so well - for almost a century – practice does indeed make perfect!