“If the women don’t find you handsome, they should at least find you handy.”
That famous line from Steve Smith’s comic character, Red Green, wasn’t just the golden rule at Possum Lodge, but also a rallying cry for the crowd who didn’t quite hit it out of the park with the ladies, but who could turn their hands to pretty much any project.
Since I’ve never really had a foot in either camp, I’ve always preferred to believe that the rest of the world had misunderstood the line, and that what Red actually meant by “handy” was simply “nearby.”
My father was never particularly handy. He wasn’t one to tinker with his car. He was the janitor at the local school until his retirement, so I did pick up some cleaning skills. In fact, I believe my daughter’s first words were: “Why doesn’t Dad ever put his vacuum away.” I kid about those being her first words, but since she could talk, it was always “Dad’s mop,” “Dad’s broom,” and “Dad’s bucket.”
My dad also painted houses, especially during the summer when school wasn’t in. So, I’m pretty handy with a brush, though my wife will rightfully point out that I need to use those skills more often.
When Dad did attempt a project outside of cleaning and painting, which wasn’t very often, I was relegated to running for the appropriate tool, and too often returning with the inappropriate tool.
But, as much as I blame Dad for my low scoring on the handiness scale, I think my schooling could have played a role as well.
You see, for years at Mabou Consolidated School, the ultimate high school wood shop project was the wishing well lamp. I remember when my oldest brother took his home from school. We all stood around the kitchen table admiring his handiwork. I believe the base was turned on a lathe, which was impressive enough in my mind, but it was actually a functioning lamp, with a socket and pull chain!
My brother kept the lamp in his room. It provided light, which a lamp of course should, but the well portion was a handy place to throw loose change at the end of the day.
The only problem was that this was Mabou in the 1970s, a time when it was common to see families of 10, 12, even 16 kids. So, this novel creation soon lost its lustre in many homes as sibling after sibling carted home their own wishing well lamp. Apart from the ubiquitous spice rack that hung on every kitchen wall in those days, you’d be hard pressed to find a more pervasive item than the wishing well lamp, at least in the area served by our school.
There are six and a half years between me and my brother, and he was moved out and married before I reached the high school wood shop class, and I was pretty anxious to bring home my own wishing well lamp. But I quickly realized that the wonderment that was generated among my family members by my brother’s lamp was not to be replicated.
I don’t know if someone broke the lathe, or if someone had determined that my class just couldn’t be trusted to not seriously maim themselves, but our wood class teacher informed us pretty early on that our wishing well lamps were to be made from used popsicle sticks! Sure, it was still an operating lamp, but the substantial amount of wood glue used to hold the many sticks in place would invariably start drying out, leaving our wells looking like dilapidated tar paper shacks.
That lamp sat in my room for less than a year before Mom mercifully threw it out – its presence mocking my inability to produce anything that could be remotely classified as “handy.” The lamp worked alright, but the heat from the bulb only quickened the drying of the glue, and instead of holding loose change, like my brother’s had, the base of my lamp held only the missing sticks as they became dislodged.
So, the golden age of wishing well lamps in the Mabou area was a short one – replaced by an ugly, flimsy, ill-fated creation that appeared more the product of kindergarten craft time than high school wood shop.
I know that not everyone can be handy, and I know I’m not without skills. On a good day I can craft a pretty good story – sometimes even make someone laugh – but there are days I’d much rather trade places with friends who’ve never given a thought to who they’re going to hire to perform some tasks.
As for the “handsome” part of the equation, well…the advent of YouTube has allowed me to tackle more home repairs, so not all hope is lost.