Shop classes are fast becoming an endangered species in the United States.  I suppose that the beginning of the end was when the name changed from “shop class” to “industrial arts.”  When I was in 7th & 8th grades, all boys had to take wood shop, plastics shop and drafting class.  All girls had to take home economics but the sexism inherent in our educational system is a different article.

In the 7th grade I didn’t care much about shop class.  It just didn’t interest me.  I did the work I had to do to make the little treasure chest project we were assigned but there was no joy in it for me.  Surprising only because of my current love for working wood.  More surprising however, is a dark secret I’ve hidden for nearly 35 years.  My wife doesn’t know.  I don’t think my parents know.  In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever told anybody.  You’re the first.  Here it is: I was kicked out of wood shop.

Since most of you don’t know me very well that statement might not surprise you.  So let me tell you, I wasn’t the kind of kid who got kicked out of classes.  That was the one and only time in my scholastic career.  I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I was scarred by the event but here I sit more than 30 years later writing about it.  So what happened you may ask?

The shop teacher at our school was a man named Delbert Lumbert.  I couldn’t make that up.  No, really.  Knock it off, I’m serious.  OK.  Mr. Lumbert seemed somewhat less interested in teaching the class than I was in taking it.  I certainly don’t envy someone the task of shepherding 30 mostly uninterested kids through a minefield of sharp, spinning steel.  All the same, he didn’t seem to be enjoying his chosen career.  Maybe the years had gotten to him.  Maybe he could see the coming extinction of his kind.  Maybe he just needed a hug.  But I don’t think I ever saw the man smile.

So one day I’m waiting to use the band saw.  Another student is cutting something.  When the offcut is free of his work piece, I reach over and remove it from the table for him.  I wasn’t trying to challenge authority, I was just trying to be helpful.  Of course, I recognize now that it was dangerous.  Mr. Lumbert recognized it then and, as luck would have it, he saw me do it. 

I can’t know the underlying cause of Mr. Lumbert’s reaction.  We didn’t discuss his feelings.  We didn’t discuss anything.  He yelled.  Loudly.  I cowered.  He told me to get out.  I did.  I don’t remember where I went but I’ll never forget walking out that door.  I wish I could say that after he cooled off he reviewed shop safety with me (or the entire class).  Or that he called my parents to make sure that they were aware and could remind me to be careful.  But that didn’t happen.  We never spoke of it again.

I have no idea what became of Mr. Lumbert.  I’m sure he’s long since retired.  Our brief, unhappy encounter caused no lasting damage.  Who knows, maybe it was even positive. It’s not how I would want to handle such a situation but it’s hard to argue with results. After all, the lesson was well learned.  Later (much later) I became an enthusiastic hobbyist woodworker.  And so far, I can still count to ten without removing a shoe.