One of my dear friends is a man whom I call, with total respect, “Professor.”  He was, is and always will be a professor.  He taught English and Literature at Albion College for decades.  Although I never had him for a class, he was the architect for the freshman English class I did take back in the Pleistocene Epoch, and that was probably the most important class I ever took in 20 years of formal education.

Nowadays, Professor and I are neighbors and fellow woodworkers and conversationalists. We talk about things, and I learn from him.  He has a few more miles on him than I do—in fact, he likes to point out that one pair of his trousers that he wears on some of our outings---he is of an era that refers to pants as trousers—was purchased in a year that I won’t reveal here, but let’s just say that if he went dancing with his favorite girl while wearing that suit that first year, the girl may have been dressed like Gloria Swanson in one of her flapper girl outfits.

“I’m surprised they still fit you,” I said when he told me how old the trousers were.

“Oh, well, I was lucky.  It was a zoot suit, so it had big wide pleats.  I had plenty of fabric to let out,” he said.

So, Professor has a perspective on the world that is built on a foundation of experience and observation that extends a little deeper than my own.  We agree about many things, and disagree on a few.  We both love the written word and the well-turned phrase and things made of wood and cats and dogs.

He calls me to ask me how Wrigley and Riley are doing, and I call him to inquire of his cat, Miss Lucy.

We go on outings, sometimes to lumber yards or hardware stores, but one never knows—and sometimes, we don’t know until we get there.

Just the other day we ended up in a furniture store, looking at tables so I could get some ideas for a table I need to build for a specific spot and task in the bedroom.  Professor is a table expert---he builds the loveliest little tables---tiny tables, with perfect little secret drawers and little trays that slide out to hold a glass of iced tea.  He has never, as far as I know, used a plan or drawing, and has never made two tables alike. 

He has built over 200 tables, using hand tools.  He gave us one last year, and it holds a place of honor in our living room.  So, wandering around a furniture store looking at tables to get ideas, accompanied by a man who has built over 200 tables was quite an experience.  His observations were enlightening. And, as always, witty.

But, it was afterwards, when we were in a coffee shop pondering the woes of the modern world and its political messes and ecological disasters that Professor astounded me once again with his wisdom, as he came up with the perfect solution for the ills of mankind.

“James,”  he said “it seems to me that what we need is more evolution—and we need it right now!”
                                        Jim Whitehouse

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