My boss at the factory (where starting at age 19 I had my first regular-hours daily job) was an Indiana farm boy who grew up to be a polymath: engineer, mathematician, cultural history expert, musical instrument maker, telescope maker, expert caver, steam engine builder, logician, humanitarian...His name was Phil Wood. Phil had a couple of decades in engineering and manufacturing at a very large company before starting his own shop. I worked for him almost 20 years til he retired. I moved on from the factory not long after that. What I took from him were many wonderful memories, and one supremely important lesson: if someone is genuinely in need of your specific talents, find a way to help them, irrespective of payment.
We had many visitors to the factory from fans of our products and of our product support. Many of those visitors had an idea about something they thought was important to design and make for one reason or another. Phil encouraged 98% of those folks to go home and build a model of their idea and then they'd talk more. Of those other 2% there were compelling reasons to help immediately, mostly based on their physical needs for some sort of adaptive tech to make their extraordinary life circumstances easier.
Phil would stop what he was doing and sort out a path to a solution, then get to making whatever it was. This was very time-consuming work, and if he ever charged anyone the going rate they'd never have been able to pay. But he did it anyway because he recognized his own insights and experience were likely the only available affordable source of such solutions.
So he made a number of machines, conveyances, prototypes and other sundry items, essentially for free. That is what struck me – the sense of duty and responsibility to assist people in need. I have in my own meager way tried to carry that forward in the decades since. I also exhorted all the folks who attended his memorial service to do the same. If not for themselves, maybe in honor of Phil as a kind of legacy.
Thirty years ago, I was a graduate student at the University of Texas, mostly by default. I’d made a mess of my undergrad career before belatedly getting an English degree with no clear idea what to do next beyond trying to write. As part of my attempt to figure out a path, I went to grad school in journalism at UT -- where most of the professors were encouraging us to do our master's thesis on topics like designing computer programs to determine a story's “readability” by counting the number of syllables per paragraph (no, I am not making that up).
I had something a little more unusual in mind: A history of the Armadillo World Headquarters, the progressive-country music venue that was still a symbol of Austin years after it had been torn down. I started approaching professors about being my advisor, and they all reacted with puzzlement – until I asked Dr. Gene Burd, who totally got it.
Dr. Burd was…sort of the department weirdo. He was an eccentric fellow, no doubt; didn’t drive and referred to those who did as “carbarians.” He also had some fascinating and prescient opinions about urban growth, mass transit and livability. And he was a treasure trove of Austin cultural and political history, which made him perfect for my thesis. He enthusiastically endorsed the idea and went on to give me a great deal of help and insight as my primary advisor.
Even though the resulting thesis (windily titled “Music, Media and the Metropolis: The Case of Austin’s Armadillo World Headquarters”) kind of makes me cringe now, it was a crucial step in getting me on my way to becoming a writer. Some years after I graduated in 1985, I went back to visit Dr. Burd in his office while I was in town for South By Southwest. It had to have been at least a decade since we’d spoken; but when I walked in, he greeted me and began talking as if it had been just a few days since our last conversation.
Fast-forward to the present-day and Dr. Burd is retiring after 42 years of teaching. And in his honor, his students walked the two-and-a-half miles with him from his home to class today, his last day. Along the way, they posted pictures while he continued to teach, same as always. I wish I’d been able to do this with him, but it kind of feels like I was there. The very first stop they made was at the commemorative plaque where the Armadillo World Headquarters used to stand. Seeing this picture made me smile.
A fond salute to you, Dr. Burd. Of all the teachers I’ve ever had, I think I owe you the most..
My music teacher in a small town high school. Andrew Gilsenan-Reid. Was the first teacher who cared and could see that I wasn't doing ok. I'd go to school but then just skip all the classes. He sat me down, asked me if I was ok, and then said that he didn't care if I didn't go to any other classes, but he wanted me to come and hang out in the music rooms instead of smoking in the rugby stands. I spent the next 2 years just playing music and practicing anything and everything they had there. He changed the course of my life and sent me on a path that has lead me to play around the world and eventually to run my own music label that primarily works with other C-PTSD and trauma survivor artists who need extra support.
AARRRGHH - (wipes tears) What is this salty discharge?? (Seinfeld quote) Thanks Ted for amplifying stories of everyday heroes and for reminding us to stay in there and make a difference one small action at a time!
What a beautiful, moving story. It just takes that one person to believe in you. It makes all the difference. Thanks for sharing! Sabrinalabow.substack.com
Born in poverty in a family of 10 in North Eastern Italy, displaced during WWI at 9, he lived in a carriage for 7 months under any imaginable weather. At 14, he worked alone in Nice, 500 miles away from home, as an apprentice; when he was 20 he served the army in the Albanian mountains for 2 years, then he started working in a copper mine to pay for the livings of 7 persons, including his brother badly injured during WWI. During WWII his village was levelled by Allied carpet bombing, which forced him to migrate to Caracas Venezuela. There he built roads in the jungle and on the Andes. Eventually, with some money finally earned, he came back to his native village, but an earthquake destroyed it completely and despite his age he had to live in different places for 3 years.
He eventually died at the age of 82.
His preferred sentence, and my unforgettable lesson was: “I had a lot of fun in life, the rest never really mattered “.
Thank you for sharing. Teaching at its very best - because of your heart for sharing the joy of the humanities with children, in a school that let your heart lead, and a mentor that believed in you. The difference between your experiences as a student - building security - and the Chicago School of the Arts is a stunning message to those who have made schooling an impediment to the lives of the learners it is supposed to serve.
My boss at the factory (where starting at age 19 I had my first regular-hours daily job) was an Indiana farm boy who grew up to be a polymath: engineer, mathematician, cultural history expert, musical instrument maker, telescope maker, expert caver, steam engine builder, logician, humanitarian...His name was Phil Wood. Phil had a couple of decades in engineering and manufacturing at a very large company before starting his own shop. I worked for him almost 20 years til he retired. I moved on from the factory not long after that. What I took from him were many wonderful memories, and one supremely important lesson: if someone is genuinely in need of your specific talents, find a way to help them, irrespective of payment.
We had many visitors to the factory from fans of our products and of our product support. Many of those visitors had an idea about something they thought was important to design and make for one reason or another. Phil encouraged 98% of those folks to go home and build a model of their idea and then they'd talk more. Of those other 2% there were compelling reasons to help immediately, mostly based on their physical needs for some sort of adaptive tech to make their extraordinary life circumstances easier.
Phil would stop what he was doing and sort out a path to a solution, then get to making whatever it was. This was very time-consuming work, and if he ever charged anyone the going rate they'd never have been able to pay. But he did it anyway because he recognized his own insights and experience were likely the only available affordable source of such solutions.
So he made a number of machines, conveyances, prototypes and other sundry items, essentially for free. That is what struck me – the sense of duty and responsibility to assist people in need. I have in my own meager way tried to carry that forward in the decades since. I also exhorted all the folks who attended his memorial service to do the same. If not for themselves, maybe in honor of Phil as a kind of legacy.
A story I told on Facebook some years back.
Thirty years ago, I was a graduate student at the University of Texas, mostly by default. I’d made a mess of my undergrad career before belatedly getting an English degree with no clear idea what to do next beyond trying to write. As part of my attempt to figure out a path, I went to grad school in journalism at UT -- where most of the professors were encouraging us to do our master's thesis on topics like designing computer programs to determine a story's “readability” by counting the number of syllables per paragraph (no, I am not making that up).
I had something a little more unusual in mind: A history of the Armadillo World Headquarters, the progressive-country music venue that was still a symbol of Austin years after it had been torn down. I started approaching professors about being my advisor, and they all reacted with puzzlement – until I asked Dr. Gene Burd, who totally got it.
Dr. Burd was…sort of the department weirdo. He was an eccentric fellow, no doubt; didn’t drive and referred to those who did as “carbarians.” He also had some fascinating and prescient opinions about urban growth, mass transit and livability. And he was a treasure trove of Austin cultural and political history, which made him perfect for my thesis. He enthusiastically endorsed the idea and went on to give me a great deal of help and insight as my primary advisor.
Even though the resulting thesis (windily titled “Music, Media and the Metropolis: The Case of Austin’s Armadillo World Headquarters”) kind of makes me cringe now, it was a crucial step in getting me on my way to becoming a writer. Some years after I graduated in 1985, I went back to visit Dr. Burd in his office while I was in town for South By Southwest. It had to have been at least a decade since we’d spoken; but when I walked in, he greeted me and began talking as if it had been just a few days since our last conversation.
Fast-forward to the present-day and Dr. Burd is retiring after 42 years of teaching. And in his honor, his students walked the two-and-a-half miles with him from his home to class today, his last day. Along the way, they posted pictures while he continued to teach, same as always. I wish I’d been able to do this with him, but it kind of feels like I was there. The very first stop they made was at the commemorative plaque where the Armadillo World Headquarters used to stand. Seeing this picture made me smile.
A fond salute to you, Dr. Burd. Of all the teachers I’ve ever had, I think I owe you the most..
Bern, I love this!
My music teacher in a small town high school. Andrew Gilsenan-Reid. Was the first teacher who cared and could see that I wasn't doing ok. I'd go to school but then just skip all the classes. He sat me down, asked me if I was ok, and then said that he didn't care if I didn't go to any other classes, but he wanted me to come and hang out in the music rooms instead of smoking in the rugby stands. I spent the next 2 years just playing music and practicing anything and everything they had there. He changed the course of my life and sent me on a path that has lead me to play around the world and eventually to run my own music label that primarily works with other C-PTSD and trauma survivor artists who need extra support.
Love it! What's the label? 🙂
PHDM, Pure Heart Dirty Mind :)
Looking up now 😁
Wow! What a great inspiring story! Thank you both for sharing! We need more Pams in this world!!!
A few lies I told when I was 15 that turned out to be true. (Sometimes you don't know till you try.)
1. To John Mehegan: "I can totally write a big band arrangement."
2. To my father: "I can ghostwrite the article for Industrial Research Magazine for you." (I had to look up a lot of words though.)
3. To my band teacher: "I'm going to learn silkscreening and make all the posters for the concerts."
Ironically, my first half century featured 'yes' as an automatic response. The 2nd is more about "no, can't be bothered."
AARRRGHH - (wipes tears) What is this salty discharge?? (Seinfeld quote) Thanks Ted for amplifying stories of everyday heroes and for reminding us to stay in there and make a difference one small action at a time!
So some lies can lead to good! It is powerful when people really see us.
What an incredible, powerful story. ✨
What a beautiful, moving story. It just takes that one person to believe in you. It makes all the difference. Thanks for sharing! Sabrinalabow.substack.com
Seeing the essence of people. Being seen. Inspiring.
My Grandfather Toni
Born in poverty in a family of 10 in North Eastern Italy, displaced during WWI at 9, he lived in a carriage for 7 months under any imaginable weather. At 14, he worked alone in Nice, 500 miles away from home, as an apprentice; when he was 20 he served the army in the Albanian mountains for 2 years, then he started working in a copper mine to pay for the livings of 7 persons, including his brother badly injured during WWI. During WWII his village was levelled by Allied carpet bombing, which forced him to migrate to Caracas Venezuela. There he built roads in the jungle and on the Andes. Eventually, with some money finally earned, he came back to his native village, but an earthquake destroyed it completely and despite his age he had to live in different places for 3 years.
He eventually died at the age of 82.
His preferred sentence, and my unforgettable lesson was: “I had a lot of fun in life, the rest never really mattered “.
Amen.
Thank you, Jason, from a lifelong teacher. Brilliant story.
Loved this when I first read it!
I too was inspired by a very few who saw God knows what in me .
This is a good story and needs to be told as so many today don't have much hope .
-Nate
Thank you for sharing. Teaching at its very best - because of your heart for sharing the joy of the humanities with children, in a school that let your heart lead, and a mentor that believed in you. The difference between your experiences as a student - building security - and the Chicago School of the Arts is a stunning message to those who have made schooling an impediment to the lives of the learners it is supposed to serve.
I love this. As a veteran (almost 40 years) educator, this warmed my heart.
The power of networking & meeting people! I’m trying to somehow teach this to my 24 yo daughter currently!