Hard-working. Stubborn. Relentless. Competitive. Honest. All traits passed down through the years to the Webb men. Those I have. Good with their hands? Not so much.
That’s been a long-running joke in my marriage, though I’ve managed to fix a washing machine twice and a few other repairs in the last 13 years. Typically, however, I’m little more than the grunt labor, lifting and carrying heavy items.
I have tried. In fact, I asked my father to teach me how to be more handy when I moved in with him in 2010 after leaving the newspaper business. That got off to a good start. I can cut a rick of wood and operate a backhoe now.
The progress came to a halt with plumbing. The old man’s house outside of Melvern had a leak, and he tried to show me how to fix it. You talk about a square peg in a round hole. After an hour, he finally said, “Son, there’s nothing wrong with having a job that pays you enough that you can pay somebody else to fix it.”
It was the let-him-down-easy version of Dirty Harry’s “A man’s got to know his limitations.”
We all have our talents. I like to think my hands were made to write. My father’s were made to do just about anything. He remodeled nearly all the homes we lived in, installing the wiring and plumbing and often rebuilding from the ground up.
“When I was a kid, that’s just how it was,” he said. “My parents didn’t have any money, so we had to fix everything ourselves. It was out of necessity as much as anything.”
Necessity or not, I marveled at his ability to repair everything. Hell, I heard the story of he and my grandfather rebuilding a 1955 Chevy, including overhauling the engine, numerous times through the years. Legend has it my grandpa, who didn’t advance past the fourth grade, had perfect pitch and could play anything on the banjo without a single music lesson.
Dad inherited his old man’s natural ability, translating it into a living. First, he worked his way up in a print shop to manager. Then, we moved to Arkansas in the late 1970s, where he learned stained glass. In 1985, he shifted to leathercrafting.
“Ironically, the first place I learned leather was in prison,” he said. “So, I guess I did get something out of that.”
My brother and I worked occasionally with him in his various leather shops, making wallets, belts and other items. Of course, we never approached his level of skill, but I know he was looking down on his boys with pride when we continued Webb Craft for five years after he passed away.
“I don’t know, son,” the old man said when I told him we’d never be as good at leather as him. “I’ve been doing this for 40 years, so it’s second nature now. You’d get to that point, too.”
I knew that wasn’t true. I’m reminded of it every day when I grab my long wallet. It was a gift from my father, a meticulously made piece with a Kansas City Chiefs logo on one side and Mizzou logo with my name on the other side. The interior has a place a checkbook and slots for several credit cards and my driver’s license.
I’ve been using that wallet since he gave it to me on my 21st birthday … nearly 30 years now. It’s weathered, with a small tear at the bottom and a thread hanging off the top. My wife often says I should swap it out with a similar one he made for me in 2015, but I’m not letting it go anytime soon.
In the words of my wonderful Aunt Bobbie, it’s the work of a master craftsman. But, more than anything, it’s a reminder of my father and his natural gifts (even those he didn’t pass on to me).
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART XI: Giving McAllen a chance
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART X: Dad’s last mug shot and almost being Californians
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART IX: An excerpt from Chapter 12 of “Goodbye, Butterfly”
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART VIII: The old man and the high-speed chase
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART VII: Christmas and Lebanon Junior High
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART VI: Christmas with mono
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART V: ShowBiz, Dragon’s Lair and other difficult games
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART IV: “Dutch,” a guilty pleasure
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART III: Christmas in Independence
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART II: Craving an NES Classic
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART I: An update on the search for James Danny Hollingshead
ABOUT MY SECOND BOOK: THE OLD MAN
ORDER “GOODBYE, BUTTERFLY: MURDER, FAITH AND FORGIVENESS IN A SMALL KANSAS TOWN”