Passing the Knowledge

Aloha to all. Raven is ranting again in his own strange way about the fun he finds in teaching new students back on Maui and here in Appalachia.

Mike Quint intently drilling his peghead tuner holes back on Maui. His wife Eva received this Curly Maple Tenor Ukulele as a gift.

Time goes on and another instrument has just been strung up and is setting on the bench. It has gone through every step except a thorough evaluation by a great player and the finishing process. There is an aura in the air of finality and also of expectation. As it sits there “in the white”, I pause to reflect that my only recent student, a young lady named Tessa is just about to complete her first instrument also. It rests on her shelf, just to the right of the main bench, a baritone ukulele made of Australian Red Cedar with a Sitka Spruce soundboard. The neck is still a little thick, some frets aren’t seated as well as she had hoped, and the back has the extra wood overhanging abut a half an inch all around, waiting for the final trim before applying the strings. We both are on the edge waiting for the moment when “a new voice in the choir” will be heard for the first time. It is such a unique experience that for a first time builder it can last a lifetime. I certainly remember my first unveiling. I could hardly believe my ears. It worked! I was blown away, swept up with emotion. All those hours in the shop had led up to that moment, and finally the strings were struck. The fact that the notes were out of tune, and the nylon strings kept stretching to keep them that way, did not diminish my enthusiasm. It worked, and that’s all I cared about.

Sarah Shim of Maui was not too old to learn Lutherie. She was a happy first time builder when I last saw her leaving my modest shop with a smile.

I remember well many other such moments. Thirty students have come and gone over the years, and their faces are etched in my mind. The joy of the first strummings are time capsules I will enjoy for years to come. Good friends I have had, and I am honored to have taught them just a little something, if only for a short while. I hope some day to have a true apprentice, but for now an interested and interesting someone to share the creative process with is priceless. I was speaking with my own Mentor the other day, saying that I had completed nearly eighty instruments. He reminded me that of the dozens of students that he had educated, only a few of us had gone past one or two. All he ever hoped to be able to say of his teaching was that one of his students had surpassed him. I am pretty sure that I have not. He has forty five years of experience, including ten years on the road with a well known band. I have 17 years and a few dozen builds. He likely has forgotten more than I have yet to acquire. Each time we speak he adds a little to the massive investment he made in me, a virtual fountain of wisdom that seems to be inexhaustable.

I still have my notes from my first two classes with Craig. I doubt that anyone else does. I know that my present student has not taken a single sentence of notes to preserve my modest wisdom transfer for posterity. We laugh about it. I am a note taker. She is not. She believes that I will be around forever and she can simply ask for a refresh when and if she might need one. I am sure she is right, to a point. I have at least three older students that call from time to time to discuss some detail that they are caught up on. I am overjoyed to comply, just short of amazed at their progressions, still taking on the singular challenge of instrument making and forging forward to build the next one. It’s often a lonely hobby, in my experience. Few people have the desire and intention to persevere long after that first good high fades and the novelty wears off.

Big Mike went on to make several more ukulele to put his custom labels into

I like to keep the shop atmosphere light and sprinkled with humor. Life can get you down if you let it. The creative process shouldn’t. There are plenty of steps that take careful consideration, a steady hand, and maybe even better optics than you were born with, but a smile and an encouraging word make all of the difference. My buddy Wes, also known as Oskar Schmidt, is an excellent example of a runaway humor train. In between the steps of simple progression he is constantly clowning and poking fun, drawing me and the other students out in an engaging way that only he has mastered. I gave him private instruction for his first build and got to know him very well indeed. Then he took a group class and shared his exuberance with six strangers. Soon we all couldn’t wait for good ol’ Oskar to show up and steal the show. He did scare me out of my wits just once, and I will never forget it. No other student has come close to his potential attempt at amputation or serious injury, and for that I am grateful. In a group setting one evening I looked over to see him trying to be the human table for the band saw. No matter that the band saw had a perfectly good metal one built in. He had his ukulele neck in both hands, elbows on the table, supporting it a foot above as he touched it to the blade to trim off a small piece. With modest bad luck the saw could have cut off a finger, or an arm, or dug in to slam the neck down onto the table with tremendous force, breaking anything in the way. Ohh, Oskar! I have to watch you every second. No joking.

Traditionally, of course, an apprenticeship would be a very big deal. The applicant would show his level of desire by showing up at the shop endlessly, assuming all of the menial tasks to himself. By diligently making himself available to sweep the floor, stack and stock the woods, and cater to the Master’s every need, he would gradually be trusted to undertake the minor processes of the preparation and assembly. No payment would be the norm for this phase of the apprenticeship. One would have to ‘pay his dues’ as it were, or another would be quite willing to take his place, especially in a well known shop with a good reputation. As for the Master craftsman, he would be expected to treat the applicant fairly, to a point, and slowly relegate responsibility as time confirmed that trust had been established. One would not expect the Master to allow the youngster to spoil the product prematurely, nor expect the apprentice to overstep his bounds by influencing the product of his own accord. I am saying that neither would the boss let someone ruin the product by allowing them to do too much too soon nor tolerate any unauthorized meddling whatsoever. In many cultures, an apprentice would be seen but not heard, and the Master would only very slowly begin to explain the complexities behind the building process. Fortunately for modern students, this is generally not the case. In Hawaii and Japan, I am told, it certainly was, and is. Interuptions and questions are not encouraged. Watch and learn is the motto.

I was taught many things by my father and also the man next door, my figurative step father, my best friend’s dad, named Wade. My dad was an electrician, and I was his assistant for several years on his side jobs. In that field, you do as you are told and stick to protocol or you get zapped by 110 volts of AC ( alternating current) and it leaves quite an impression. In Wade’s world, we trapped snapping turtles and filleted hundreds of pounds of Lake Erie perch and walleye between fishing trips to southern Michigan to paint the cabin or cut firewood. In his world you learned to be careful too, or you might slice off a finger or lose an arm, not to mention what a 50 pound turtle might do to you in a blinding moment of pure speed and power. It was a hands on kind of youth that I would not trade for anything. I was encouraged to ask questions when appropriate. I was expected to notice when something wasn’t right and to yell loudly when danger reared it’s head. Both of those men were rude and authoratative at times, both had a mean sense of humor. Sometimes they let you learn the hard way. But that is how it was in the 70’s, and even today… you learn best by doing and the Master can only describe the dangers to avoid, before handing you the chainsaw or turning on the power.

I have always loved to teach. Mostly sports, like kayaking, wind surfing, surfing, tennis, hockey… I love them all. And then the arts, like woodworking, sewing, sculpture, crochet and now instrument making. Being a luthier is the highest art form I have found. It is such a wide and deep lake of knowledge that I dove in about seventeen years ago and discovered that I could swim around for a lifetime and only begin to explore all of it’s depth. I love the theories involved. The science turns me on. I love the sawdust and the inlay. I love the transformation of raw materials into a functional piece of art. I love the best of woods, and cherish working with them, saving even the smallest of scraps for later projects. And I love to try to explain it all to the curious mind, the student. It’s a slow and tedious process to complete the first instrument, to be sure, and along the way she has to learn so many new things that it’s hard to describe. When I began, I didn’t know Bass from Treble, headblock from fret slots, lacquer from glue. No one does. But somehow we all stumble on through, and then the strings are on at last. The next time it will be different. Bending the sides will take half the time. Kerfing will be old hat. All of the words will make sense. Bracing will bring about the question of what is better in this instance, how many and how thick, instead of last year’s “why?” There will be a time to discuss Helmholtz resonances and finish treatments like French Polish and tru oil, f-holes or oval sound holes… there will always be more to consider.

Brandon was my neighbor, my workmate, my friend, student and my landlord. I miss him and his wife Lilly more than most. Cheers!, My friend.

Knowledge is not owned, I believe. Sure, it can be safeguarded, and often is. Doled out at the appropriate time and place, spoon fed to those that deserve it, or even thrown to the wind for all to ignore. Knowledge is Power. That is a fact. I believe we should share that power. I was speaking with my present student the other day, about apprenticeship and the learning process. I reminded her of our fist meeting. She had been recommended by a mutual friend as a serious potential student who was very interested in making instruments. She had sought out lessons from another local builder who is my only contemporary nearby. He declined through lack of business lately, from Covid complications. I interviewed her one afternoon and was pleasantly impressed. I had two instruments on the work bench and could use the company. Inwardly, I was overjoyed to find someone of intelligence to share my hobby with. She asked the right questions, and we began to share the shop as her time allowed. I told her that my time was free and that she owed me only respect and the price of tuners. The modest investment of wood, glue, and frets was insignificant. I said that if she just showed up and had a true interest that persevered, that I would be down in the shop anyway, and be glad to have her around. It has worked out very well. Her main problem, if it is one, is that she doesn’t have much time. She is a young mother, works full time, and is newly engaged to a fine young man. That first uke of hers has taken eight months or more to build as of this writing. I have made three instruments in that time. I try to give her enough info to inspire her, but not enough to get a headache. It’s a fine line.

Ten minutes from complete. Tessa cutting the nut slots to the perfect depth for good action and easy play. Smiling big because she has already played it and it really sounds nice. Well Done!

I would love to have someone that could absorb all that I know, and then go on to understand all that there is to find beyond my experience. I would be honored to have started them on their journey. It begins with one step. Then another. With some unusual words like kerfing and treble, and oscillating spindle sander. Then the time spent to get familiar with the tools and techniques, and the science behind it all. Let’s make some mistakes together, and get this journey started. Before you know it, we will be ten builds down that winding road and very close to being equals, designing new inlay and stretching the parameters of our possibilities. Passing the knowledge on to the the next group of wide eyed new students looking to finish up their own first instrument is my own personal joy. Watching them string it up for the first time, and being amazed that “IT Works!!” God Bless the beginner, and the teacher both, because sharing is learning and learning is fun. Pass it On.