I was thumbing through my keyboard recently and came across the obituary of a shop teacher I had in junior high school. I feel the need to enter some thoughts regarding the man, here and now.

Mr. Corneilson was a bear of a man. He towered over me and had a loud booming voice and thunderous laugh. His dark, full beard could be compared to that of the character, “Rubeus Hagrid”, played by Robbie Coltrane in the “Harry Potter” movie series. He was an impressive presence to 13-15 year old boys. Still, for all his potential menace, he had a heart the size of all outdoors. And more than that, he knew how to handle us.

Phil, as I eventually came to know him, not only taught wood shop and ceramic shop, he taught life. He did this without the aid of kid gloves. If a student forgot to wear his safety glasses and Phil noticed him nearing a piece of power equipment ( table saw, jigsaw or the like) he would chuck a hunk of two-by-four at the kid’s shin. His theory was that a black-and-blue shin was better than a lost eye. Normally the student only forgot to wear his safety glasses once. Of course, nowadays Phil would be arrested for such abuse. This is a shame.

He could be economical is his teachings by combining multiple concepts into one scenario. In one lesson on how to buy a screwdriver, he interwove smart consumerism with the honor of standing up for one’s self. He explained that when buying such a tool, the process is: to choose an appropriate screwdriver, which should be held up high and dropped onto its handle. If the handle cracks or breaks, don’t buy the screwdriver. Should a store employee demand payment for the damaged tool, you should explain to the employee that you won’t be bullied into buying a defective product. And this should be done in a controlled voice loud enough to alert as many other customers to your complaint as required to be sufficiently embarrassing to the employee and/or their supervisor.

Stan Laurel (of the comedy team “Laurel and Hardy”) is considered to have been a comic genius. Much of his genius derived from the simplicity of his technique. Stan decided his character needed to walk in a funny way. Rather than spending long hours perfecting this walk, he simply removed the heels from his shoes. Much of Mr. Corneilson’s teaching technique was of similar genius.

Mr. Corneilson commanded respect from his students and speaking as one of them, I can say showing him that level of respect made me feel more like a respectable man, myself. That was extraordinary feeling to have as a young teen (while otherwise living my life as a walking faux pas).

At the beginning of each class, we would sit in chairs facing a blackboard upon which he would display designs of the things we were to create. One day, he preempted his opening spiel with an odd question. “If you found out your father had killed someone, would you turn him in? Would you call the police? We all agreed we wouldn’t, expecting that answer to be what Mr. Corneilson wanted to hear. After all, who likes a rat? He said, “Okay…I’m glad I’m not your neighbor.” And without another word on the subject, he went to work teaching wood shop. The rest of us were left to puzzle over this. It was a simple lesson in the difference between right and wrong, and how doing the right thing might not always be an easy task.

I was a weird little teen with an affinity for reptiles. When we returned to school after summer break, Phil presented me with a snake he’d caught on a farm he’d recently inherited. He told me to sell it. I didn’t. That snake meant a great deal to me…particularly since he’d taken the time to remember me during the summer. Some years later (1974-1975), Phil walked into my pet shop, where, among other animals, I sold snakes. He seemed pleased to see me until he noticed a cage with rabbits which wasn’t completely clean of their droppings. He gave me hell. All I could do was laugh…and clean the cage. It was during that visit when I learned he was the father of nine children. All of a sudden his ability to handle his students made sense.

Some time in the late eighties or early nineties, I called him to deliver some heart-felt accolades. I wasn’t sure he’d remember me. He Did. “Weren’t you that weird, little, blond kid?”

I’m 67 years old now (perhaps still a little weird) and my daily decisions continue to be guided by my favorite teacher’s words. I’ve had had a successful career as a herpetologist and travelled to places like the Amazon studying and collecting reptiles, I’ve acted in commercials, TV and radio, on stage and in film, I spent 20 years as a journalist. For many years I plied all three trades at once. I could be retired now, but I’m not. I work hard owning a medical equipment business with my older son. We deliver and service mobility equipment to/for disabled veterans. There is great joy in being productive. Mr. Corneilson had a hand in all of it.

You don’t come across many teachers like Phil. To me, he was an original. May he rest in peace.