Thomas Berger, Master Woodworker

“He who works with his hands and his head and his heart is an artist.” — St. Francis of Assisi

There have been many teachers in my life, across many different areas. In the realm of woodworking, I can name famous ones I was fortunate enough to study with, such as Drew Langsner, Peter Follansbee, Chris Williams.

But I want to talk about one teacher here that most people probably won’t know or remember. He wasn’t famous, and he wasn’t in the spotlight — but he deserves love and respect.

Thomas Berger was my teacher.

Sadly, only for a short time and only for a few classes. I wish it had been many more.

I met Thomas when he worked at Sears-Trostel, a lumber and tool store in Fort Collins, Colorado. On my lunch breaks from my corporate job and university teaching, I would stop by to look at wood and tools and talk with the craftspeople who worked there. I wanted to learn woodworking more formally, so I asked if anyone could teach me. I was referred to Thomas — a no-bullshit, tell-it-like-it-is kind of teacher.

Thomas was a master woodworker. He had taught woodworking at a college back East and had worked near the (famous) George Nakashima studio and workshop. He knew George and his team. Thomas was tough, hard as nails — and yet impossible not to love. When he taught, his passion for wood, workmanship, tools, and their proper use shone through unmistakably.

In our first — and ultimately only — few lessons together, he shared with me his concept of:

H³ (H-cubed): Head, Heart, and Hands.

These three elements, he said, must work together for a woodworker to succeed in their chosen endeavor. I remember how serious he was when he said it — more serious than ever. He spoke from his heart to mine. I loved that about him. He truly meant it, and he wanted to pass that way of thinking on to me.

He taught me the half-lap joint (e.g. a common joint in making a religious cross), and shared his view that to be good with woodworking machinery (like the table-saw, jointer, band-saw, etc.) one must think like a “machinist”. Experience showed he was right.

I told him I wanted to make chairs. One of his specialties was a cherry Shaker-style rocking chair. He had earned recognition for his chairs (see Fine Woodworking, Design Book 3) and planned to teach me how to make that one. He even began gathering the proper wood for the design — including naturally bent, curved-grain cherry for the rocker slats and legs. I remember him telling me he was looking for that wood specifically for me.

I also remember trying to encourage him to return to the mainstream woodworking world as a teacher or maker. I’ll never forget his response:

“I had my time in the sun.”

There was something a little sad in that, but it also felt complete. I was glad he saw himself as a success — that he had experienced those gifts fully.

Life, and our own demons, got in the way of building that cherry Shaker rocking chair as we had planned. It never unfolded in that direction. But somehow, we became friends from a distance and stayed in touch through changing lives and miles, until he passed away.

I loved that he never forgot about me. I will never forget him. He will always stay with me. I know his heart was always in the right place. He truly wanted to be there for me.

Someday we will meet again, old friend. I miss you; and I still work with my head, my heart, and my hands.