As A Carpenter My Grandfather Was Finger Missing Good.

This one-minute piece about my grandfather is really a demonstration in finding the story you need to tell every day for your book, speeches, presentations or podcasts.

I’ll meet you at the other side.

My grandfather was as good a carpenter as a guy with seven fingers could possibly be.

That he died with a plurality of fingers mostly speaks to the retrieval skills of his children who would, once or twice a year, retrace a trail of fresh blood that began at the band saw in his woodshop, pull a bit of finger out of reddening sawdust, wash it off and keep it moist for the ride to emergency. 

He hated going to the hospital and often covered his bloodied hand when people ventured into the shop to find out what all the yelling was about. 

“Nooooo, nothing to see here.”

My grandfather wasn’t careless so much as entranced. 

Every one of Jack Ulmer’s incisions into wood was, in itself, a glorious tribute to geometry: spinning wheels notarized with a silver coin, paper towel holders, trucks with real rubber tires, full chapels, garages, nimble letter openers, even his own house, all from the woodshop which he, of course, built first.

His missing fingers, to me, existed as a sort of entry fee for the privilege of shuffling about a shop unfettered, cajoling the wood, playing with patterns and varnishes and stencils and glues, delighting in the bliss of uninterrupted creation. 

Imagine being so drawn into a flow state that your first instinct after cutting off the end of your finger - aside from some cussing - was to continue lest you lose the moment.

Jack Ulmer was a high priest at the lathe and the people who ordered his wares or received them as gifts were besotted with gratitude.

I noticed one of works one at my sister’s place this weekend and when I see them, I marvel at and miss the carpenter with seven fingers.

Ok, let’s unpack this a bit.

We are motivated by self-interest. We want zealous people fixing our cars or scouring our insurance premiums or replacing our hips. 

You know who had a point? Jack Nicholson’s character in A Few Good Men. We prefer vicious men safeguarding freedoms. We covet aggressive divorce lawyers and anal retentive accountants because their compulsions advantage us.

My grandfather’s story delivers a fantastic bit of counterintuitive thinking: as far as carpenters go…seven fingers is about right. You hear that story and, amazingly, you feel more inclined to take him on.

If you are a speaker, writer, podcaster, whatever, keep all the drawers open as you divine the story you need to tell every day.

Remember, everyone has stories and everyone has the perfect story. Keep looking. That last one, properly deployed, will make you money.