Athens glimpses of home: Building upon a craft: A local man's near-century journal

Ninety-five-year-old Robert Wickham arrived in Athens because of a Napoleonic coach.

From the 1930s through the '60s, The Fisher Body Craftsman's Guild (a division of General Motors) sought to increase design and engineering skills in teenagers. High-school boys could compete to win college scholarships, and possibly influence future vehicle design.

The instructions of a 1931 contest were this: make a miniature Napoleonic horse-drawn coach. Earning first prize required focused determination.

For an entire year, Wickham devoted at least five hours a day to his contest submission. His winning version (for his home state of Utah) is displayed at the Athens County Historical Society and Museum. It was the first time he combined intense engineering with his love of woodworking. Complete with ornate carvings, tiny door handles, a foot rug, petite upholstered seats, gilded cookie-sized wheels, a lift, and small windows that slide open and shut, the masterpiece is his favorite from his years of wood-crafting.

"It is what got me to Athens," says Wickham.

Yet Wickham's love for woodworking predated the miniature coach. "I was always making something out of wood," he remembers. "I always had a knife."

He purchased pocketknives with money earned from making toy boats. Once, he spent two days retracing his steps to retrieve a knife lost through a hole in his pocket. He found it. "After that, I got a knife with a loop on the end and used a shoe-string to tie it," says Wickham.

It was worth the effort. The investment in his craft paid off for a lifetime of building upon related skills to enhance his career. As with any craft or skill, the paying job is what keeps creativity flowing. For Wickham, that job is teaching.  

Wickham's prize for his coach was a trip from Salt Lake City to General Motors in Detroit. Afterward, he took a detour to visit his aunt Ada O'Blenness (married to the brother of the famous hospital founder) in our sleepy little town of Athens. After a few weeks, plans for heading back westward began to fade.

He spent a few weeks flipping hamburgers at a local joint called The Spot. His aunt then approached him about attending Ohio University. At the time, Wickham was unaware she had been one of the first female graduates.  

Not convinced his study habits were the best, he hesitated before enrolling. "I have no idea what I did, but they must have needed students because they accepted me," says Wickham. While working on his chemistry degree, an inquiry to the Bureau of Appointments (which was backhandedly called the "Bureau of Disappointments") informed him the greatest call for jobs was for teachers of chemistry, physics and woodshop. "I started taking summer school," says Wickham. "I graduated with a degree in chemistry, with minors in industrial arts and physics, and a teaching certificate."

After graduation and his wedding, he began teaching physics, chemistry, general science and woodshop in the small town of Zanesfield, near Bellefountaine northwest of Columbus. "The most fun was teaching seventh- and eighth-grade general science," says Wickham. "I would do an experiment and say, ‘OK, what happened, you explain it. You saw something, you write it down.' I wanted them to do their own workbooks. They learn better then."

From there, he taught mechanical culling at a Bedford high school, then worked for Jack and Heinz Precision Industries, designing aircraft and increasing his mechanical skills.

As for any man during the time, the draft for World War II loomed. But the war ended, and he received another call instead. On the other line was his engineering graphics professor from OU (who had given Wickham the only ‘A' he ever handed out). Wickham remembers, "He said, ‘Bob, would you like to come back and teach engineering graphics?'" He accepted, and returned to Athens. He taught for 23 years at OU, retiring in 1974.

Now, two months shy of his 96th birthday, Wickham doesn't show his age as he maneuvers lithely down the stairs to his workshop. Wickwood, his business, is set up in his garage, where he repairs furniture, fixes clocks and hones his craft. His memory is sharp as a tack; he still drives with good peripheral vision.

Recently, he was commissioned to repair four antique chairs donated to the Konneker Alumni Center at OU. "I always enjoy repairing something handmade, because I'm carrying on what somebody else did years ago with their hands," he says.

He also enjoys giving dead clocks new life. "I call it a Lazarus clock," he laughs, referencing the biblical man whom Jesus brought back to life. "There are a lot of Lazarus clocks in Athens County."

In his orderly shop, tools are arranged by section. A double row of hammers is neatly hung, arranged by age. His favorite tool is a band saw, but most often used is the powered handsaw. In a shop full of aged, well-cared-for tools, his handsaw is new. "I wore the other one out," he says, chuckling.

Projects are ongoing, in different stages. While one is drying, he works on another. Once finished, he marks the piece with an "OK" sticker.

Spanning the years, his works range from the walnut Seal of Ohio that hung in the old Baker Center on campus, decorative crown molding in the now-razed Natatorium across from Scott Quad, religious decorative wall hangings, podiums and spool holders. In his spare time, he makes toys for kids and other items as gifts. Smiling, he holds up a horse and rocks it, which perfectly emulates the sound of trotting.

Each home he has lived in was self-renovated and furnished throughout with pieces of his own creation. Tables, desks and side-tables bear his characteristic patience through perfectly symmetrical and ornamental designs carved into the woodwork. One loveseat was inspired by Duncan Fife. "There was a similar design, but I didn't like that too well. So I did my own design and drew the pictures. I even upholstered it and did all the spring-work."

THREE-QUARTERS OF A century have passed since his first arrival. Speaking fondly of his 54-year marriage to his wife who passed away 15 years ago, he feels blessed to have met her here in Athens. "She was the first person I dated," he says proudly. They had four children, and now have 11 grandchildren and 12 great-grandchildren.

A 40-year membership to Central Avenue United Methodist Church is a steady stronghold in his life.

Every morning, he can be found breakfasting at Bob Evans, choosing from one of three of his favorite items on the menu. He likens it to the old NBC sitcom "Cheers" - a place where everyone knows his name. The cooks give him high-fives. Then he heads back to his quiet workshop, finishing up the latest project, breaking for lunch of his favorite: steamer frozen vegetables.  

"Athens is no longer a neighborhood; it is just a bunch of people living in houses," he laments. He remembers a time when walking uptown on the weekend was a social event, and when neighbors invited each other over to share a watermelon. "In West Virginia there is a saying, ‘We've howdied, but we haven't shook,'" says Wickham. "I don't think people are friendly like they used to be. Athens is growing, but something happened to being friendly."

Yet, he does not regret coming here. He misses the West, but feels that his roots are here, due to his ancestor's arrival in 1806 to Bern Township, where Federal Creek empties into the Hocking River.

"I still love to watch cowboy movies. Looking at the scenery, I'll say, ‘Hey, I've seen that big rock,'" Wickham says. "I'm a Westerner at heart, but my heart is here. Home is where the heart is."