When I was a (much) younger guy, 32 to 34 years of age, I graduated from Grand Valley State College, where I studied history, political science, international relations and anthropology. My main interest was naval and military history, but since GVSC offered no classes in the field, I tried to work them into my studies and essay exams.
When I graduated, with good recommendations from several professor/instructors, I applied for graduate studies at Princeton, the University of Maine and Western Michigan University. I was accepted at all three, but only WMU offered the possibility of a position as graduate assistant. Military historian, Dr. Sherwood (Woody) Cordier, author of nine books and countless articles, was appointed my grad advisor.
We struck up a friendship the first time we met. He was an air power specialist with an interest in naval operations during the age of sail; I was interested in sea power before the age of steel and steam, and during the transition from wooden walls and sails, to steam, steel, and all big gun ships. It was a partnership that served, and pleased, both of us. (I recently named my new California Spangled tomcat, Woody, after him). I got the grad assistant position, which doubled my G.I. Bill income, and made my life much easier.
Soon after I settled into Kalamazoo, I met a young couple who lived next door, named Tim and Jackie. She was studying dance at WMU, He worked at a picture frame shop, applying gold, silver and other metal leaf, to very expensive frames. Since most of my grad studies were one on one writing seminars with Woody, with an occasional night class, Tim asked me if I‘d be interested in a day job at the frame shop.
He took me to work with him the next day, to meet the foreman (his nick name was ‘Duh’ though no one actually called him by it, only used it behind his back). About half-a-dozen hippies worked there, plus Duh, a crippled black dude named Jim who could only move on crutches. He was a good person and the shop’s source of weed, and a crazy ‘nailer’ who made the frames, and occasionally shot out the lights, high above his work station, with his powerful nail gun.
The President (Nixon), his close help, his generals, were under attack. Some had broken into the offices of the Democratic National Committee, and stupidly, got caught there, opening a big can of nasty worms ruining Nixon‘s life. We listened to the hearings all day, every day on National Public Radio. Every so often the hum of the workplace and the Watergate Scandal would be punctuated by the POW! POW! POW! of the nail gun, the tinkle of broken bulbs and the heavier sound of white ceramic reflective material lining the shades, falling to the concrete floor of the shop.
The noise of the nail gun, and the broken bulbs and fixtures, was usually accompanied by a loud, “EEYEOOOOW, I gotcha mutha!” That brought Duh steaming to the area, and sent others streaming out. The guy was a cokehead, but the unworldly Duh thought he was just crazy. We made beautiful frames there, Tim was a great gilder. When a new Pablo Picasso museum was being organized and built in Spain, we were kept busy for well over a year making frames for his art — making money, as well.
The owner of the shop also owned a gallery in the area. He was a short, irritating, obnoxious man who, thankfully, only came into the place on rare occasions, but was short, irritating, and obnoxious with every appearance. We referred to him as ‘the mighty midget,’ and took to hanging knee-high signs around the shop reading, “Please, No Midgets!” He never seemed to notice.
In summer and winter, Tim and I spent our spare hours (many, many of them) war-gaming the Civil War Battle of Gettysburg (patent holder Avalon Hills Board Garnes). It was a game in which military moves developed on an hour to hour schedule keyed to arrival times of military units, each given a combat value and a speed of movement value. I usually played as the Army of Northern Virginia, Tim as the Grand Army of the Republic. Several times, over two years, the game lasted as long as the actual battle — three-plus days.
As time and games went by, I began to understand why the South was whipped at Gettysburg. It was basically because Lee piddled around for too long over the first two days while he had superior forces, while the GAR was gathering strength. I began attacking every Union unit as soon as possible after it appeared on the board. Pretty soon I was winning nearly every game, then turned what I’d learned into two theses, each earning me an A+ grade.
Woody was a great lecturer. I recall one night class, a semester long, dealing with World War II and filled with women, which met for four hours, one night–a week. I thought most of the women would be bored to tears, but he mesmerized them. About halfway through the session, he’d give us a 20-minute break for a smoke, a coke, a snack or a cup of coffee. Before the allotted break was half over, the room would be jammed with students, male and female, anxious to hear more of Woody’s tale. He was my friend, critic, and mentor from the day we met in ’72 until he died in August, 2018.
In the fall of that year, I drove my old Chevy pickup truck from Kalamazoo to Wyoming every Monday evening to play football for PuttPutt’s Sports Bar in my eleventh and twelfth (and last seasons). I made it through 12 seasons with only one serious injury, a broken ankle. Oddly enough, my fellow defensive lineman on the left side, Ken Pell, broke his ankle on the same play. We both warmed the bench, and cheered on our teammates for the rest of the season.
Ken was five or six years younger than me, but sadly passed away 10 or 12 years ago. I’ve lost a number of good friends made on football fields and fast pitch softball diamonds over the past 15 years. It pains me to remember them, but I can’t forget them. There’s something about amateur sports, and old friends; college and university times, and old friends of a different nature, that still please and bring pleasure, but with an unbearable, difficult to share pain.
Good to see your sense of humor come out in this article! Just an all-around pleasant read. I would have never thought that museum quality frames headed for Spain were made in K’zoo.
One question. What the heck is a California Spangled cat?
Great article Larry…I’d forgotten much of what you were involved with in those days! (you could have written a book about them) Keep the articles coming (especially those condemning Dangerous Don.
Woody was a true teacher and expert. The most entertaining prof i had the pleasure of hearing. I believe the course was similar in schedule to yours and was of my memory serves me,Modern History of United States Military Power. What a great guy.