Guest Post by Phil Kiper

     My Father, Roger Kiper, passed away three years ago this week.  Since that day, I have had time to reflect on his life and on our relationship.  He died when he was 85 years old and by his own account had a wonderful life.

     If you ever knew him for any period of time, you knew that he was a carpenter.  I don’t think he became a carpenter.  I think he was born a carpenter.  When I asked him to name his favorite childhood toy, he quickly replied, without any pause, “a hammer”.  One of his older brothers told me that when Dad was a small boy, he would spend hours sitting on the ground pounding nails into a board.  When all of the nails were driven into the board, he would turn the board upside down, drive the nails back out and then repeat the process over and over.  He was a child of the depression of the 1920’s, and money for toys was scarce. 

    When he was about nine years old he gathered some scrap lumber and pieces of tar paper from a building site and built a boat.  He told me that my grandfather, William, took him and the boat to Sugar Creek to see if it would float.  When they pushed the boat into the water, it floated, but barely above the water line.  He admitted that he had used far too many nails, and that the tar paper and coats of tar made it very heavy.  He always enjoyed the engineering part of carpentry, but he had a life long habit of over-building.  He didn't want things to come apart.

     Later, in school, he was taught carpentry skills in shop class by Mr. Chiddix,  Mr. Chiddix, must have seen his passion and talent because he encouraged him to pursue a career in carpentry.  Mr. Chiddix must have motivated many students.  They later named a school in Normal, Illinois after him.

     When he was 16 years old, he and a friend were hired to frame and roof a ranch style house in Bloomington.  World War II was raging, and many of the working aged men were fighting oversees.  I drove by the house a few years ago, and it is still standing.  My Aunt Kay once told me that when your dad builds something, it stays built, pretty high praise for any carpenter.

     As World War II was slowly ending, my father enlisted in the Army and was sent to Vienna, Austria, as part of the occupation policy.  He safely returned, met and married my mother, and settled into his life’s work as a carpenter.  He worked out of the union hall and was hired by many different builders for a variety of projects.  He was once fired from a job for using too many nails.  Many years later he was still amazed that anyone would want to build something in such a manner that it might come apart.

     As the Korean War began he was recalled to service.  He was sent to Korea where he used his skills as a carpenter to build structures for officers and enlisted men.  He was placed in charge of a number of Korean carpenters, who much to his amazement, would not use American saws, which cut on the push stroke, but only Asian saws, which cut on the pull stroke.

Roger Kiper in Colorado Springs
 before deployment to Korea, 1950

     My father taught me many things, but I think the thing that I am most thankful for is that he taught me to go to work.  He went to work everyday.  I don’t remember him complaining or whining about work in any way.  He simply loved what he did.  From watching him, I learned to get up and go to work.  I am sorry many children never have that kind of example.

     As a young boy, I was never very interested in building.  Sports consumed most of my energy.  Later, when I became an adult, I started to develop an interest in woodworking and building.  Some of the best times I had with my dad were conversations about building with wood.  Like many fathers and sons, we would often argue over many things, but we were always able to enjoy our time together when we were building something. I think it surprised him that some of his skills and talents had maybe rubbed off on me.  When I built my first house, he came to Tennessee for a few weeks to help me hang doors, install kitchen cabinets, and build steps to the second floor.  I don’t live in that house anymore, but I can guarantee you that all of the doors installed by him still open and close perfectly.

     Over the years my woodworking interests have gravitated more toward woodturning than building, but because of my father, I know good work when I see it.  A couple of days ago my 25 year old son, Will, asked me if I would teach him to turn wood.  Much like my father, I was a little surprised and very pleased.

     So hear's to you, Roger Kiper, builder of things that stay built.

My father made this table in high school shop class with only
hand tools over 70 years ago.  I made the maple bowl from a
tree that grew in my parent's yard and was planted by our
neighbor, Mr. Boyce, a World War I veteran.  The red vase I made
from a hackberry tree planted by my grandfather Moit.
The wood for the walnut box came from some walnut Dad bought
when he was a teenager but never got around to making anything
out of it.