Pop’s Plain Old Pedestal Desk

Posted by Terri Elders in HandPrints Stories & Videos | 1 comment

copyright Terri Elders

When I sat down at the computer this morning, I remembered my college days, tap-tapping out reports on my old Smith Corona typewriter. And then I envisioned the maple desk it sat on. I hadn’t thought of that desk in years.

That long ago afternoon in late October, l954, when Bob took me to his parents’ house, I only anticipated helping him review for an upcoming test in Western Civilization 101, a community college class we shared. After we had covered Mesopotamia and Monasticism, Byzantium and The Black Death, he announced he was hungrier for a meal than for one more historical tidbit.

Over bowls of Bob’s mother’s chili, Pops asked some astute questions about our classes, revealing an interest that my parents never displayed. Daddy and Mama would speak about their lives during The Great Depression and World War II, but their eyes glazed over if I mentioned the Tigris and Euphrates, Plato or Aristotle. “That’s all ancient history,” Daddy would say, shaking his head. “Don’t know why you’re studying that stuff when you could be taking something practical. Like shorthand.”

Smith Corona Typewriter

“You said that you and Bob were studying again tomorrow,” Pops said. “There’s a France play on Omnibus. Why don’t you stay for Sunday dinner and watch it with us?” Though my parents had owned a television for nearly two years, we had not watched the popular, sophisticated variety show. I glanced at Bob. “Sounds good,” he said.

On the drive home Bob explained that though both his parents were registered nurses, it had been his father’s dream to become a doctor. He had little encouragement from his own family, and after he married Mom, he settled for a career in nursing. He maintained a deep respect for education and regretted that Bob’s older brother had dropped out of college.

The next afternoon, after Bob and I had quizzed each other on major events from the Code of Hammurabi to Mohammed’s Hegira, we feasted on Mom’s fried chicken and watched Omnibus. The France piece was a farce, “The Man Who Married a Dumb Wife,” about a malcontent judge who married a woman who could not speak. First he lamented her silence, but later, when her speech had been restored, he resented her discourses, no matter how brilliant they were.

“He’s a fool,” Pops said. “Never undervalue an intelligent woman!” The conversation then turned to education. “You know that France wrote that nine tenths of education is encouragement.” He cast me a rueful smile. “Always remember that when nobody else is there to encourage you, you have to encourage yourself.”

A year later I remembered his admonishment. Bob and I not only had married in June, l955, but I had agreed to drop out of college to work while my new husband continued towards his degree in police science at a state college. Daddy and Mama thought it made sense. What was the point in continuing college when I already had found a husband? Pops, though, had been horrified when I reported I had found a job as a teletype operator for Pacific Bell, and insisted that we should find a way to both continue with school, even if our only income would be Bob’s GI Bill. Couldn’t we find part time jobs?

After a few months of typing up phone orders, I started to listen to him. A talented woodworker, he had made the bookcases I had admired in his living room. If I returned to school, he promised, he would make me a maple desk and matching bookcase. He said I had more in my future than becoming a service representative at the phone company. Hadn’t I said I had always wanted to teach, to write, to live in a larger world? So I applied and was accepted at the same state college Bob was attending. I also found part time work as an industrial editor for a manufacturing company not far from the college.

Pops started on the construction of my desk. “No fancy roll top, or anything like that,” he cautioned. “It will just be a plain pedestal desk, with a couple of drawers for your papers.” I couldn’t believe my luck. I had been studying at the little kitchen table he had sanded down and painted for us. Now I’d have a desk of my own! And the books I had stacked in a corner would find a new home in their own maple bookcase.

Pops presented me with the desk at my next birthday, and I fell in love with its simple elegance. Every time I sat at it, I felt encouraged. Though I dropped out of school again for a few semesters and had a child, by the time I returned to graduate school to work on a Master’s in English, I must have logged thousands of hours sitting at that desk, tap-tapping away. Just running my fingers across its veneered finish replenished my spirits when they sagged.

Nearly two decades later when I returned to graduate school a second time, to earn a Master’s in Social Work, Bob and I had moved several times, but always found a place for the maple desk with its spacious drawers. By then Pops had died, but the desk, his legacy, always reminded me of his encouragement.

Eventually, though, our marriage fell apart, and Bob and I went our separate ways. I joined the Peace Corps and in preparation for going overseas, had to sell or give away most of my belongings. Bob took the desk to the house where he lived with his new wife.

A few years ago I served as a Volunteer in Service to America (VISTA), an AmeriCorps program often called the domestic Peace Corps. VISTAs earn an education award and I plan to use mine next summer to study at the International Summer School at Cambridge University. Already I am reviewing Charles Dickens and Jane Austen in preparation for that course. Friends seem perplexed. “Going back to school at 72?” “What’s the point?” “English literature…why not something modern, like computer programming?”

Pops would have understood. “Don’t let anybody discourage you from getting an education,” he had said. “Read the giants.”

My laptop today sits on my dining room table. Though the table has adequate space to spread out papers, it lacks drawers to cradle them. It offers convenience, but not comfort. How I long for that plain old maple pedestal desk, Pops’ beautiful bribe, and his assurance that he believed in me. But I realize that just the memory of Pops and that plain pedestal desk is encouragement enough…and I’m enheartened.

Photo Smith Corona by Daniel Y. Go
Photo Graduation Cap by rcwisely
Photo Desktop by indecisivegurrl
Photo Books by curfuffled