A Tribute to Doug Dale: Superhuman
A Tribute to
Doug Dale:
Superhuman
In 2001, I received a phone call from a man who wanted to sign up for a class. Back then, I handwrote all registrations on notecards. I would start with personal information—name, address, and phone number, and then finalize the registration with the workshop.
When Doug called, I vividly remember our conversation. After I had his personal information and class choice, I asked for his credit card. He said, “Wait, I’m not done yet.” “Okay,” I replied. He signed up for a second class, then a third, and finally, seventeen classes in total. The school season was much shorter then, running only 18 weeks from June to September. Basically, Doug lived at the school his first year.
In 2002, the year Doug completed his Master’s, he often stayed after class to work on projects or socialize with other students. One evening I asked if the hotels gave him a discount for staying so many nights. He told me he wasn’t staying in a hotel; he was driving back and forth each day from Cincinnati, Ohio. That’s 100 miles each way. Since then, Doug has driven to and from MASW over 10,000 times, racking up more than a million miles.
The year after he completed his Master’s, I asked Doug what he intended to do next. I assumed he would start his own business, but he shrugged and said, “I don’t know.” At that time, Zane and Paula were my only year-round employees, and I couldn’t afford another. But I knew Doug would be an incredible asset to our team. I asked if he’d be interested in working for us. He said, “Sure.”
That was 2003. I am embarrassed to say I had no extra money for another employee. The best I could offer was $400 a week for just 18 weeks a year. It was all I had, and Doug knew it—but he accepted anyway, because he believed in the vision of the school and wanted it to succeed. Over the years, I paid him better, of course, but in all his time here, Doug never once asked me for a raise. God just doesn’t make men like him anymore.
At the end of his first-year assisting, I asked if he might return the next year. His answer: “Only if you spend more time with your kids.” Here was a man with two children just a few years older than mine, working long hours, driving 200 miles every day, and the only condition he set was that I spend more time with my kids. From that time on, Doug showed me that loyalty isn’t just a word, it’s a way of life.
Today, Doug is the most respected technician in America. There is no one in his league—period! Think of his experience: 25 years, week after week, assisting the finest craftspeople of our time. No one in this country has been exposed to more in the world of time-honored crafts. Add to that his relentless work ethic, supernatural problem-solving skills, and a kindness that changes lives. His parents raised him to be a worker, and today, from Heaven, they must be overjoyed at the humble success of their son.
Our staff has shirts that say: “Wait a minute, I’ll ask Doug.” He is impossible to replace, and I wouldn’t want to try. To replace Doug would imply he had an equal, and he does not. Instead, Doug’s shirt deserves to be retired in our display case, in honor of all he has achieved over the past 25 years.
Thank you, Doug…
- For all the years of loyalty, inspiration, compassion, leadership, wisdom, and character.
- For the hundreds of instructors whose workshops were successful because of you.
- For teaching thousands of people to work safely in their shops.
- For showing patience to those who struggled, and then being the first to praise them for success.
- For sacrificing time with your family to be with the MASW family.
- For correcting me during demonstrations when I was about to cut on the wrong side of the line.
- For standing by me at Zane’s and Herman’s funerals, assuring me MASW would endure.
- And thank you for always giving me your very best.
Doug’s retired shirt in the display case will read:
“Wait a minute, while I tell you once more how to fix it.”
“Wait a minute,
while I tell you once more how to fix it.”
