The Tisch Toy Shop

Little things, such as allowing a child to spend time in your shop, can shape their future.

I first learned about exploding outhouses when I was about six or seven. Maybe you’ve seen them: little banks in the shape of an outhouse with a coin slot on top, and a hidden mousetrap inside. Dropping a coin inside makes the whole thing fly apart. They were a big hit at the Tisch Toy Shop. Mr. Tisch, our neighbor, was a retired carpenter who loved to spend his time in his woodshop building toys. I doubt that his business was very profitable, however, because the only thing he liked more than making his toys was giving them away.

One evening when I was quite young, Mr. and Mrs. Tisch were over visiting with my parents. They must have joked about me going to stay with them for the night because I remember I rolled up my sleeping bag, got my pajamas, came down the steps and announced I was ready to go.  Well, after having a chuckle they decided it would be a fine idea for me to spend the night at their place. Two life-changing events happened that weekend. For one, I got to sleep on a waterbed that night. Before that, I didn’t even know that they existed. Second, the next morning I got to hang out with Mr. Tisch in his woodshop. Surrounded by all those toys, this blew my mind even more than the waterbed.

I remember being fascinated as I watched him cut something out on his scroll saw—undoubtedly the most used tool is his well-equipped shop. That was the first time I had ever seen one. As my only tool at the time was a handsaw, my mind reeled with the possibility of being able to cut something other than a straight line. But perhaps the real highlight of the weekend was that I had doughnuts for breakfast: now that was really living! I often wonder if Mr. Tisch ever realized just how much spending that morning in his woodshop impacted me.

There are lots of toys from my childhood that I remember fondly, and many of them began their life in the Toy Shop across the street.  My favorite toy, however, was a small wooden wagon that my father, a talented woodworker himself, built for me. There was nothing fancy about the construction of the wagon, it was mostly built from scrap pieces of plywood and dowel rods. What’s special about it is that I can remember helping him build it. I remember that he took the time out of a busy house remodeling project to put together the little wagon so that I would have something to pull behind the John Deere tractor I was pushing around the shop floor. While I can’t provide a materials list, or any of the technical specifications, I can tell you that it was definitely sturdy enough to handle anything that I could haul in it. My dad probably doesn’t remember building it. For him, it was a just a typical day.

I’ve looked, but I can’t seem to find that wagon at my parent’s house anywhere. Perhaps it fell victim to the yard sale that so many of the other toys succumbed to. Had I been able to find it, I could have passed it down. Because these days, in my single-car garage woodshop, my young son likes to spend his time hauling sawdust from one pile to another. I guess that means it’s time for me to try my hand at building another wagon. Maybe, if I’m lucky, my dad will draw up some plans for it. As for the Tisch Toy Shop, well it’s long since gone. But the memory of its kind-hearted proprietor—and those exploding outhouses—continues to inspire me today. – Micah Henry