Manual labor days

Part memoir, part philosophical manifesto, the book makes a persuasive case that knowing how to build and fix things - from framing a house to repairing a leaky toilet - is often far more rewarding than becoming another "knowledge worker" with no practical skills. Manual competence isn't a bad way to go, either, argues Crawford, in an outsourced, over-credentialed economy where people are still willing to pay handsomely for basic services.

Revenge of the nerd? More like triumph of the tradesman.

Crawford has a PhD in political philosophy and once ran a Washington policy wonkshop. But his passion - now profession - is restoring vintage motorcycles. "The work is sometimes frustrating, but it is never irrational," he writes. Mechanical labor has forced him to "cultivate different intellectual habits," continues Crawford. "Many of us do work that feels more surreal than real. Working in an office, you often find it difficult to see any tangible results from your efforts."

Slate's Michael Agger calls it "the best self-help book that I've ever read" and recommends it to every graduating collegian whose lofty career dreams are about to become the stuff of a four-panel "Dilbert" strip.

I don't disagree with Crawford's premise, even though I enjoy office life (mostly) and would be hard-pressed to earn a living otherwise.

The work I do is marginally creative, rarely repetitive. Tangible results are indeed produced, if only in the form of readers' scalding comments. My officemates are intelligent, curious, collegial people. I don't punch a clock, even if the clock is ticking on my profession and all who toil therein. Parking is free, too. For now, anyway.

Leafing through "Shop Class" made me wonder. What do I know how to do that's truly practical? What skills have I acquired, and what might my children yet learn, that would qualify as "soulcraft" to someone like Crawford?

My father could replace a burned-out light bulb but otherwise knew little (and cared less) about home maintenance. When things broke down, he was pretty much a Yellow Pages guy all the way. His cooking talents were marginal as well, my mother's only slightly better. When Joe the Plumber came to our house, it wasn't to discuss tax cuts but to be the firewall between us and a rebellious septic system. My parents seemed mildly astonished, decades later, that I kept a toolbox around the house and knew how to open it.

My skill set improved significantly after college, if only by necessity. Friends of mine bought an 18th-century Maine farmhouse in the 1970s and invited me to become a co-owner. The house and grounds have needed near-constant attention, becoming - for me, anyway - a laboratory for learning the fundamentals of home maintenance and do-it-yourselfness.

One co-owner, now a retired college professor, is a plumber's son who is as knowledgeable about pipes as he is about phenomenology. Another, a former woodworker turned publishing executive, has the tools and experience to build almost anything. Never what you'd exactly call wealthy, our group has rarely paid for work we felt comfortable tackling ourselves.

Not too adept with a table saw or welder's torch - I was an English major, OK? - I taught myself to cook and ran the farmhouse kitchen in bygone days, a chore now happily shared with others. We've gardened and grown our own produce. By now I can drain and re-prime the water system almost blindfolded. More than anything, I've learned how simply some things can get repaired or attended to and others cannot. Diagnosing the difference between "Let me take a crack at it" and "Honey, call the electrician" is a soulcraft all its own.

My oldest child is handier than I ever was or will be. I'm not sure he could rebuild a motorcycle, but he and his wife each own and ride one (all right, not so much since their daughter was born). After graduating from college, he constructed his own loft apartment - plumbing fixtures and all - in Lower Manhattan. He now owns a three-unit building in Brooklyn, functioning as both handyman and landlord. His grandfather would be amazed.

I think I'll send him a copy of "Shop Class" for Father's Day.

Joseph P. Kahn can be reached at jkahn@globe.com.