MY FATHER didn’t invent “man caves” as we know them, but The Rev. Harry M. Covert Sr. showed me the value of a home hideaway. His desk, not power tools, was a convincing and integral part of his personal space. It helped shape his life.

A couple weeks ago I moved his desk out of my man cave, it having been fully restored and matched with his chair, also resurrected. They had occupied space in the flotsam and jetsam of my garage more than two years – call it cogitation time.

Completion comes 26 years after his untimely death in December 1985. The items are memorials of sorts for his lifetime of service. His studies preceded many projects developed at the desk. A marble memorial aside from his simple grave marker might be more seemly, but he never suffered inflated ego.

We believe the rejuvenated plywood desk and chair would please him.

How close we came to putting the desk and chair on the curb for disposal in the county landfill! Consider the chair had a broken leg; several drawers of the desk were jammed; the three-eighths-inch plywood was splintered; and the shellac finish was scratched and discolored. 

Dad was a newlywed, just discharged from the Army Air Corps in 1939, when he was hired on at the Newport News, Va., shipyard. He and Mother were able to stretch his painter’s wages to purchase a desk. His choices were limited, but he accepted the idea of a kit he could assemble. The six-drawer, double pedestal desk was ordered from the Sears, Roebuck and Co. catalogue.

Dad’s zeal to become a minister sparked the need for a desk. He was resolved to earn educational certification and achieve ordination. His rural Illinois schooling fell short of the requirements.

His goal was rooted in the dramatic religious conversion he experienced in 1937 at The Foursquare Church in Urbana-Champaign, Ill. At the time he was assigned to the Army Air Corps Radio School at nearby Chanute Field.

He felt his “call” to the ministry more strongly when he was assigned to the 2nd Bomb Squadron at Langley Field, Hampton, Va. He enrolled in The Foursquare Church’s educational institute, begun by its founder Sister Aimee Semple McPherson.

He continued his studies after graduation and in 1943 found a mentor who sponsored his ordination in the Church of God of Anderson, Ind.

Friday and Saturday night street meetings became his introduction to Christian witness through music and words. His success led to his being called to conduct services for a Full-Gospel Fellowship church in Norfolk. His first congregation met in an empty store front building in Newport News.

The First Church of God, Newport News, has its roots in the makeshift chapel he built in our garage; musical accompaniment provided by his guitar. In 1955 he joined a consortium of independent Church of God pastors, who still gather annually at their Camp Meeting in Manassas, Va.

He continued the association until his retirement as pastor of the Wythe Church of God, Hampton. Afterward, he accepted the call to be chaplain for the Union Rescue Mission two blocks from home where he offered his final sermon and played his last piano accompaniment.

His work at the desk led him to develop study guides, write Sunday school lesson plans and sermon outlines, many of which we still possess. He compiled hymnals from pages of tattered paperback song books for use at the pulpit and in parlor meetings. His study of early scripture led him to develop a unique Greek vocabulary lexicon, which required years of effort.

A skilled archivist, Dad stocked his impressive library with dozens of three-ring binders, their pages secured by sticky round tabs to guard against wear and tear. His work was put on paper using the hunt and peck typing method on his $25 Underwood typewriter. He reproduced much work using an Army surplus mimeograph, also mounted on the desk. He spilled some of its ink in the desk drawer, a permanent stain.

My first recognition of the desk and its purpose was at our house in Newport News about 1948. Dad set up a study in the uninsulated attic above the kitchen and wore a wool Army pullover to ward off cold. Not much heat came from the chimney a few feet from the desk.

He saved “coffee money” to buy an antique Lantern Slide projector, replacing the oil lamp with an electric fixture in front of the parabolic reflector. He took advantage of sales, ordering glass slides from Blackhawk Films of Davenport, Iowa. He assembled presentations of Jesus’ Parables and versions of the Christmas and Easter stories. He presented them at Sunday or Wednesday night services.

My brother and I were moved “upstairs” into Dad’s study space, the bed legs secured on joists, when the family outgrew the two bedrooms in 1955. He gathered scrap lumber and fashioned a walkway and flooring to the opposite end of the attic, placing the desk and his reference material by the south window.

Our next house had a finished attic. Again Dad put his desk on one end and the boys’ bedroom occupied the other. His studies continued as he scoured local “schlock hauses” for used religious texts and commentaries.

The family’s final move put Dad’s desk in a small alcove on the second floor, but his work had outgrown the space. The desk was full, still utilitarian, but he added tables to accommodate his audio tape ministry including recording equipment.

I took ownership of the desk by default. Mother moved to Massachusetts and it sat alone with the trash in the vacant bedroom. It had seen better days, being virtually unused since Dad’s death. Drawers were full of old paper, envelopes, pencil stubs and extenders, non-working pens, dried up refills, pen nibs, paper clips, labels, old rubber stamps and an array of bits and pieces that took root in the drawers.

My nephews propped it in the garage giving me time to determine what to do. My neophyte wood working projects had yielded positive outcomes, telling me I couldn’t mess up the desk. I am not a woodshop artisan, but with some quality coaching, I took on the challenge.

I was able to repair the drawer frames and guides. The old finish came off easily and the succession of sand paper smoothed out rough edges, achieving an interesting desk top we dubbed “Tiger Striped” wood. Brass drawer pulls were added, a brace fashioned to secure the two pedestals and footers added support.

The chair underwent the same intense hand work. It was reassembled with new wooden dowels, its seat restored to its original look. Several coats of Tung Oil turned out beautiful and functional pieces of furniture.

Now you know why the desk couldn’t be discarded. What will be the next chapter in the desk’s odyssey? –©Norman M. Covert 2011

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(Editor’s Note: Readers ordinarily would find a Christmas tale in this space, at this time. This tribute to my father is a Christmas story of sorts and one some might recommend better off to my genealogy writings. Nevertheless, it is offered for your possible edification and hope that you might share my admiration for his path in service to mankind.)