In Memoriam:
Frank Herren

I first met Frank on a tech call some 35 years ago.  He had a natural way of drawing you into conversation, helped by a great sense of humor and a good deal of humility.  As we got to know each other better through conversations about various projects over time, we were soon discussing my projects as much as we were discussing his.  As it turns out, Frank was local and it wasn’t long before he invited me over to meet him in his woodshop.

We spent the afternoon touring his shop and talking about his current projects and a few of mine. Then his wife, Carla, walked through the door with a tray of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, a gallon of milk and 2 glasses.  I was all in!  From that day forward, we worked together or separately, but almost always in concert, on our projects.  Skillset aside, one of the most interesting things about Frank was that he gave away virtually everything he made.  It was his way of thanking someone for their help or just letting someone know that he cared.  He always had a box on the shelf, ready to give to someone.

Frank’s works were often featured in early INCRA promotional videos, and his was one of the very first gallery pages that we set up at Incra.com. The gallery has since become a great place for INCRA users to find ideas and inspiration.  You can see some of Frank’s creations here GALLERY - Frank Herren but be sure to take a look at some of the many others who have contributed to this important resource while you are there.

In time, Frank’s age caught up with him and our last year together was spent in his shop talking about the things we made.  His work complete, Frank passed away in 2021 and shortly after I was approached by his family to build a funerary box for his cremains.  That box, featured in the photos to follow was our final collaboration.  Frank made the ebony hinges years earlier and the beautiful curly maple came from his shop.  The curly koa came from mine.   
What remains with me most is not only what Frank made, but why he made it. His boxes, jigs, and shop projects carried the mark of a craftsman, but also the generosity of a friend who understood that the best work is meant to be shared. I will miss the conversations, the projects, the cookies, and the quiet privilege of having built one last piece with him.