MARY LAMPHERE AUTHOR

*I’m sorry to say Mr. Whinna passed away the day after this post went live. I hope he knows how much he inspired me and many others. I honestly believe he does.

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I remember having an architecture assignment in high school that required me to create my dream house. I worked so hard on the floorplans, incorporating every luxurious space my own modest home did not provide. There were vaulted ceilings and transom windows, a formal entry and master suite, a library and studio space, an atrium with an indoor water fountain. And closets, so many closets!

I believe I had to incorporate architectural features that we had been learning about, so there were probably some columns or balconies and fancy staircases, too.

The first comment out of my teacher’s mouth regarding this brilliant piece of design was to point out the wasted space.

I was crushed.
Wasted space? What did that even mean?
He kindly told me.
Awkward arrangement of my rooms. Useless areas. Inefficient layout.

Once I’d run through a litany of immediate reactions, I saw what he meant.
Once I’d seen it, I could not unsee it.

That exchange was almost forty years ago, and I still think about that lesson all the time. It applies to a lot more than dashed architectural dreams. I find myself discovering “wasted space” in books I read. In books I’m writing. In how I spend my days. In relationships. It remains a lesson in critical thinking.

I just found out that teacher is dying.
I’ve probably seen him twice since graduation in 1984, but his presence is known through social media with weekly restaurant reviews, garden photos, birthday greetings to mutual Facebook friends, and colorful mandala art pages. I’m blown away by how his vast circle is coming together in support of him in his final days. There are a lot of stories being shared. Fond memories, humorous exchanges, and random blog posts.

This man made such an impact on our community that the local news station ran a piece on him.

I worry that the student in me will disappoint the teacher in him. That I’ve somehow wasted space with this story. But I want to thank him for the lifelong lessons he instilled in so many of us and, honestly, that makes this the perfect use of space.

Thank you, Mr. Whinna.
You will be missed, George.
May your lessons forever endure.