It has been half a year since the passing of Phil Wood, the founder and publisher of Ten Speed Press. Like the books he published, he was original, impressive, charming, whimsical, often irreverent but always compelling. And like many others, I'll always remember him for his signature Panama hats and bold Hawaiian shirts and larger-than-life personality. When I think of Phil Wood, I think of the man and the books and the personality and the perfect embodiment of the man: his shirts.
So it was entirely appropriate and touching that at his memorial celebration this past weekend, Phil's eclectic collection of pristinely kept Jams World shirts--some of which still bore their original sales tags (that habit being just one of Phil's many idiosyncrasies)--were gifted to guests, lovingly folded and awaiting their new owners in sage-green gift bags. The crowd was a sea of florals, palms, chilli peppers, abstract geometrics, and psychedelic splashes of color galore. Though the donning of shirts was a celebration of the man, I still found myself choking back tears when I saw a Phil look-alike (and there were many)--the jolly girth, the white beard, the kind, sparkly eyes. Yes, Phil was very much like a Santa Claus: in his frame, in his sense of pleasure and indulgence, in his ability to give so much to so many. And here we all were, giddy with the excitement of our gifts and a bit in wonder over the closeness of something extraordinary just beyond our grasp.
A few women wore their shirts with a sash or belt. Some men, as noted before, channelled Phil almost too well. His adorable granddaughter wore her shirt beautifully as a comfy dress that reached her ankles. I loved my shirt for its rich imagery of temples, romantic figures, and pilgrims embarking on a journey. Also, the shirt was as soft as the human touch. Looking around the room, I felt as if Phil's XL frame were a considerate, calculated part of his legacy. The old, the young, the large, the small, the wildly successful, the wide-eyed up-and-comers and everyone in between...Phil made room for all of us.
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I thought of Phil during my week at Witchcamp. There was such an emotional connection between him and the company he created. As his health failed, so did the health of the company. It couldn't carry on without him. I saw him sitting on the sofa in reception, the day after it was announced that the company would be sold, and he looked so sad and lost--I regret not going up to him then and thanking him for looking out for us, even if, like all parents, he couldn't control what happened after we left the nest.
I regret not thanking him, too. But I think he knew how much he and the company meant to all of us, or at least I would like to think that he did.
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