Some clans trumpet their standing in the world with an ornate coat of arms, depicting royal-looking beasts snarling for some reason as they hold up ornate scrolls that no one but Latin scholars can decipher. Then again, what noble lion wouldn't roar in distress when dressed in such a terrible cacophony of clashing clan colors?

The Diamonds don't need a coat of arms. They have wood. To be exact, Willy's wood. Ninety-one years of the finest heirlooms spun and chiseled and carved and smoothed to a velvet finish by the master. Willy's wood populates the homes of Diamonds, East to West, North to South. There are grand high boys and miniatures for grandkids, inlayed jewelry boxes, matching curly maple bureaus, miraculously expanding and shrinking dining room tables, comfortable Windsor chairs, even a maple bed with a headboard formed with a strand of wood, soaked in water and then gently bent into shape. We dream in our Willys, feast and relax, fill drawers with high fashion and tattered basics, and stash secret memories in hidden compartments. Bureaus convert into desks by pulling out the leather-inlaid writing boards. And Willy-framed katubahs are limited editions.

Generations have been raised on Willys. Grandchildren learn to tell time from the seven-foot-high grandfather clock with its delicate chimes and a moon-and-stars handpainted dial. For decades, the littlest of Diamonds learned more than time on their visits. Out in Willy's shop, they discovered the art of wood by observing grandfather coaxing beauty out of rough planks of mahogany and cherry and oak. As the table saw buzzed, his well-worn fingers guided rough slabs precisely. He schooled them in the dying art of dovetail joints. And then each grandchild had a chance to fall in love with wood. Willy would give them a spoke shaver and coach them as tiny hands pushed it back and forth, throwing off wood curls, as they tried to shave mahogany and cherry remnants to an exact width. Mostly, amid the shaving and subsequent sanding, they soaked up the smell and feel of creating fine pieces, worthy of museums.

In Willy's world, there is no room for inferior wood masquerading as the real thing. When wood crosses his path-- a table, a chair, a bookcase-- it is put to the test. First, he circles it, gnarled hands clasped behind his back, skeptically eying the object's cut, grain and finish. It's never a good sign if he shakes his head, remains silent or utters, "It's a maple veneer." Veneer is spat out with undisguised distain. But if Willy starts making soft cooing sounds and his hands come forward and start stroking the wood lovingly, then it has passed muster. This happens rarely because pieces made entirely from trees are becoming an endangered species. It's hard to imagine Willy's reaction if he strolled through a Crate & Barrel or Pottery Barn where the tags hanging off furniture are so vague that they suggest a faux plasticized wood brewed up in a lab.

Luckily for the Diamond clan, Willy has lavished us with authentic artifacts. The kind of family gold that will be handed down again and again. If Willy is the family oak, then his pieces are the limbs, growing longer and extending farther, forming a uniting canopy. As future generations inherit the collection of tables and chests, clocks and boxes, beds and bureaus, they too will fall in love-- the way we all have-- with Willy's wood. Each one is a memory box.

Touch the silky surface and you can feel Willy's hands rubbing and polishing until the curly maple glows a deep honey amber. Open a drawer and the smooth glide is a snapshot of Willy perfecting the dovetail joints. Pull up the drop leafs on that graceful table tucked into the corner and pull until magically, it expands into a family oval, large enough for the clan to gather around.

Willy's masterpieces. One day they may be showcased in the still-to-be-built Diamond Hall of Fame, alongside Bubbe's knishes. As every Diamond knows, they are the best in the world.