If patience is a virtue, then Dick Zoerb may be one of the most virtuous men on the planet.

Add in his eye for detail and the ability to crease, fold or otherwise manipulate objects so tiny they’re all but invisible to the naked eye, and one might guess they’re meeting Dr. Dick Zoerb, accomplished brain surgeon.

Not even close. Zoerb, 83, grew up in his family’s wholesale greenhouse business in Wisconsin; then, after serving in the Korean War and graduating from Ohio State University, he said he “took off my apron and put on a tie” and embarked on a career as a field representative for Fred C. Gloeckner & Co., a national supplier of products for the commercial horticultural industry.

But somewhere along the way, Zoerb developed a knack for building models, a hobby that flourished once he retired and really took off just a few years ago when he discovered the world of paper-model building.

We aren’t talking fifth-grade-classroom paper airplanes here – although Zoerb knows of some hobby clubs devoted specifically to those little teacher-tormentors of baby boomer lore.

“A couple pair of scissors, Elmer’s Glue, some clamps and a scorer,” Zoerb said, listing the several surprisingly simple tools of his trade as we chatted at his kitchen table this week.

The “clamps” are actually small alligator clips and a few standard-issue wooden clothespins that do the job just fine. The “scorer” resembles a medium-size screwdriver, but the metal shaft is smaller and round with tapered edges at the tip.

Looking at the small stack of cardstock, the tools, then at Zoerb, and then at the several finished products he brought out as examples, I was more than a little impressed that he can turn these flat, printed sheets into such highly detailed replicas of buildings, boats, airplanes, lighthouses – pretty much any object he feels like creating – in just a couple of days.

Like most baby boomers, I went through my model-making phase at some point along the way. My highlight had to be my yellow ’65 Mustang that I acquired about the same time the life-size ones were still in dealer showrooms.

As a kid with the attention span of a gnat and the patience of an overworked bartender, I rarely saw a model through to completion – except for the Mustang. That’s because it did something besides sit on the shelf: It moved, thanks to its little motor and a plastic “T” device with wire brushes that fit perfectly into one of several slots in an indoor racetrack, and went as fast or slow as I wanted it to using the trigger of my remote control.

So much for my brief, stunted model-making career.

Zoerb was about 12 when he first dabbled in the hobby that came and went over the years, but took hold for good about four years ago.

World War II was raging, and on the farm, the entire Zoerb family was pitching in to keep the greenhouse business going.

“There was a lot to do –
we grew thousands of different plants and flowers,” he said. “We had a patch of something like 40,000 geraniums.”

The most mundane, but vital, tasks fell to the young’uns, Zoerb said.

“My job at the time was pulling weeds,” he said. “I think I got 10 cents an hour.”

One day, spotting a cereal-box offer for something called a Jack Armstrong Airplane Card Kit, the young Zoerb took an hour’s worth of pay, taped the dime to a Wheaties box top and mailed it to the good folks at General Mills.

In exchange, he received three of the kits, a jackpot for a kid who’d taken a liking to airplanes.

Fast forward past high school, college, marriage, Koren War service, his farming years and product-sales career and into retirement.

Zoerb and his wife, Margaret, have called Nashua home for nearly 30 years, and he has been retired for 18 of them. It was about 20 years ago that Zoerb, still carrying his deep interest in airplanes, joined a Merrimack-based model airplane flying club.

“I built four planes – the first two crashed on their first flights,” he said matter-of-factly about what must have been a pair of frustrating developments.

Then one day maybe four years ago, Zoerb was going through some boxes of longtime possessions and lo and behold, there was his first model: that bomber plane he’d built nearly seven decades earlier.

He dug deeper, found some unfinished Jack Armstrong kits and had an idea: Maybe someone would want to buy these.

One of those “someones” mentioned to Zoerb a giant online modeling supply house called Fiddlers Green.

“I looked up their website,” he said. “I couldn’t believe all the different kits they had. You can find thousands of them.

The old modeling flame sparked anew.

Today, dozens of Zoerb creations have found homes with family, friends, fellow modelers and a few lucky Yankee swap participants.

Others he isn’t yet ready to part with include a remarkably detailed likeness of the Titanic, which he sometimes brings to his presentations.

“One day someone told me something’s missing –
the iceberg,” Zoerb said with a laugh. “So I made one.”

The Titanic isn’t going anywhere – except to his grandson, who helped Zoerb build it.

Another is a replica of an iconic carnival carousel – which even has a crank, and which Zoerb turned to set the carousel in motion.

Lately, Zoerb has been able to build up his inventory thanks to Mother Nature.

“I sit right here and work and watch it snow,” he said, glancing out a slider door at the white winterscape.

Dean Shalhoup’s column appears Saturdays in The Telegraph. He can be reached at 594-6443, dshalhoup@nashuatelegraph.com or @Telegraph_DeanS.