People want me to bless their mistakes when they design a workbench.

Just about every week, someone writes or calls me to say that they have designed their own workbench. But because it violates some of the principles of good bench design (as I see it) from my book "Workbenches: From Design & Theory to Construction & Use," they want me to sign off on it before they start cutting wood.

No matter how silly the bench is, I always sign off on it. That's because here's what I've learned about people during the last 41 years: You cannot change their minds without a monumental effort. Believe me, I've tried pushing that rock up that hill. And I'm dang tired of it.

Build what you want because... listen, can you hear that? It's the sound of trees growing. You can always build another bench.

Today I finally completed my latest workbench, a fairly pure Andre Roubo-style bench using massive timbers and built using (mostly) hand tools. After I built the skeleton of the bench, I decided to add some tool storage that was in the spirit of the the great Roubo. Here's what I did:

I turned the lower shelf into a tool well with a covered lid. I'm sure someone has done this before, but I haven't yet seen it in any old (or new) book (Edit: Roy Underhill did this. See below). In essence, I put a shelf inside the stretchers of the workbench's base, then I added a lid that covers the shelf. The idea here is to provide just enough storage for your daily users. Pull them out of the toolbox, place them on the top of the lid and get to work. Put them away at the end of the day.

Also, I added an authentic French "rack" to the back edge of the benchtop. This rack holds all my chisels, vital marking tools and turnscrews. I secured it with some awesome Roman-style headed nails. Those were fun to install.

In the coming weeks, I'll be sure to add a locking drawer under a portion of the benchtop that I don't use so much.

The bottom line here is that tool storage on workbenches was fairly minimal in the 18th century. And I think it should be minimal today, as well. So what should you do with all the tools you haven't touched in two years? Get rid of them. I'm of the mind (and you'll be reading more about this in the coming months) that you should be focused on purchasing fewer high-quality tools instead of a metric diaper load of poor-quality tools.

But that is the subject for another book.

The finished bench is awesome. I know because I have been using it (to the disdain of my 2005 Roubo-style bench) almost exclusively.

Is it worth the trouble? Find out and see. The completed bench will be at the Lie-Nielsen Hand Tool Event on June 4-5. And it will be at Woodworking in America on Oct. 1-3. Check it out and let us know what you really think.

— Christopher Schwarz

Whenever I pore over old woodworking books, drawings and photos, I spend as much time deciphering the background as the foreground. There are always clues hidden in shadow.

Case in point: I have copies of some 19th-century photos from German workshops. In one photo there are about 20 guys standing at their benches, pausing to have their picture taken. Curiously, none of the handplanes are on their sides. All are resting on their soles.

This week I'm building something hanging on the wall of the shop from André Félibien's "Principes de l'architecture, de la sculpture, de la peinture, &c." (1676-1690). This is the book that we think Joseph Moxon used to make the illustrations in "Mechanick Exercises." (You can see more of Félibien's plates in our digital edition of "The Art of Joinery.")

Félibien calles the device a "press for wood" and in the text gives the thing one line: "Les presses de bois qui se serrent avec des Vis." Or, roughly translated, a vise for wood that uses screws.

So if you take a look at my terrible scan of Félibien's plate XXX (above) and squint your eyes like you've had one too many glasses of Maderia, then you could guess that Moxon's engraver took this French press and scabbed it on the front of the bench for Mr. Moxon like so.

Maybe the vise isn't supposed to be attached like that. Maybe it's not supposed to be attached at all (see Peter Follansbee's recent posts on this topic). Now my take is a little different than Peter's. I just have to check one more thing this week to see if I'm correct.

Tune in to my blog at blog.woodworking-magazine.com later this week for an update.

— Christopher Schwarz

The morning that I first proposed building a Roubo-style workbench to my co-workers, I was running on about four hours of sleep and five cups of Italian roast coffee.

Earlier that week, I had proposed a cover project for the Autumn 2005 issue of Woodworking Magazine that was not working out. It was a set of contemporary interlocking shelves. I had mocked them up several times using foam-core insulation and presented them to the staff.

No one liked them. Me included.

So the night before our all-staff meeting about that issue of the magazine, I stayed up until 2 a.m. making the first CAD drafts of what would become the workbench I work on today. The staff approved my draft. Not because of its merit, but because of the semi-crazy mountain man look I had in my eye.

Today I embarked on a similar mission to build a super hardcore version of André Roubo's workbench using the original joints, massive timbers and only hand tools.

Housewright Ron Herman of Antiquity Builders in Columbus, Ohio, delivered the cherry planks to our shop this morning, which I stickered in front of our wood rack. The wood is fairly dry – about 12 percent moisture content – and completely massive. The two boards for the top plank are about 5" thick and more than 11" wide each. The leg stock is 6" square.

That's the good news. The bad news that is the wood is punky in places, a result of its time on the forest floor or its time in Herman's tree lot. After the wood showed up, Publisher Steve Shanesy took one look at my mound and just shook his head.

Senior Editor Glen Huey, always the diplomat, asked what I would do if the wood didn't work out the way I wanted it to do.

Senior Editor Bob Lang – always the Silent Bob – said nothing.

I love it when people tell me I cannot do something. I was told I should leave journalism school. I was told I'd never become editor of Popular Woodworking. I was told I could never drink an entire growler of Bell's Hopslam IPA (who's slack-jawed and drooling now?).

And so as I stickered this cherry this afternoon I was already mentally cutting it up to remove the punky places. I was reviewing Roubo's workbench instructions, which I have committed to memory. And, most importantly, I was reminding myself to pick up some more Italian roast coffee on the way home. It's going to be a good winter.

— Christopher Schwarz

We call them "tool pushers" in the collecting world. People who find out what sort of stuff you are interested in and feed you a steady stream of it until your wallet is dry.

One of the worst tool pushers is Slav Jelesijevich, a Chicago area tool collector, cabinetmaker and cat-loving wild man. Get to know Slav just a bit and you'll receive photos of his cats (some of them in attack mode) and you'll get leads on old tools that are new in the box. That's his specialty. I bought a 1970s-era Rockwell band saw from him. In the box. A Work-Mate (in the box). Hammers with 1970s-era Super Bowl tags on them. And too many rasps and files to mention (I guess I just did mention them).

At Woodworking in America, Slav sold a lot of stuff. And a lot of it went home with the other toolmakers on the selling floor with him.

While I was yakking with someone (Harrelson Stanley?) Slav walked by and dropped something in my pocket. Then he disappeared. I knew that whatever it was, it was going to cost me.

It turned out to be something I've always wanted: A never-used Millers Falls bench stop. It is the height of gizmo-cool. Sure a simple block of wood can be your planing stop – you Philistine. Or you can get this remarkably sophisticated spring-loaded, quadra-sided piece of tool engineering awesomeness.

Here's how you install it: Drill two holes in your bench – a 1" hole inside a 2" hole. Screw the stop in. You're done.

Here's how it works: Loosen the screw and the stop goes loosey and bouncy on a spring. Rotate the head until you have the type of stop you want. There's a flat stop, a V-shaped slot, one with four big teeth and one with 10 little teeth.

Set the stop at the height you want – anything up to 1-1/8" and then turn the screw to lock it. Done.

I've seen these in old catalogs, but I've never seen one in person. And now I own one that's never been used. But that last part is going to change.

— Christopher Schwarz

One of the most important early books on woodworking has been indecipherable to everyone who cannot read 18th-century French. Andre Roubo’s landmark five-volume “L’Art Du Menuisier” is difficult to find – reprints are available mostly in Europe and at Tools for Working Wood – and even harder to actually use.

To my knowledge, no one has attempted a systematic translation of these books, which cover furniture-making, carpentry, marquetry, carriage-building and garden structures.

Ever since I first got a glimpse of Roubo’s books, with their exquisite oversized engravings of woodworking tools, benches and practices, I was hooked and really wanted to engage in a full translation. But rather than learn 18th-century French, I’ve enlisted the help of Bjenk Ellefsen, a woodworker, post doctorate fellow in cross-national comparative socio-economical studies and native French speaker.

Bjenk has been reading and translating volume one on carpentry and construction for us, and we are going to publish it here in installments on the Lost Art Press blog as they are completed. These installments will be free for all, but Bjenk and I have a request: If you spot errors, typos, inconsistencies, or things that just don’t make sense, please drop us a line or leave a comment below that entry. We’ll look into it. We want this translation to work for working woodworkers. (And if you want to help translate, let us know that as well. There is plenty to do.)

This section is best read with plate 11 handy. By clicking on the link below, you can download a larger version that is easier to read.

This is an exciting personal project for Bjenk and me. And while I don’t know when we’ll be done or what we’ll learn, I know it’s going to be a great trip. As you’ll see as you read the first entry – about Roubo’s famous workbench from Plate 11 – the information is golden. During the next installment you’ll learn about preparing stock, and you’ll learn a little more about Bjenk.

— Christopher Schwarz

A note on dimensions: The French system of measurement in the 18th century is a little different than the modern imperial system. A French inch (pouce) is the equivalent to 1.066” in modern imperial. Each French inch is further divided into 12 “lines.” Each line is equivalent to .088” today. The French foot is 12.44”.

We chose to leave the French measurements intact in the text, but we’ve provided modern equivalents in brackets when Roubo discusses “lines” – which is a bit foreign to modern eyes. The other measurements in feet and inches have been left intact from the original manuscript. If you need to convert a certain measurement to a modern equivalent, you can use the paragraph above to make the conversion.

Menuisier, I. Part. Chap. V
Third Section
On tools for cutting and preparing wood

The workbench is the first and most necessary of all tools for “woodworking” (see translator’s note No. 1 below). It is made up of a top, four legs, four rails and a bottom. The top is made from a sturdy plank or table of 5” to 6” thick by 20” to 25” wide; its length varies from 6’ to 12’, but the most common length is 9’. This table is made out of elm or beech wood but most commonly from the latter, which is very stout and of a tighter grain than the other.

It must be pierced with many holes into which a holdfast can be placed. These holes must have 14 to 16 lines of diameter [1-1/4” to 1-13/32”] and must be pierced through the top of the bench perpendicularly. Their number is not fixed, but in general we must avoid making too many unnecessarily. Eight to nine is appropriate; that is, four placed 8” to 10” in from the front edge of the workbench, one of which will be 14” to 16” inches from the hook, and the others of equal distance starting from the right front leg of the bench until the first hole, like those that are a, a, a, a in Figure 1. The others b, b, b, b are pierced on the other side of the workbench and laid out so that they will be placed in the middle of the spaces between the holes at front, to about 1’ from each end of the workbench.

At 3” from the front edge of the top, we cut a mortise through the top that is 3” square, which must be very perpendicular and precisely straight inside so that the stop, which we insert into it with some resistance and that we raise or lower with a mallet, does not split the sides (of the mortise), which would happen if the inside was concave.

The stop must be 1’ long at least and made with very stiff and dry oak so that it can resist the mallet blows we have to administer to move it. At the top of this stop we place an iron hook, which has teeth similar to those of a saw, to hold the wood in place that we work on. We must observe that the hook is tight in the top of the stop and that the teeth are raised slightly so that when working with very thin pieces, we do not strike the hook and its teeth with the iron of the tools, which would happen if the back of the hook was more elevated than the front. The shank of the hook which enters the stop must be square in form and pointed at the tip. The shank and the top must not be welded but made of one piece that we bend with fire. The teeth of the hook must extend out the front of the stop by six to eight lines [1/2” to 11/16”]; extending the teeth more would be useless and problematic because the teeth could break. See figures 5 and 6, which represent a stop with its hook and a hook by itself.

The legs of the workbench are made from hard oak, very stiff, 6” wide by 3” or 4” in thickness; they are assembled through the top with through-tenons and through-dovetails. The custom is to make the tenon flush with the back of the leg, see figure 2. However, I believe that it would be best to leave a shoulder on the back of this same leg so that the top can rest on the shoulder on the back of the legs like on the front. This is so when workbenches get older, they don’t risk sinking in on their legs like it happens sometimes. The assembly of the legs (to the top) must be extremely tight especially along their width. And to make them even sturdier, we widen the mortises on top to make room for wood shims that we insert by force into the tenons, so that they spread in such a way “that they are as a tail” (maintained in a spread) in the mortises and consequently can’t slip back out.

The legs at the front of the workbench must be pierced by three holes each into which “leg holdfasts” are to be inserted. Around the workbench and 4” to 5” from the bottom of the legs, are assembled four rails of 4” wide or less by 2” thick. The bottom of the bench is filled with planks that are held with supports, figure 4, attached on the rails. Place the length of these planks perpendicular to the width of the workbench in order to give them more strength, like we can see in figure 1.

We must also place a drawer at the end of the workbench so the workmen can store their small tools like gouges, compasses, etc. There are even shops where workbenches are closed with planks all around, which is very convenient because it keeps shavings and dust out and the tools that we place inside are less likely to be lost.

The height of the workbench is ordinarily 30” but because workmen are not all of the same height, suffice it to say that the workbench must not be higher than the top of the thighs of the person working at the bench. If it were higher, it would deprive him of his strength and it would expose him to bad posture in a short time. We must also observe to place the heartwood side of the slab on top because it is harder than the other side. And if it is to move, it will only bulge on top instead of sagging.

Holdfasts are tools made of iron and are used to hold the work on the bench firmly and stably. They are ordinarily 18” to 20” and even 24” long in the shank; their thickness must be between 12 to 15 (1-1/16” to 1-5/16”) lines, and the curve of their paws is 9” to 10” long by around 10” high. They must be of very soft iron, forged in one piece so they don’t break. All their strength is in their head. That is why we will observe that from the head g to the paw k, they get thinner so that their extremity only has two lines (3/16”) of thickness at the most, which will make them more flexible and increase their pressure.

We must curve them so that when they are tightened they will only grip by the tip of the paw, because if they would carry more pressure in the middle they would ruin the work and hold less firmly (figure 4).

Moreover, it is easy to see that after long use, the shank of the holdfast will widen the holes of the workbench; and if it didn’t grip well by the tip, before long, it would soon carry all the pressure on the back of the paw and cause the problem I have mentioned above.

Engage the holdfast by hitting it on the head g with a mallet and release the holdfast by hitting the head in the other way, that is on its side and upward or on the side of the shank i. Holdfasts must never be polished because then they will not hold well. They should only be roughed up with a file or stone (see translator’s note No. 2). Only the paw must be clean and polished so it does not mar the work.

The “leg holdfasts” are not different, other than they are smaller. They hold the wood on its edge along the length of the workbench with the help of the wooden hook m, figure 1. This hook is fastened with screws or strong nails on the front edge of the workbench's top and is sometimes arrayed with iron points. But because the points often ruin the work, it is best to remove them or to make them like in figure 5 (see the illustration of the hook).

“Ebonists” (Ébénistes) (see translator’s note No. 3) have a vise at the front of their workbenches, which is made of one piece of wood n n, figure 3 and 4, which is 4” to 5” wide by at least 2” thick. This piece is pierced in the middle of its width by a round hole through which passes the screw o p, to which the workbench leg q serves as its nut. This screw is usually wood and through its head passes an iron bolt r, with which tightens and loosens the screw. We adorn the head of the screw with an iron ring to prevent it from splitting.

The use of these vises is very convenient because not only do the vises hold the work very solidly, but they do not mar the work in any way. No matter how delicate the pieces are, we do not fear to ruin them. This is something we can’t do with a leg holdfast, which is holding the work only in one place and will sometimes break it if it is delicate.

I do not know why the “menuisiers en bâtiments” (see translator’s note No. 4) have not adopted this method, which not only is very convenient but is also not a hindrance or embarrassing in any way because the vise can be removed from the bench when it is not needed. When it is used, a wedge of the same thickness as the work must be placed at the bottom so that the screw can apply force everywhere equally. The piece for the vise n should be made slightly concave along its length so that when it is tightened, it grips at its tip. At the rear of the workbench s s, which is opposite the hook, we place a plank of about 18” long by 6” to 8” wide that is attached to wood supports that separate it from the workbench. This plank is named ratelier [rack] and is used to store tools with handles such as chisels, fermoirs, [a big chisel solid enough to receive mallet blows. It could have been for sculpting or mortising or anything that required rough work] etc. That is why we make the plank as wide as possible so that tools that are stored in it are not placed in a way that they can hurt somebody.

Next to this rack and along the length of the workbench we attach a bracket that is lower than the top by about 2” and is pierced at the end by a mortise of 3” long through which passes the blade of a try square [which looks like a triangle] t, which we place there when it is not needed.

Under the top of the workbench, we fasten a hollow piece of wood like a box with a screw into which we put grease to be used on tools to make them slide smoothly (Figure 7).

Translator’s notes:
1 Roubo explains at the start of volume one that "Menuiserie" includes all works made of wood. In truth, all trades had its “Menuisiers” but the term came to refer precisely to woodwork and its workers.  A “Menuisier” in Roubo’s terms can be a joiner, a carpenter, an “ebonist,” a cabinetmaker, etc. When we have the foreword translated, all these terms will be made clearer as Roubo does make sure to explain them all in detail and he even go through its history. Note 4 goes into this in greater detail however.

2 Roubo’s exact words are “mais seulement reparés avec le carreau.” There are no mentions of such a tool other than the tailors iron to remove wrinkles in the ancient dictionaries of the French Academy versions of 1740, 1762 and after. After researching many old and ancient French dictionaries, the closest approximation I arrived at was that “carreau” is either a file or a stone. In Émile Littré’s "Dictionnaire de la langue Française," under “carreau”; entry 15 refers to a big file used by locksmiths and entry 20 refers to a big stone of granite. The word “carreau” appeared as quarrel in the 11th century and it is easy to see its familiarity with quarry. As for the word “reparé” it is not meant as “réparé” (repaired) but in the sense of “pare,” prepared. So I am guessing Roubo is saying the holdfast is roughed out, or prepared, with something that is either a rough file or a rough stone.

3 The Ébénistes were organized as a guild of specialized menuisiers (woodworkers) in veneering and inlays in Roubo’s time.

4 The terms “menuisiers en bâtiments” are not easily translated. Menuisier en bâtiment can only be understood in the context of how trades and crafts were defined in relation to each other in 18th -century France. Take note of the difference: menuisier refers to the worker while menuiserie refers to the craft. Crafts were grouped under guilds and had their secrets to protect. They went through extensive changes when the French Revolution abolished the guilds and later with Napoleon’s reforms. These changes are also part of the explanation why 18th century French tools are mostly no longer around but I digress. Let it be said for now that the Menuisier en Bâtiment was a highly skilled woodworker that was adept at a bit of everything.  Bâtiments, in the old French dictionaries of the 18th century referred to all constructions more particularly destined to house humans, animals or things as well as ships (Littré, 1872-1877). Note: a popular expression was also used in Paris at the time: “être du bâtiment”; to be of the trade, of the craft. Roubo associates Menuiserie en bâtiments to assemblies of all kinds and their vast applications, all the way up to detailed work like ornamentations. The techniques and methods are described as the foundation for all other kinds of woodworking. So, Roubo refers to the Menuiserie en bâtiments as the founding craft from which branches off all the others. This could be why he focuses most of the techniques and tools under the category of “Menuiserie en bâtiments”. Volume 1 is, after all, the biggest of all five. It is interesting to note that Roubo describes the furniture makers as the lower skilled woodworkers for reasons we will explore at a later time.

This morning I processed the stock for 18 more sawbenches that we’ll build during the “All About Hand Tools” class I’m teaching this coming week at the Marc Adams School of Woodworking.

I feel a bit like a midwife on these days. I’ve helped build about 60 of these benches during the last few years, but I rarely get to see my babies after they leave the class.

But helping people cut more than 240 angled birdsmouth joints on the legs and 480 half-lap joints always inspires me to find ways to make this design more material-efficient, lightweight and strong.

The first version of this sawbench used twice as much material and took twice as long to construct. The lessons buried in that design (drawboring and wedging tenons) were the driving factors in its beefy-osity. Today I’ve got this design pared down to where I can build a sawbench in about three hours using hand joinery alone.

In addition to making these quick to build, I’ve also put the suckers on a diet. To build 20 sawbenches, I need only seven 2 x 12 x 10’s and five 2 x 8 x 12’s. And the leftover waste from ripping and crosscutting all that stock won’t fill an office wastebasket.    

But I’m still not satisfied.

I hate the screws we use to join the legs and stretchers. So today I started planning out Sawbench 4.0 as I ripped the 80 legs. My new sawbench design will use a half-lapped dovetail to join the legs, top and stretchers.

Sure, it sounds intimidating, but once you learn to saw to a line, it doesn’t matter what angle that line is. All angles are the same to a handsaw.

So now I’ve got my Honda piled up with Southern yellow pine (Kentucky’s tropical softwood), and I can turn my attention to other things – like worrying that the next Frank Klausz is registered for this class that starts Monday, and I’m going to look like an idiot.

This, of course, is still better than my dreams of showing up naked to high school French class.

— Christopher Schwarz

One of my early workbenches was more than 30" wide. At first, I was thrilled with this width as it allowed me more places to pile junk as I worked on a project.

Then one day I was working on a toy box for a nephew and I wanted to level the finger joints. After fussing and flailing around like a rooster in an empty henhouse I conspired to sleeve the carcase over the end of the bench.

Denied. The bench was too wide. Zut alors!

Lucky for me, however, the bench was a big solid-core door (it had once been the door to our building's cafeteria). So after 10 minutes on the table saw, my benchtop was 24" wide and the carcase fit perfectly over the end.

I like narrow benches for a lot of reasons. I can reach the tools on the wall. They allow me to clamp all around typical carcases right to the benchtop. But I really like a narrow bench when I have to level dovetail joints on a carcase or cabinet.

That is when the Roubo really shines. Today I was leveling some finger joints on a blanket chest and just slapped the thing onto the bench as shown in the above photo and went to work. In the photo I'm knocking down the end grain with a Shinto-rasp (it saves me sharpening time on my block plane when I start with the coarse tool).

Heck, even the 16" overhang on the end of the bench contributes to my bliss. Most carcases are stable with that amount of support, and the legs below the top help brace the work as I flail away on the end grain.

When the carcase is a bit small, like this blanket chest, I have to switch to an outrigger platform (shown below) to work the ends. But I'm still working against the entire benchtop – the top, the right leg and the stretchers. Having them all in the same plane reduces the amount of clamping I have to do to secure my work.

— Christopher Schwarz

When I was designing (i.e. ripping off the plans from a deceased German tool merchant) my Holtzapffel Workbench, my intention was to have the screws of the face vise in perfect alignment with the holdfast hole in the bench’s right leg.

My plan was thus: I could put a huge George Nakashima-style plank in the twin-screw vise and it would come to rest on the shaft of a holdfast stuck in the right leg.

I bet Charles Holtzapffel wished he’d thought of that, I muttered as I drafted this up.

Months passed; I built the bench. And I really mucked that detail up. As built, the holdfast hole in the right leg isn’t lined up with the top edge of the vise screws. Far from it. That hole is about 2” from being in the same plane.

When I first realized the error, I beat myself up pretty badly (no bag of oranges was harmed during the self-flagellation). But before I started going all “prairie dog” on the bench and drilling holes everywhere, I decided to take my own bitter advice: Try it before you burn it.

Here is the huge surprise about twin-screw vises (you ready?). They are monsters, with almost unlimited clamping power. Several months ago, as we were preparing to film a short video about the bench, I bragged that I could clamp an 8’-long board on edge in the twin-screw vise and plane its edge and it would be rock solid.

Eyebrows were raised. Uncomfortable coughs were emitted. Senior Editor Bob Lang, I think, pantomimed that I had been drinking alcohol.

So I went to the wood rack to get me a 1 x 12 x 8’ hunk of something. We didn’t have any 8-footers. The only 1 x 12 stock we had was 10’ long. Yikes. Suddenly I wished I’d had been drinking in order to increase my courage/foolhardiness. A 10’-long board is 4’ longer than the bench itself.

But you know what? The twin-screw vise held it without complaint. So the support in the right leg isn’t really needed. But if you do want to modify your plans to match my original plans, shift all the dog holes in the right leg up 2”. That will do the trick.

Photo credit: Katy, my 6-year-old daughter, took these photos today while I was working on a cursed Chinese plywood bookcase. As you can clearly see from this photo, I still don't have a butt.

— Christopher Schwarz

When I travel with some of my old-school workbenches, it looks a bit like a 19th-century British caravan to India. Since 2005, I’ve strapped my French Workbench into the bed of a tiny Toyota Tacoma pickup truck. I’ve driven it across town with its hinder hanging out the back of a Honda. And I’ve crammed the English Workbench into two too many mini-vans.

These workbenches don’t knock down flat for shipping and weren’t designed to. Society was a lot less mobile when these benches were in favor. And while I prefer these workbenches the way they are – built as one monolithic structure – sometimes you need to build your workbench so it knocks flat.

Though I discuss some bench-bolt schemes in “Workbenches: From Design & Theory to Construction & Use,” I didn’t cover the tricks to installing the hardware. I’ve installed quite a few of these systems in workbenches and beds.

So I’ve written an additional 10-page chapter that covers bench bolts and other systems of making your benches knock down flat into five pieces. Anyone can download this chapter here, for free, whether you’ve purchased the book or not. (The chapter is about 3.5 mb, so you will have an easier time if you do this on a computer with a broadband connection.)

The chapter discusses the pros and cons of the various ways to make your workbench’s base knock-down, including:

1. Solid-wood tusks driven into through-tenons that pass through mortises in the legs.
2. Drawbore pins
3. Lap joints secured with screws or lag bolts
4. Hex-head bolts, bench bolts or threaded rod.

Then I detail how to install the two tricky bits of hardware: hex-head bolts and the Veritas Special Bench Bolts, which I quite like. In addition to discussing knockdown workbench bases, I also discuss some of the different strategies for attaching the top to the base so you can easily remove it.

There might be a little surprise in here for you if you’ve read my book. All of benches feature very stout joinery, yet, I think it’s quite possible to really overdue it when it comes to attaching the top to the base. Most people focus on controlling racking forces when they attach the top. In a well-designed bench, you really should be more concerned about shear forces instead – and those are much easier to manage.

Dec. 20 update: Typos have been fixed in the new file below.

WB-Chapter9-appendixR2.pdf (3.49 MB)

— Christopher Schwarz

A couple readers have pointed out a problem with page 81 of "Workbenches: From Design & Theory to Construction & Use" (Popular Woodworking Books).

The two columns of text on that page were transposed during the layout process, and I didn't catch the mistake before we went to the printer. All the text is there, and the story will make sense if you read the right column of text first and then the left.

Of course, that's not a good solution in my book (pun intended).

So I've prepared a corrected page that you can download, print out and stick in the book if you like. The page is in pdf format. If anyone else has any errors they have spotted, please e-mail them to me and I'll see that they are corrected in future editions (assuming that there are future editions).

NewPage81rev2.pdf (906.22 KB)

Sorry for the mistake.

— Christopher Schwarz

If you've read my book, my blog or my magazine, it's easy to get the impression that I hate benches that have a lot of storage beneath the benchtop. I don't know how many times I've written about how a bench that looks like a kitchen cabinet works about as well as a kitchen cabinet when you need to clamp something to its top.

But that's not the whole story. I think that you can add some significant storage to a bench and still make it just as useful as a stripped-down Roubo workbench (the hulking French bench on the cover of the book).

If you have a lovely French model in your shop, add a shelf inside the bottom rails. Then add three drawers below that shelf, just as Andre Roubo shows in his illustration of a German workbench. Adding these drawers is on my to-do list, as is making the sliding leg vise shown in the same engraving.

If you have the English bench (or are thinking of building one), here are a couple suggestions. Audel's Carpenter's Guide suggests making a bench with a top board that can be removed so you can stow the tools in the cavity below.

That's OK, but that middle board might jump around when you are planning panels. (Carpenters don't plane as many panels as cabinetmakers. Heck, they don't plane anything these days.) So I'd consider making only one half of that board removable. Pick the end of the bench where you don't handplane panels.

Another option is to build a drawer into the front apron, as the ingenious airplane makers did in this shot from the Filton shop in England. That is how I would add storage to an English bench – plus I'd add drawers at the bottom below the apron as well, as shown in a drawing in George Ellis's "Modern Practical Joinery."

None of these solutions will change the way the bench functions, but they sure will give you a place to store your bench chisels and layout tools.

— Christopher Schwarz

When the first copy of “Workbenches: From Design & Theory to Construction and Use” arrived on my desk from China via airmail, I couldn’t stand to even look at it. I stuck it in my satchel (which my wife fondly calls the “manpurse”) and took it home.

Before dinner that evening, I took the book out and showed it to the kids. Maddy, 11, took the book and started paging through it.

“Wow. This is great dad,” she said. “Will you autograph it?”

My heart swelled a bit. I had impressed my daughter that I was an author. But something didn’t quite seem right in her tone of voice.

“Why do you want me to sign it?” I asked.

“So I can sell it on eBay,” she said. “Someone might pay me extra if you sign it.”

Ah, Maddy, my little bourgeois capitalist. Since then a few other people have weighed in on the new book. A few people have said the book is a bit of a rehash of principles I’ve discussed on my blog and in print. That’s fair to a degree. My blog has been a place where I explore ideas in rough-draft form. The book is the summation of more than a decade of ideas and experiences, polished and complete. Well, that was the plan.

This week I got my first review on Amazon, which sells the book at a very competitive price, I might add. I don’t know the reviewer personally, but he read the entire book and grasped the message I was trying to transmit. Below is that review in its entirety, reprinted with the permission of the author.

By the way, we now have plenty of the books in stock (after struggling to keep up with demand). If you’d like to order one that is signed and comes with a deluxe CD, you can visit our store.

— Christopher Schwarz

5.0 out of 5 stars 
A truly remarkable woodworking book
November 17, 2007
By Landscape W. Shipwreck (Island J, Brigstocke Township, N. Ontario)

As an avid reader of Christopher Schwarz's various articles and columns in woodworking magazines, I've been awaiting the publication of this book with anticipation. Now that I've read it I have to say that it's better than I expected, and my expectations were very high.

I've read a number of books and articles on workbenches (notably the ones by Lon Schleining and Scott Landis, which are valuable for what they are: surveys of various styles of workbenches, with info on how to build a few of them). This book is different. Not just a little different. Radically different.

Schwarz is not just a good writer. He is an extremely good writer, vastly better than the majority of writers about woodworking; better than most writers, period. He is not merely capable of explaining things clearly, or of organizing his text coherently. His writing is actually enjoyable to read. He has the ability to combine highly technical information with a kind of narrative structure, within which personal experience, historical research and theoretical conceptualization come together almost seamlessly. One could describe the book as almost an essay in the classical, Montaignesque sense: a personal, spiraling account of a particular subject, whose compelling structure takes the reader along on a wide-ranging voyage of discovery, and makes the reader a companion of the author as he works out his own thinking. However, this should not be understood as saying that the book is in any way vague, for it isn't. I mean to underline its powerfully engaging quality. I believe somebody who wasn't a woodworker, who had no plans whatsoever to construct a workbench, would enjoy reading it.

Schwarz is also a gifted scholar and theoretician, a trait not typical of woodworkers, of writers about woodworking. The evidence of his thorough research and profound thought on his subject abounds in the book. His conceptualization of the workbench as a tool for holding lumber so that its 3 different surfaces (edges, faces, and ends) can be worked is a recognition that you won't find anywhere else, and one that animates the entire book. It may sound simple, even obvious, but so does the second law of thermodynamics.

The book provides designs and construction overviews of 2 very different benches, which may seem a paltry number of options. It is not. Schwarz has distilled years of research and bench-building into these 2 designs, and offers plenty of options along the way as to how one might alter them to suit one's own purposes. The illustrations are abundant, clear and useful. Numerous sidebars provide detailed and helpful insight into a variety of sub- or side-topics (eg. Find a source for yellow pine; Pattern-maker's vises: friend or foe?; The Stanley No. 203 - better than a peg). The index is extensive.

Anybody familiar with Schwarz from his hand-tool courses and DVDs knows that he is a formidable woodworker and teacher. Those qualities resound through this book, as does his engaging ability to be personal, as does his earnestness, as does his good humor. I've always learned easily from him, and this book continues that trend.

The first bench I ever built was from an article of Schwarz's called "The $175 Workbench," published in Popular Woodworking in 2000. I still have it, and use it every day. I will be building another one soon, using an adaptation of one of the designs outlined in this book; this book which will accompany me along the way, like a friend. Perhaps this sounds a bit loopy, but read the book and tell me you don't share the feeling.

Reader Robert Monetti writes: Loved your presentation on workbenches, and now I am inspired to design and build my own. I know you can't believe this, but the only information that is missing is: What are the best shapes for dog holes, round or square? I think square would be better for offering more friction but are direction limited when using clamping dogs.

If round, what diameter? If square or rectangular, what length and width? It would also be helpful as to there location and the orientation of rectangular holes.

Give me answers to these questions and I am on my way local mill house.

— Robert Monetti

Robert: Your questions will fetch a variety of valid answers. After working with both round and square dogs, I have my preferences. But both systems – round and square – work and work quite well. That said, here’s my argument.

I like 3/4”-diameter round dog holes. They are simpler to install during construction of your bench and even after construction. Round dog holes handle a wide variety of modern workbench accessories: hold downs, holdfasts, Wonder Dogs and the like. And you can turn the dogs 360° to clamp odd-shaped pieces.

The downside to round dogs is that they are usually brass or other metal, which can be dangerous to your tools. You can make wooden round dogs (use a tough wood), but I have used metal round dogs for more than a decade with only one minor incident to report.

Place the Dog Holes
So where do you put your dog holes? In general, I like to bore as few as possible. I have a couple dog holes in my benches that I never use. They are, after many years of disuse, like an unfortunate tattoo. They seemed like a good idea at the time. And why they don’t hurt much, they don’t add anything and are a reminder of an evening of wild boring (if that oxymoron is possible).

I use two lines of dog holes. One is for an end vise and one is for holdfasts. If you have an end vise (such as a tail vise), then bore a long line of dog holes near the front edge of your benchtop. Typically, this line of holes is located between 2” and 6” from the front edge. I like 4” – which allows me to clamp a 8”-wide board in the center. I have an 8” power jointer, so this makes sense for me.

I place these holes on 3” centers or so. Closer together is better for this line of dog holes because closely spaced dog holes will prevent you from screwing and unscrewing your tail vise as much.

The rear line of dog holes is different. It is mostly for holdfasts, and their spacing is determined by how far the pad of the holdfast is from the shaft. If this distance is 8”, than placing your holes every 16” (maybe a little less) allows you full coverage along the rear of your bench.

This line of holes should be located about 6” or so from the rear edge of your bench. That will allow you to rotate your holdfasts for a variety of holding situations. That should get you started.

— Christopher Schwarz

Whenever a beginning bench-builder bends my ear, the No. 1 question they have is usually about what species of wood they should use to build their workbench.

They’re almost always vapor-locked on the issue and unable to proceed on their design until they pick the perfect species.

In my experience, there is a far better way to ask this question: What woods shouldn’t you use to build a bench? That list is far shorter.

Depending on your workbench’s design, the list of verboten species could be entirely empty. You can make a fantastic workbench out of the cheapest white pine 2 x 12s at the home center – just make the top 5” thick and the legs 5” x 5”. It’ll be awesome.

But people don’t want to use white pine I guess, because that’s for stud walls and skateboard ramps. Or it’s too cheap. Or it dents too easily. So I know that I can’t talk anyone into making a white pine bench, no matter how hard I try.

So here’s are the important characteristics of an ideal workbench wood that won’t get you laughed out of your local woodworking guild.

1. It should be stiff. A stiff species will allow you to cross long spans with the top unsupported by aprons or braces, which can get in the way of your clamps. To determine how stiff a species is, check out the chart I’ve included here that I lifted from my book, “Workbenches: From Design & Theory to Construction & Use.” (It’s fun to violate my own copyright.)

2. It should be heavy. Heavy benches are superior to lightweight benches, which you chase around your shop. A heavy bench moves only when you want it to. Check the wood’s specific gravity – its weight compared to water. That’s the measuring stick for this characteristic.

3. It should be inexpensive. You don’t have to buy steamed European beech to make a great bench. Until recently, European beech was expensive in this country (prices are falling). European cabinetmakers chose beech for their benches because it was stiff, heavy and cheap.

4. It should be readily available. Workbenches are great. The only thing greater than a workbench is all the great stuff you get to build on it. Don’t delay building a bench because you’re having trouble finding the wood.

5. It should resist denting. This is a bit of a minor point because I’ve worked on benches that dent easily. And it’s no big deal when they get dented because it won’t affect the quality of your finished work and you eventually work the dents out when flattening the top. To determine how dent-resistant a species is, check out its Janka scale rating.

6. It should be light in color. I wouldn’t enjoy working on an ebony bench. It would be really hard to see what I was working on. You’re often sighting things against your bench, such as when you peer down your plane’s sole to see if the iron is centered in the mouth. A light-colored bench makes this easy. Plus, the benchtop reflects light, making the shop appear lighter.

7. It should be easy to work and glue. Purpleheart and hickory get used to build masochist workbenches. You’re going to have to flatten the top of your bench some day, so make it easy on yourself, long-term.

So what woods excel in many of these categories? Plenty. In my neck of the woods, yellow pine, ash, white oak and red maple would all be outstanding low-dollar benches. (Especially ash. Thanks to the emerald as borer, ash is about as cheap as yellow pine these days.) Oh, and don’t be afraid to mix species. If you’re short on cash, make your base from a junk species and spend the money on the top. You can always replace the base.

Here are some other choices. A little pricer but still solid: white oak, white maple, birch and beech.

OK, but not my first choice: poplar, red oak, hickory (too hard to work).

Probably not, except in a pinch: walnut, cherry (too dark and a little soft), basswood (too soft), sycamore (too hard to work the quartersawn faces), and almost all the exotics (too expensive and sometimes difficult to glue).

So if the question about wood species is a red herring for bench builders, what do I think is the most important question about bench design? Here it is: How soon can you start building?

— Christopher Schwarz

When I open the book “With Hammer in Hand” about the Dominy workshop, it opens up to one of two places every time. Sometimes it opens up to the first page describing the anvils in the Dominy shop. This particular crease in the book’s binding must be the work of William Munsell Roberts, the previous owner of this somewhat rare tome. I don’t give two toots for anvils (unless they’re dropped on things).

The other place my book falls open is page 55 – the page that describes one of the Dominy’s magnificent workbenches that was in their workshop in East Hampton, N.Y., until the contents of the shop were relocated to the Henry Francis du Pont Winterthur Museum in Delaware.

This massive 18th-century workbench – 148-1/4” long by 29-1/2” high by 28-1/4” deep – looks nothing like the modern workbenches in woodworking schools, workshops and catalogs. There is no tail vise. There is no trestle base. No quick-release, shoulder or metal vises. Instead the workholding is dead-nuts simple. There is a huge twin-screw vise in the face-vise position. There is a sliding deadman used to support long boards on edge. And there’s a single-point planing stop.

This bench is – for me – the link between the Old World workbenches of Andre J. Roubo, Peter Nicholson and Joseph Moxon and the workbenches of today. The bench has a Roubo-style skeleton. The top is a massive 5-1/2”-thick slab of red oak supported on legs that look like they are small tree trunks. The legs are flush to the front edge of the benchtop, just like in Roubo’s illustrations. The planing stop is right out of Roubo. It’s big and wooden and adjusted with mallet taps.

The twin-screw vise and sliding deadman look like the workholding arrangement shown in Charles Holtzapffel’s book, published in England, on woodworking and cutting tools (I own a reprint of the 1875 edition).

In other words, the Dominy workbench was one of the most inspiring forms as I launched into my research for “Workbenches: From Design & Theory to Construction & Use.” I had considered building a Dominy-style workbench, but I never could get enough details to answer all my questions. And, until earlier this month, I’d never even seen the thing in person.

Last Sunday after the Lie-Nielsen Toolworks Hand Tool Event in Philadelphia, I took off with a couple willing souls to the Winterthur museum. For me, this was a lot like my first visit to Graceland, but without a pair of bickering friends and a Mazda 626 with a dogmeat camshaft (I’ll save that for another blog entry on “Craftsmanship of the Jungle Room.”)

We got to the museum on a Sunday afternoon, took a tour of the furniture and then climbed the steps (I took them two at a time) to the museum’s gallery where the Dominy workshop is located.

I almost walked right by it.

The Dominy workshop, the most complete and preserved workshop for our country’s early history, is consigned to two behind-the-glass displays. What you could see behind the glass – peering through the simulated shop windows of the display – was intoxicating. But it was dimly lit and so far away that I began to despair. The photos in Charles F. Hummel’s book got me closer to the object of my intense desire.

I thought about trying to flash my press credentials to favor a closer look (perhaps a peek at the undercarriage of the bench), but it was late on a Sunday and the museum staff had their hands full with the regulars. So I took some photos to study and took consolation in one small fact.

My family sure will be pleased to hear that I won’t be building a 12’-long Dominy workbench – yet.

— Christopher Schwarz