Editor’s note: Dean Jansa is a dyed-in-the-wool traditional hand-tool woodworker who helped ignite many of the ideas behind my book on workbenches. At our request, Jansa gracious agreed to let us post some of his hand-tool tutorials he prepared for a Google Group. This first tutorial coves some of the basic strokes when sticking a moulding by hand.

— Christopher Schwarz

I was making a simple molding for a chest I am working on and thought I'd document the process. If you want to watch someone who really knows what they are doing I recommend Don McConnell's DVD "Traditional Molding Techniques: The Basics."

I've followed the same steps he outlines in the DVD, but Don does a better job of describing the steps than I probably will.

The first step, after deciding on the profile, is to lay the profile out on the edge of the stock and cut a series of steps with a fillister that will later guide the hollows and rounds.  Note: It appears that I am cutting the steps on the edge of a large piece of stock. I'm not.  That rough board is just used as a makeshift fence to turn my entire benchtop into a long sticking board.



It is a good idea to build your bench as long as you can. My bench is just a bit longer than  8’, and I stick the molding on a piece as long as I can fit on my bench. When creating moldings by hand there will be natural variations in the profile along its length. If you stick the profile as one long piece you can then wrap the moulding around the entire case and have profile match at the corners. The profiles, over the short distance needed to cut the miter, will match. So build a long bench!



Here you can see the resulting steps left by the fillister. There’s no need to worry about a little tear-out, the hollows and rounds will remove more stock and they are pitched higher than my fillister, which reduces tearing).



Next I cut the concave portion with a round plane.



Then the convex portion with a hollow plane.



Finally, cut the last bit of profile on the top of the molding with a hollow. (I didn't take a photo, sorry.) Here is the resulting molding.



Finally, wrap the moulding around the case. First cut the front molding from the middle of the long board, then cut the sides from the pieces cut from the left and right of the front molding. Here it is on the case.

— Dean Jansa

Though my wife might disagree, I am definitely a leg man.

Whenever I'm going to great lengths in the shop, it's usually because I'm preparing a set of legs for a table or a chair. I will sort through hundreds of board feet of lumber to find the right thick planks that have the grain pattern I like.

I will gladly band saw boards at odd angles to create the bastard grain that will produce a leg that looks good from all sides. Today I spent a long time (too long, actually) finding stock that had the right curve to work with a double taper on a Stickley 802 sideboard I'm working on.

And when it comes to prepping my stock, I always do the legs (and any panels) separately from the rest of the carcase stock so I can focus on getting the legs dead square.

Like any red-blooded American woodworker, I also like a really nice top. And I go the extra mile to make a top that gets admiring glances. But I think tops are easier because ultimately they just have to look good. Accuracy can take a back seat – except at the edges.

Legs have to be accurate on certain faces, otherwise the whole assembly will be cock-eyed, have gappy joints or both.

I don't know any woodworkers who obsess about bottoms in furniture. Perhaps James Krenov? He puts a whole lot of effort into the base when he builds a chest-on-stand.

And don't get me started on those nutjob woodworkers who obsess about feet.

— Christopher Schwarz

Let’s play a game I call “Stupid or Ethical?”

The first time I interviewed Robin Lee, president of Lee Valley Tools, I asked him a few questions that readers had been asking me for years. Robin’s answers are paraphrased below, though I’ve heard him say them so many times in the last decade I could almost quote him verbatim.

Q: Why doesn’t Veritas come out with an inexpensive Bed Rock plane to compete with Lie-Nielsen?

A: That wouldn’t be fair to Tom Lie-Nielsen. We’d rather produce our own line of planes instead of copying his.

Q: Why doesn’t Veritas come out with a line of less expensive Stanley 750 chisels to compete with Lie-Nielsen?

A: That wouldn’t be fair. Besides, we have our own line of chisels already and might do something different in the future.

Q: Why doesn’t Veritas make an infill plane to compete with all these makers who charge thousands of dollars for a plane?

A: That’s their market. We’d rather build our own planes than copy someone else’s.

Q: Why doesn’t Veritas produce a less-expensive brass-back dovetail saw….

Well, you get the idea.

On the other side of that fence, Lie-Nielsen has stayed out of Veritas’s back yard on a number of occasions. During one visit to the Lie-Nielsen Toolworks, I saw a prototype of a bullnose plane. When Veritas came out with its bullnose shortly thereafter, Lie-Nielsen shelved its plans.

The question isn’t about the legality of copying tools. It’s much more important than that. Some might contend that this sort of behavior is stupid. Shouldn’t these companies be out to grab as much market share as possible? Or is it somehow ethical to steer clear of your competitors’ ideas and instead push your own ideas (assuming you have any) forward?

My bias is obvious. My work gets ripped off everyday. People copy my articles, put them on CDs and sell them on eBay. They post them for free download on Russian sites. They place my copyrighted text whole cloth on their foreign web sites and claim it for their own.

Just because something is legal doesn’t mean it’s right.

For me, copying tools is a simple issue. Ask yourself one question: Will the copy confuse the reasonable consumer? If the copy looks so much like a competitor’s that it is going to confuse buyers, then it’s dishonest.

I’m not saying you can’t do it. Or that you’re violating laws. I’m just saying that I won’t support you with my dollars.

— Christopher Schwarz

P.S. For those who haven't been reading WoodNet and the debates on copied tools, try this link. Or (if you have four hours of your life to spare) this.

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

The T-shirt slogan contest was great fun. I eventually had to stop checking the entries while I was at work, however, because I was worried that human resources was going to nail me for some of the stuff scrolling across my screen.

The three winning slogans are:

“Trying Stuff Since 1678” from Mike Siemsen. Lucy, my spouse and a writer, called out this one as the most clever of all the entries.

“We Nail, We Screw, We Bolt” from Ben Davis. When I insisted on this one, Lucy rolled her eyes as if to say “You wish.”

I let Lucy pick the third winner, which turned out to be quite disturbing on a personal level.

“Inch-prickt Since 1678” by Dave Fisher.

Ben and Dave: Drop me a line at christopher.schwarz@fuse.net. My blog software ate your e-mail addresses.

The winners will all receive the Pin-Eez sawnut tool and one of the T-shirts with the current slogan. As soon as we sell out of those, we’ll use one of these new ones.

Thanks to everyone who entered.

— Christopher Schwarz

When I was in high school, my father gave me a great gift: a leather vest.

I wore the snot out of that thing. I wore it when I dated my future wife in college. I wore it when Steve Shanesy interviewed me for my job here at Popular Woodworking. I have – quite literally – worn the buttons off the thing.

Last year, I realized that my beloved cow covering was a catastrophe. Frayed. A bit smelly. Unusually soiled.

So after 20 years of faithful service, I retired that vest and decided to buy myself a new one. My new vest is well made, but it’s shiny and stiff. I am neither.

So I sought out some way to age the finish on the vest. I found a lot of advice out there: Drag it behind my car. Put it in the clothes dryer with some rocks. Sand it. Wad it up, stuff it under the bed and sleep on it over and over.

As I considered all this advice I noticed something about the givers. None of these advisers had actually done this to their precious skin-based garments. They were just repeating things they had heard or were making up things that “should work.”

So I dug deeper until I found the stagehands. According to these people, they used denatured alcohol to age leather costumes for plays about pirates, bikers and S&M-loving citizens. Their instructions were specific and consistent: Put alcohol in a spray bottle. Spray a large surface and then wipe it down. Instant age.

It sounded like wood finishing advice, so I was instantly skeptical. So I decided to do what any wary woodworker would do: I tried it on a hidden area of a non-essential garment.

It worked. So I went to town on my new vest with a squirt bottle and a rag.

Now I have a vest I’m more comfortable in, and a new appreciation for how-to information. You see, whenever I write something about woodworking, I strive never to repeat things as gospel that I haven’t tried. If my name is on it, I’ve done it. Or I’m quoting someone I trust.

This isn’t always the case in any journalism (including knitting journalism and ferret-training journalism). I have read enough garbage in my lifetime to know that some people just repeat other people’s garbage because it has been repeated enough times that it has to be true.

This is the long way of saying that we should do what Virgil (70 B.C. - 19 B.C.) recommended: “Believe one who has tried it.”

— Christopher Schwarz