The set of Barr Cabinet Maker’s Chisels I purchased.
When I bought a set of Lie-Nielsen chisels in the early 2000s, I had to sell my set of Barr Cabinet Maker’s Chisels. Our kids were young (Katherine was just 3), and Lucy and I struggled to pay the $1,200 monthly daycare bill for two kids.
I couldn’t justify owning two nice sets of chisels when I needed only one.
I rationalized selling the Barrs by saying the Lie-Nielsens were more suited for the work I was doing at the time – lots of dovetails. And I stand by that statement. The Lie-Nielsens are lightweight and have outstanding balance. And they won’t wear you out if you have to chop out 100 pin sockets.
But I regretted selling the Barrs. They were simply outstanding, and they held an edge better than any other tool steel I’ve worked with (including Japanese chisels). I wrote about my long experience with Barr tools here on my substack, “The American Peasant.”
The Cabinet Maker’s chisels are fantastic for heavy work and have a handmade feel, like my blacksmith-made scorp, adze and 2” Barr chisel.
This week I turned the clock back, and I now own a set of four Barr Cabinet Maker’s Chisels. After chatting with Ginger Quarton at the company, I learned that the company still makes batches of the chisels two or three times a year. I asked if I could get on a waiting list.
As luck would have it, they had a set of the tools on hand – a customer had changed his mind. So I purchased his error.
The four chisels – 1/4”, 1/2”, 3/4” and 1” – come in a heavy leather tool roll. They are exactly like my old Barrs. Beefy and easy to sharpen.
They are a good deal heavier than my Lie-Nielsens. The Barr 1/4” chisel weighs 145 grams; the Lie-Nielsen 1/4” weighs 65 g. The Barr 1/2”: 192 g. The same-size Lie-Nielsen: 95 g.
With no more daycare (or college tuition) bills left to pay, I am happy that I can keep both sets. Yes, I feel a little Anarchist’s Tool Chest Guilt. But I have room for both chisel sets in my tool chest. Hell, I still have quite a bit of space in my tool chest for other stuff if I wanted more planes or scorps or an extra brace or two (which I really don’t).
I spent an hour at the bench tonight tuning up the Barr chisels. (They didn’t need much – just a little polishing on the back because I’m a fussy guy.) I’m now in the middle of building several chairs, and I have some large through-tenons to chop. So these tools are going straight to work in the morning.
The most recent batch of Huck weave towels we bought are terrible. They leave little blue strings behind. Not just a wee bit of lint. Big blue strings everywhere, like I wiped my project with Grover during the high shedding season for Muppets.
I first fell in like with Huck towels when Ty Black, who worked in my shop, brought in a bunch of surgical towels that his (now ex-) wife had brought home from her hospital job. They were listed as sterile. They were amazing. They were soft but had a pebbly finish that was great for rubbing out wax and other finishes. They absorbed lots of material. They were washable and reusable. And I never saw Grover fur stuck to every arris.
So I am issuing a warning about Huck towels. There are so many vendors out there. I cannot try every one of them, but I can fall back on what I know: sterile surgical towels.
The Grover towels at left.
Today I received a shipment of sterile surgical towels from Medline at Home. They were about the same price as other vendors. But here’s the difference. They are the real deal. They are in sterile packs. And they don’t leave strings behind.
So if you have been unimpressed with the Huck towels I’ve recommended in the past, I encourage you to give them another try from a medical vendor. If they are listed as sterile and come in sealed, sterile packs, they are the real thing (surgeons don’t like to leave blue strings inside their patients during surgery).
I apologize if y’all have been afflicted by the Hair-loss Grover towels.
A few weeks ago, Chris asked me to research The Anthe Building. To help, he put me in contact with Heather Churchman, who runs one of our favorite Instagram accounts, Covington Uncovered. Heather was instrumental in the development of this piece for her research, knowledge of Covington history and where to find necessary information. In this post and a couple more to come, Heather and I will share information with you about the Anthe building, company and family, and why the history of this building is so fitting for the future of Lost Art Press. We also met with Jason French, curator at Behringer-Crawford Museum, who shared with us some historical items from Anthe Machine Works (check out his Curator’s Chat video on Anthe Machine Works here) and is helping to coordinate an interview and oral history project with members of the Anthe family soon.
p.s. If you would like to help fund the Anthe Building restoration project, we are selling some limited-edition items here.
In 1890, 1895 and 1897, Frank D. Anthe is listed in the Williams & Co. city directories as “Anthe Frank, mach. H. 648 Philadelphia.” This indicates his occupation was machinist and the address, we presume, was his home address. Anthe Machine Works has long advertised that it was established in 1897, and this change is noted, in part, in the 1898-1899 city directory, with two addresses and the structure of his name: “Anthe Frank D. machinery, n.e.c. Stewart and Russell Av. H. 648 Philadelphia.”
(1886) Sanborn Fire Insurance Map from Covington, Kenton County, Kentucky. Sanborn Map Company. [Map] Retrieved from the Library of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/item/sanborn03152_001/.
Looking at historical Sanborn maps, Heather noted that in 1886, the area around 407 Madison had dwellings that were near a huge industrial block with Fred J. Meyers Architectural Iron Works occupying most of the space.
I want to pull you aside for a moment, with an excerpt from the book “They Built a City: 150 Years of Industrial Cincinnati,” published by The Cincinnati Post in 1938, to illustrate the prominence of the machine tool industry during this time:
“Probably the first Cincinnatian to invest mind, brawn, and money in the business of manufacturing machine tools was John Steptoe, a foundry man who hustled about his shop on Clay Street. About 1850 Steptoe fashioned a wood planer, a machine used extensively in local woodworking plants. Marketing his product proved so profitable that Steptoe in 1855 took in as a partner Thomas McFarlan, carpenter, who not only believed that woodworkers needed machines to increase production, but also that he could give them exactly what they wished. The firm of Steptoe & McFarlan was therefore soon putting out mortising and ennoning [stet] machines which were revolutionary in trade practices.”
John Boh notes in the July 2006 Bulletin of the Kenton County Historical Society that Cincinnati and Covington began to see more and more machine tool manufacturers around this time, in part, thanks to the introduction of the steam engine.
Continuing in “They Built a City,” pages are spent on the history of the machine tool industry along with dozens of listings of large machine tools producers during this time, noting that a number of companies rebuilt and repaired machine tools for resale.
“…Because a great many improved, as well as newly designed machines are being made here, some companies specialize in this type of research and engineering: Anthe Machine Works, 407 Madison Avenue, Covington. …These plants have made Cincinnati the recognized world center for machine tool production. More than 35 of the 150 plants in America are situated here. They build practically every tool used in industry….”
Back to the Sanborn maps. By 1894, the entire space around 407 Madison was barren after a fire destroyed Fred Meyers, which Heather says, explains why the buildings at both 407 and 409 Madison are considered “newer” for the neighborhood.
In 1902, Anthe must have been renting space at Phoenix Manufacturing Company due to this article in the May 12, 1902 edition of The Cincinnati Enquirer: “Not since the fire at the F. J. Meyer Wire Works, on March 4, 1892, the day of the inauguration of President Grover Cleveland, have the firemen been compelled to cope with such a large fire as that of Saturday night, which at one time threatened the entire neighborhood at Third and Russell Streets.”
The fire gutted Phoenix, a four-story building. Anthe is mentioned near the end of the article: “The loss to the Anthe Machine Works east of the scroll works was about $10,000 and is not fully insured. Several of the firemen were injured by falling glass and cut and bruised about the hands and face.”
The listing in the 1904-1905 city directory: “Machine Works, Frank D Anthe propr. n.e.c. Stewart and Russell Av.”
On August 29, 1905, a building permit was issued by Auditor Gould to F. D. Anthe. The permit was for a “three-story brick factory building to cost $3000.”
Building 407 Madison Ave.
We get some details on the 1897 construction of the Anthe building from an application written in 1983 for the Covington Downtown Commercial Historic District to be named to the National Register of Historic Places. It states:
“The Anthe Machine Works, a similar business, however, has been located in a factory and offices with a fine Neo-Classical front at 407-409 Madison built (or rebuilt) for the same family firm at the turn of the century. This is the kind of small shop of highly-skilled workers (many of them probably of German background), making very specialized products, that characterized the Covington economy, and to some extent, the downtown area, throughout the later 19th and early 20th century, although sometimes on a large scale, like the Stewart Iron Works that have remained at Madison and 17th Street for almost a century.”
and
“Schofield, of Schofield & Walker, used a similar manner in orange brick for the Anthe Buildings, constructed or refaced shortly afterward nearby at 407 and 409 Madison (Photo 5, distance).”
and
“The Weber Brothers, Schofield, Walker, and William Rabe who worked first for [Daniel] Seger and then with Schofield from 1898 and 1904, may also have designed the many similar buildings throughout Covington.”
When walking through the Anthe Building you get the sense that things have stayed beautifully stagnate, at least structurally and architecturally, over time. This sense also rings true in an article written by Mike Pulfer, who featured the Anthe company in The Cincinnati Enquirer in 1983. He interviewed Don Anthe, who took over the company after their father died (Frank J. Anthe) in 1963. (An interesting aside: According to the article, Frank J. Anthe took over the company from his father, Frank D. Anthe, when he was only 15 years old.)
In the article, Don remembers spending Saturdays cleaning up the basement, whitewashing the walls and running errands for his father. At the time this article was written, because of the recession, business was down 75 percent. Where Anthe used to employ 10 employees, they were down to five. Part of their saving grace, Don states, is that the family owned 407 Madison.
“The structure, a row building put together in 1897 as the Anthe Building, is the epitome of low overhead,” Pulfer writes. “It looks much the same as it [stet] in its infancy, with its original wainscotting and wood floors. The stairway that leads to the third and uppermost level remains decorated in the same turquoise paint Don and Frank Anthe had slapped around as children.
The turquoise paint remains to this day.
“Steel powder and shavings litter the floors on the first and second levels, where more than a dozen machines are scattered. The third floor is used for storage and utilities.
“The office, with a display window fronting Madison Avenue, is basic and functional. The antique photographs of the business and the partially consumed bottle of whiskey Frank Joseph Anthe left behind remain tucked away in the bottom of a desk drawer.
“‘We’re largely known in the woodworking industry as custom tool builders,’ Anthe said. ‘If somebody wants a special router bit, we’ll agree to make him one or two, or a half dozen or a dozen.
‘The larger manufacturers won’t handle anything less than 100.’
“…A couple of decades back, ‘People were telling us plastics were coming in and they were going to take over the furniture industry,’ Anthe said. ‘They said we’re going to be out of business …Well, plastics came in, and plastics went out. People like wood.’”
Fast-forward to an article written in October 16, 2003 in The Cincinnati Enquirer that states that the building was designed with reinforced beams to support the Anthe machines’ weights. And in the 1970s, many of the firm’s belt-driven machines had to be replaced with electric ones to meet new workplace regulations.
By January 30, 1906, there were two ads in The Kentucky Post:
“MACHINIST—Good man with general experience in toolroom. F.D. Anthe. 407 Madison Ave. Covington.”
“CABINET MAKERS—Two, good at once. 407 Madison Ave.”
The 1908-1909 city directory listing: “Frank D prop Anthe Machine Works 407 Madison Ave h 646 Philadelphia.” And looking at a 1909 Sanborn map, 407 Madison is identified as “Machine Shop, Woodworking.” 409 Madison Ave. does not yet exist.
Other Businesses at 407 Madison Ave.
Anthe posted ads for factory space for rent in local newspapers as space became available.
1924: “FACTORY SPACE for rent: 3rd floor; plenty of light; reasonable rent; elevator furnished.”
The Cincinnati Enquirer, March 2, 1924
One of the first businesses to rent space in the newly built Anthe building was Kelley-Koett X-Ray Manufacturing Company (which employed Herman Anthe, Frank J. Anthe’s brother), in 1905. They rented the second floor, per an article written by John Boh in the January/February 2020 issues of the Bulletin of the Kenton County Historical Society.
We can tell the types of other businesses that rented space, in part thanks to newspaper job ads.
1914: INNER SOLE CUTTER—On block. No. 407 Madison av. Covington, Ky.
1917: GIRLS—Exper. On power sewing machines to make skirts, middles and dresses; good pay; steady work. 407 Madison, Cov.”
1919: JOB-PRINTING pressfeeder: experienced. PICTORIAL SOAP CO. 407 Madison av. Covington, Ky.
1921: WE REGRIND CYLINDERS: Drop in and see the only cylinder grinder in Northern Kentucky. General Machine Work a Specialty. Dixie Regrinding Co. 407 Madison Ave.”
1926: Solicitors Wanted: Crew managers and helpers, men and women, to sell our new kitchen utensil, “EJECTOR FORK.” Write or call at office. THE CHRISMAN MFG. CO., 407 Madison Av.”
1926: Unusual Values: in Lamp Shades, Bases and Uncovered Wire Frames: The Chrisman Mfg. Co. 407 Madison Ave., Second Floor.”
Anthe posted job openings from time to time as well.
1942: LATHE HAND: Experienced Men Only: If engaged in war work do not apply. ANTHE MACHINE WORKS. 407 Madison Ave.”
1946: “MACHINISTS—For lathe or milling machine, only experience men need apply, 407 Madison Ave., Covington, Ky.”
The Cincinnati Enquirer, February 10, 1946
1951: “SUBCONTRACTS WANTED: Machine Shop equipped with 6 engine lathes, 4 milling machines, cutter, grinder and heat-treating equipment is looking for work.”
Historical newspapers are a treasure trove of personal information. In them we learned that Frank Anthe defeated Rev. James H. Lions, pastor of the Shinkle M. E. Church, in a 1928 handball tournament involving 20 businessmen at the local YMCA. Frank Anthe’s $50 overcoat was stolen from his office in 1932. And in 1921, yeggs went to the trouble of breaking into his safe, only to walk away with $50 in war savings bonds.
The Kentucky Post, November 25, 1921
A Building that Was Meant to be
One of the reasons Chris fell in love with the Anthe building is because of its tie to local woodworking history. Then, we made another discovery:
A printing company (!) occupied the entire second floor from 1931 to 1976.
“Gottleib Frederick Adolf (“Fred”) Schramm fled from the German Kaiser from Tubingen, Germany, passed through Port Huron, Mich., and eventually settled in Florence, Boone County, Kentucky about 1896,” writes John Boh in an article in the January 1991 Kenton County Historical Society Review.
Schram dropped the second “m” in his name, began printing for Hopeful Lutheran Church and did other contract printing for a decade before establishing a print shop with a partner on Pike Street in Covington. Their first big contract was to print stationery and whisky labels for Crigler and Crigler distillery. Schram bought his partner out and in 1931 moved to the second floor of the Anthe building. The business, which eventually was passed to Schram’s son, John, remained in operation until John’s retirement in 1976.
The Cincinnati Post, December 24, 1933
You can see the printing presses and letter trays that were used on the second floor of the Anthe building at the Schram Print Shop at Heritage Village Museum in Sharonville, Ohio. Schram Printing Company donated these items in 2004, and Heritage Village built a structure, Schram Print Shop, in their living history museum, to house them.
The press, paper cutter and cases of type all existed in the original Schram Print Shop at 407 Madison Ave. Today you can see them at Schram Print Shop, Heritage Village Museum. Photo by Ethan Powles.
The Anthe Building is impressive when you walk through it. But what I kept seeing were the people. Present in the lone wooden hanger.
The broom.
Buzz, Al, Terry and Lonnie.
And while reading the obituary I found for Victor J. Schraivogel, who died at age 69, a retired machinist who worked at Anthe Machine Works for 44 years.
In 2003, Jenny Callison interviewed Doug and Mark Anthe for an article titled “Long-standing businesses survive on service” in The Cincinnati Enquirer.
“Doug and Mark Anthe operate the cutting tool plant started by their great-grandfather in 1897,” Callison writes. “There are other elements of continuity; Anthe Machine Works occupies the same structure where it began more than a century ago. It continues to make cutting tools for the furniture industry.
“‘We stick to the plan for the people before us,’ Doug Anthe said. ‘We produce a good product and back it up. But we have the ability to shift.’”
Editor’s note: Here’s the backstory for “A Visitor Comes to Covington: A Fairy Tale,” a delightful handmade book that Suzanne sent me in March. I have made a video reading of the book you can watch here. Enough of my yakking. Here’s Suzanne:
Back in January, I sent a New Year’s card to Chris and Megan. In return, I received a handwritten thank you card and three stick chair badges. According to the Stick Chair Laws I was required to make a stick chair. Not being a woodworker, only a user of wood-based products, this presented a problem.
My first thought was to make a collage featuring a stick chair and I played around with that idea with digital renderings.
This example was sent to Chris as a joke. Stick chair art on the wall, including a wedding photo, wallpaper and a John Brown chair.
Eventually, I went with the idea of a small book centered on a quote by my favorite 16th-century essayist, Michel de Montaigne, “Je veux que la mort me trouve plantant choux, mais nonchalent d’elle, et encore plus mon jardin imparfait.” In the story, a fairy tale, a Grim Reaper, arrives to escort a chairmaker to the great beyond. Having been given three stick chair badges the story would have a series of threes. I also wanted the book to be interactive with instructions to open, untie and unfold different items. I mined the Lost Art Press blog, Roubo’s “The Book of Plates” and other sources for the illustrations.
The prologue about the start of the visitor’s journey opens by lifting the planing stop from Megan’s workbench. The underside of the stop is lined with part of Randle Holme’s 17th-century tool kit. Somewhere in the chart is a stick chair badge.
All journeys begin with a map, and pirate maps are the best and most useful for constructing an alternate history of Covington and surrounding areas. The street map is from 1877, the decorative frame and the visitors skiff are from an Australian map.
The map was aged with the usual things: tea, water, dirt, curling, crumpling and folding. The manicules on the map point out where the story starts and will end.
The visitor’s arrival in Covington opens the main part of the story and and it is fairly clear he is a rather stylish Grim Reaper (I felt no need to depict him as a skeleton wearing a hooded robe). After hearing “Werewolves of London”on the car radio I added the line, “Under his hat his hair was perfect.”
The visitor has arrived well before the appointed time with the chairmaker and spends the first part of his trip visiting three old friends: a turtle, a cat and a queen bee. The idea for the animals as the visitor’s friends began with an old street name. On the 1877 map Covington still had a Bremen Street (now known as Pershing Street, probably renamed during World War I). A cat was one of the four musicians from the Brothers Grimm tale, “Town Musicians of Bremen.” The cat was a night singer (or yowler) and in one version of the story was named Burlόn. The image used is a sculpture by Gerhard Marcks, who also sculpted a statue of the four musicians that stands in the city of Bremen.
The three friends are representative of life cycles. Old Turtle will live for over a century; Burlόn, the cat, will live for less than a quarter century; Honey Tart, the queen bee, will live for a year or two and her worker bees only a number of days. They are also symbols of human characteristics: wisdom, independence and curiosity, and the industrious worker.
After imbibing a very nice Bordeaux and elderberry cordial the visitor mistakenly summons a third manicule that takes the reader to the middle of the story. Was the rogue manicule really a mistake or did it have another purpose? In the prologue it states the visitor has an obligation and here is part of that obligation, to delay his arrival to allow the chairmaker to finish his last chair. This is a mark of the visitor’s admiration and respect for the chairmaker.
The double doors into which the visitor vanishes happen to be from Paris and the curious reader can open them. Inside there is a stern-faced cat blocking the view of a vortex. So, nothing to see here folks, move along. While the reader advances to the wonderful workshop on Willard, the visitor deals with some of the behind-the-scenes bureaucracy of manicules.
Figuring out how to illustrate the workshop took a few days of thinking. The inspiration came from a menko, a square origami packet. The menko opens outward like a flower, and in the middle is a square. The four views of the shop were taken from a video Chris made a few years ago. The middle, or floor, was blank until it became the space for woodworking classes (with students who have broken the laws of time and space to be there). The door to the workshop is a photo of the outside of the building facing Willard Street and is opened by lifting the Catbus. Bean, of course, is in the driver’s seat. The underside of the door reveals the first part of the workshop. The outsides of the remaining three flaps are covered by a marquetry pattern drawn by Roubo. If the opened workshop is held in the right light it is possible to see a few sparkles of purple glitter because it is impossible to totally eradicate that stuff. Somewhere in the woodworking class is the second stick chair badge.
The hinges on the workshop flaps, as well as the hinges on all the doors are a double thickness of heavy drawing paper. Eight sheets of the sketchbook were glued together to support the heft of the workshop, which sits in a recess that is about four sheets deep. I miscalculated the length of the Catbus and ended up trimming back most of the front bumper.
The workshop foldout was not suitable to display the wall of hand tools, or paries manus instrumenta, and deserved its own section. It is a simple four-part foldout. The wooden door is from Türkiye and has wonderful carvings on the central panels. A cat helps keep the door closed, contrary to the usual behavior of opening all doors. The third stick chair badge is in the wall foldout.
The door from Türkiye. I was sorry to cut off some of the lower end to make it fit in the book.
When the visitor returns he resumes his journey to Willard Street. To emphasize the gravity of the task before him and how much it weighs on him the word panels are now grey and become darker as he nears the workshop. As he stands before the building that is both a home and workplace he looks up at the iron cat on the roof and he is saddened. At this point he is the only one that fully understands the meaning of the iron cat.
The story shifts to the chairmaker in the workshop and this shift is emphasized by the color of the word panels and a change in typeface. The word panels are again blue, but a darker shade because we are nearing the end. The photograph of one of Chris’ chairs was turned upside down and put on a black background to bring forward the detail, to see it from the chairmaker’s perspective and to see the “smile.”
When the visitor and chairmaker leave the shop the last chair seems to glow in the darkness. The accompanying multi-layer image started with a black and white photo of the workshop and a overlay of opaque black that left bare outlines of the interior. The darkened frame of creepy vines (stolen from the designs for the Stick Chair Journal) was the last layer before adding the chair. The trail of stars curving up and away from the chair represent ad astra, to the stars.
When the chairmaker leaves with the visitor two cats free themselves from the iron cat, descend to the street and walk through the fog to catch up with the chairmaker. The chairmaker was unaware they had been waiting for him and is overcome when the three are reunited (not to mention the cats can talk). I wrote a backstory that bridges the visitor’s sadness from when he sees the iron cat, to the point in the epilogue when the cats reunite with the chairmaker.
The Backstory of the Iron Cat
The two cats and the chairmaker were constant companions in the shop. In his grief after the second cat died, the chairmaker mounted the iron sculpture at the peak of the roof. He had no knowledge of the cats’ agreement with the visitor. When the first cat died he refused to leave and eventually convinced the visitor to let him stay until it was the chairmaker’s time to leave. The cat agreed to stay hidden, no hijinks, no haunting. The same agreement was made when the second cat died. When the iron cat was put on the roof the two cats decided to enter it and stay until they could reunite with their chairmaker. When the visitor looks up at the iron cat he sees the sadness and grief experienced by all three.The second part of the visitor’s obligation was to free the cats when he came to escort the chairmaker. The red string in the epilogue represents the unbroken connection between the cats and the chairmaker.
The Endpapers & a Few Other Things
The endpaper inside the front cover is a collage of illustrations from various woodworking books in the public domain. I made it a few years ago and may use it in a future blog post. The facing endpaper is Monsieur Roubo’s opinion of stick chairs. At the back of the book the endpaper is a scene of several creatures, unknowingly being followed by a shark, all of which were made from Roubo’s bench square. The waves are from Roubo’s waving machine. The bench square was also used to make the little horses that were used on a couple pages. The cat on the roof was originally going to be a weather vane, however the iron cat was a better fit. The iron cat was taken from the Black Cat of Riga and you can read about it on the Atlas Obscura site.
Color changes to the word panels were used to express a change in mood or circumstance. Once again, a song heard on the car radio found its way into the story. The visitor’s “the gathering gloom” and the idea of colors fading to grey and white as he looks at the house are drawn from The Moody Blues song, “Nights in White Satin.” The visitor’s panels changed from light blue to grays; the chairmaker’s from medium to darker blues. When the cats and chairmaker are reunited the word panel is a pale yellow for light and joy. Adding layers to certain features of an image provided dimension to otherwise flat paper. Architectural elements on the outside of the workshop and the whole house have three layers on columns, roof ridges and some decorative features. The house also has spacers to lift it from the page. Carved panels on the door to the wall of hand tools were also layered.
The Missing Last Page or The Epilogue -Part 2
I originally had a second page planned for the epilogue, but I cut it, preferring to leave the reader with the chairmaker literally bowled over to learn his cats can talk.
Here is the deleted second page:
Once they had boarded the visitor’s skiff the chairmaker and the cats settled themselves in the stern. On inquiring where they were headed the answer was, “West.” After a while, the visitor joined his passengers at the stern. The cats, snuggled on either side of the chairmaker, were sound asleep. Wally was sleeping belly up, while Bean rested his head on the chairmaker’s knee. Gesturing towards the cats the visitor said, “In all my centuries those two were the most insistent, bull-headed and toughest negotiators about refusing to leave.” The chairmaker chuckled, “Cats always get what they want.” “Oh no,” replied the visitor, “it wasn’t so much about what they wanted, they insisted it was what you needed.”
If you hear the chorus from a Rolling Stones song you aren’t mistaken.
Although there will only ever be one copy of the book, I thought it was important to affirm the originality of the story. On the wild chance it happened to sometimes maybe seem similar to certain people and cats, of course, it must be a coincidence. I used a portion of the painting, “La Bocca della Verità” (The Mouth of Truth, circa 1530) by Lucas Cranach to illustrate my affirmation.
After almost five weeks of writing, making illustrations, waiting for glue to dry and so on, it was time to send the book to the Stick Chair Badge Approval & Distribution Committee at Lost Art Press. I was reluctant and a bit teary-eyed to let it go and thought a proper farewell was in order. Shakespeare’s Sonnet 87 fit the bill:
Fairwell! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou knowest thy estimate. The Charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; My bonds in thee are all determinate.
An interior spread from “A Visitor Comes to Covington.”
Late last month, a package arrived from our researcher, Suzanne “Saucy Indexer” Ellison. I opened the package, saw it was a handmade book, and immediately set it aside. I was in the middle of teaching a chair class, plus my oldest daughter was about to arrive from Pittsburgh for her birthday.
After all the visitors – students, Maddy and her fiance – had left, I sat down with the book so I could give it my full attention. It is, of course, a fantastic document and a good story. It has everything: drinking, cats, a turtle and a mysterious visitor.
Suzanne kindly agreed to allow me to share the book with you via a video reading. If the video doesn’t appear in your mail reader, click this link to watch it.
I hope this story brightens your Sunday. Tomorrow, we’ll post Suzanne’s story about how she made the book, which is just as interesting as the book itself.
