This six-stick comb-back chair with a narrow comb is probably my favorite design to make. It’s both a challenge to build and a delight to sit in.
This chair is built using bog oak excavated from Poland that’s between 2,000-4,000 years old. The wood was leftover from a stunning dining table commission built by local furniture maker Andy Brownell at Brownell Furniture.
All the wood came from one boule, yet the bog oak varies in color, which made things a challenge. The wood is also dense and difficult to bring to a high level of finish. As a result, there are a couple small bits of grain tear-out on this chair that were impossible for me to tame. As best I can tell, this ancient oak is as strong as contemporary oak. This particular tree grew very fast, so it has lots of tough earlywood.
This chair is set up for dining or relaxing. The back leans 15° off the seat, and the seat is tilted 5°, so the back is a generous 20° off the floor. The seat is 16-1/2” above the floor, which is a good height for most sitters. Overall, the chair is 39” tall, 28” wide, 23” deep and weighs 16-1/2 pounds.
Like all my chairs, the joints are assembled with hide glue and oak wedges, so the joints are strong but can be easily repaired by future generations. The shoe and arm of the chair are also secured with two blacksmith-made rosehead nails.
The finish is a home-cooked linseed oil/wax finish that has no dangerous solvents. The finish offers low protection, but it is easy to repair by the owner with no special skills or tools.
Purchasing the Chair
This chair is being sold via silent auction. (I’m sorry but the chair cannot be shipped outside the U.S.) If you wish to buy the chair, send an email to lapdrawing@lostartpress.com before 3 p.m. (Eastern) on Friday, March 18. In the email please use the subject line “Chair Sale” and include your:
First name and last name
U.S. shipping address
Daytime phone number (this is for the trucking quote only)
Shipping options: You are welcome to pick up the chair here in Covington, Ky., and also get a free yardstick. I am happy to deliver the chair personally for free within 100 miles of Cincinnati, Ohio. Or we can ship it to you via LTL. The cost varies (especially these days), but it is usually between $200 and $300.
A note on silent auctions: Several people have asked how much previous chairs have sold for via silent auction. Sorry, but that is the “silent” part. I have no desire to run up the price unnecessarily. So bid what you think is fair; that’s all we ask. It’s fair to say that the prices for the chairs sold at silent auction go for far more (two times or three times) the typical $1,400 price when we sell chairs via a random drawing. So for the guy who keeps bidding $100 – we love your confidence.
I apologize if this is frustrating for people who want a chair. I want you to have one, too. I love these chairs and would love to see them in many more homes.
Fig. 1. Cabinet ends and division cramped together for marking. Fig. 2. How stiles of a door are marked in pairs. Fig. 3. Use a long rule. Fig. 4. Marking door stiles and rails from carcase. Fig. 5. Stepping odd measurements with dividers. Fig. 6. Dividing a curved surface
Hayward (1898-1998) was, in our opinion, the most important workshop writer and editor of the 20th century. Unlike any person before (and perhaps after) him, Hayward was a trained cabinetmaker and extraordinary illustrator, not to mention an excellent designer, writer, editor and photographer.
Add to all that the fact that Hayward was, according to Robert Wearing, a “workaholic,” and you have a good picture as to why we spent almost eight years laboring to bring this book to life to honor his work. As editor of The Woodworker magazine from 1939 to 1967, Hayward oversaw the transformation of the craft from one that was almost entirely hand-tool based to a time where machines were common, inexpensive and had displaced the handplanes, chisels and backsaws of Hayward’s training and youth.
Our Hayward project – it covers five books in total – seeks to reprint a small part of the information Hayward published in The Woodworker during his time as editor in chief. This is information that hasn’t been seen or read in decades. No matter where you are in the craft, from a complete novice to a professional, you will find information here you cannot get anywhere else.
This is one of the most important processes in woodwork because the whole accuracy of the work depends upon it. No matter how true the cutting of joints, etc., may be, the result will be largely a failure unless the preliminary marking has been correct. Care taken then is essential, and there is a safe rule that can always be followed. Measure twice before cutting once.
GENERALLY the knife or chisel is the best to use for marking because it gives closer accuracy than the pencil. It is definite, and the last mark is as sharp as the first. In the case of the pencil, the point inevitably becomes blunt, makes a wide mark, and so leaves room for uncertainty. There are, however, cases in which the knife cannot be used because it would leave a mark which could not be removed later. A clear example of this is the marking of chamfers or mortises. In the case of the chamfer a mark with knife or gauge would cut in square with the surface, whereas the chamfer is made at an angle. In a mortise the knife would be taken right across and would leave little incisions at the corners which could not be taken out unless the edges were planed unduly. There are, however, many cases where the knife cut is either concealed or cut away, and then the accuracy of the knife is then undoubtedly an advantage.
Marking in sets. In the majority of cases parts are required in sets of two or more. For example, the ends of a cabinet must be the same size, and have joints occurring in the same relative positions; doors must have their stiles equal in length; and drawers must have their sides exactly the same length. It is therefore desirable to fix corresponding parts together and square the marks across both. As an example of this take the ends of, say, a chest of drawers, such as that in Fig. 1. To mark each end separately with the rule would leave the possibility of a wide margin of error. By fixing the two together as shown, the marks giving the positions of the rails can be squared across the edges of both, so that, when later they are separated and the marks squared across the inner faces, they are bound to be alike. Furthermore the short inner division can be cramped with them and shoulder lines made exact with the others. This is a case when the pencil (sharpened to a keen point) is generally used because the marks must not appear later at the edge. However, if the marks are very lightly made they will be planed out when the edges are bevelled after assembling.
Marking a door. Another similar case is that of the door shown in Fig. 2, in which the stiles can be cramped together to enable the mortises to be squared across both. It would be desirable to mark the intermediate stiles from them, but, as these are tenoned whereas the long stiles are mortised, the knife would be used for the one and the pencil for the other. The best plan then is to mark the two long stiles with pencil, and then place one short stile on them and transfer the shoulder marks as shown. This can then be cramped to the other intermediate stile and the marks squared across both with the knife.
In general marking out the rule is mostly used, and we may note that it is always better to use a long rule for a big job, because, if, say, a board over 6 ft. has to be marked with a 2 ft. rule, the latter will have to be placed over four times along the work, and there is the possibility of error each time. It cannot always be helped, but it is better to avoid shifting the rule when practicable. This is made clear in Fig. 3.
Another point in connection with the use of the rule is that it should always be used with its edge to the wood so that the markings actually touch the latter. Otherwise, if it is placed on its side, a different measurement may be registered according to whether the eye is immediately above, or to one side or the other.
Transfering marks. When one part has to fit another, as when a door is made to fit a carcase, it is better to mark off the parts from the carcase rather than use the rule. The reason is that in the latter case the carcase has first to be measured and then the size transferred to the door parts. In other words, there are two operations, each with the chance of a slight error. By offering one stile to the job itself, as in Fig. 4, A, the marking is bound to be accurate (allowing for trimming and fitting). Afterwards the corresponding parts are fixed together and the marks squared across both as already explained. In the case of the rails, the stiles can be placed in position as at B, and a rail held across them so that the shoulder length can be obtained.
Odd sizes. Sometimes odd measurements have to be made for which the rule would be awkward. Suppose, for instance, a board has to be divided up into seven equal parts, and the over-all length is odd—say 4 ft, 4-3∕8 ins. To do this with the rule would be very awkward. The better plan is to use dividers, as at A, Fig. 5. Step out the distance seven times by trial and error, resetting the dividers to correct the measurement if the stepping is full or short. A good guide for the correction required is as follows. Step out the whole distance, and if the measurement is full, divide the amount of the fullness into seven parts, as near as you can judge it, and lessen the dividers by one part. This will not be exact, but it is a good guide. Afterwards the distance can be stepped again and a further correction made if necessary.
By the way, always step the dividers along a straight line as at A, Fig. 5, otherwise there may be an error owing to the dividers making staggered marks, as at B. Dividers are also useful for stepping out distances around a curve.
Marking round curves. Sometimes a cylindrical surface has to be divided into equal parts (A, Fig. 6), and it would obviously be awkward, not to say impossible, to use the rule. The simplest plan is to cut a length of thin, pliable card to fit around the shape, as at B, the ends meeting exactly. This can then be laid flat and divided into the number of parts required, as at C. It is afterwards replaced and the marks transferred to the wood, so dividing up the curve as required.
Today is for all the woodworking math nerds. You know who you are. In 9th grade you cried when you found out Geometry and Shop Class were scheduled at the same time and you had to choose one or the other. You chose Geometry. Stashed somewhere in the back of your closet or in your underwear drawer is the dovetailed box you made to hold your first slide rule, your Texas Instrument SR-50 and your Casio C-80.
Let’s look at some pies from the woodworking world.
From 1st Dibs.
A nice example of a pie-crust tripod table. It is from the Georgian period and dated 1780-1789. The wood is mahogany. The foliate carving above the “knees” does not overwhelm the legs. The feet are hand-carved claw and ball, although the ball looks more like an egg.
The table top is one piece of wood with a hand-carved pie-crust edge that has aged very well. This particular design is considered a classic. If you encounter one of these tables in an antique shop or elsewhere in the wild check to see if the pie-crust is applied molding.
Top: A section of Plate 329 Roubo, bottom: the “bird cage” base.
Many of these small tripod tables have a sliding flip top to make these tables easier to store. You can see in Roubo’s example (on the right), that the bird cage sits between two rails. There is also a stop that limits how far the top can slide between the rails.
From 1st Dibs.
This Regency-period pie-crust table is dated circa 1820 and is made of mahogany. The top is smaller than the Georgian example, does not flip and it has a tripartite shelf.
The pie crust is much plainer than the Georgian table, but is very much in harmony with the table’s overall shape and design.
The description of the table indicates these are saber legs with hoofed feet that sit on brass casters. I disagree with the description of these feet as being hoofed. That is an even-toed ungulate if there ever was. However, ungulate might be off-putting to a prospective buyer.
One of three nesting tables. From 1st Dibs.
This is described as a pie-crust table. Pies are not square, this is clearly a tart. It does have a nice book-matched top which brings us to the next pie piece.
Table by Warren Snow of Snow Woodworks, Marshall, Virginia.
Warren Snow has a good description of the pie-matched table: ”Sequential wood cuts, from the same board, are then paired and arranged to create the table top surface.” For this table the pie ”slices” are made of American cherry and the edge is Macassar ebony. Pie-matching can reveal stunning grain patterns. On many examples, and as can be seen in this table, the center portion has an inlay that adds interest to the table top.
From Bonhams.
This is a Jupe’s Patent Extending Dining Table with two sets of pie-shaped leaves. Robert Jupe patented the design in 1835 and it is made of mahogany. It is the Big Daddy of pie tables. The table diameter is 65 inches, with the intermediate leaves the diameter is 83.5 inches, with the large set of leaves the diameter is 95.5 inches. As it is Pi Day you can figure out the circumferences.
The table top is turned to open it up into a Sarlacc-like maul and the leaves inserted (May 4th might be a better day for this table).
The table with leaves inserted.
According to the Bonham’s description these Jupe tables have sold for £120,000-£130,000, but those with more ornate bases have sold for much more.
Lastly, a good old American classic that probably originated in Europe. It the only piece of furniture that was routinely in the company of pies: the pie safe.
From 1st Dibs.
Pie safes (garde-manger in parts of Louisiana) kept pies and other foodstuffs safe from insects and vermin. This one is made of pine and is a very typical design with two doors and three shelves inside. The doors and sides have metal ventilation panels that have a pierced or punched designs. Fine metal screening or cloth might be used instead of metal panels.
I was planning a Pi Day post two years ago which happened to fall within a few days of the official announcement that we were in a pandemic. I had to make a quick trip out of town before hunkering down and consequently forgot about it. Last year I was deep into a research project. So, today have some pie and wear your old calculator watch, because tomorrow…tomorrow is March 15, the Ides of March and you should hide under your bed.
Henry Boyd, collection of the Cincinnati History Museum.
Publisher’s note: I first learned about Henry Boyd in “The Furniture Makers of Cincinnati: 1790 to 1849” (1976) by Jane E. Sikes. The short entry on Boyd was fascinating, but I found little else that had been published about his life or his woodworking. In the early 2000s, I encountered one of Boyd’s amazing beds at The Golden Lamb in Lebanon, Ohio, and became determined to learn more about him. Two years ago, I hired Suzanne Ellison to dig deep into public archives (her specialty) to put together a dossier on Boyd’s life. As many of you know, Suzanne does not engage in half-measures. After months of research, she produced a fascinating account of Boyd’s life that became the seed for a book on Boyd. Soon, we will introduce you to the author and the book (we have a signed contract with the author, but she asked for some time to work out some things on her end before we introduce her). This blog entry is a short introduction to Boyd’s life; more is to come. — Christopher Schwarz
When Henry Boyd died in March of 1886 at age 84 he had survived slavery, overcome enormous odds to start not one, but two businesses and persevered through tremendous societal changes. The story of his life as it has been printed in Cincinnati newspapers, often for Black History Month, was at best bare bones, at its worst just not true. Yet, his history has been waiting and is easily found in archives held in Cincinnati and in the Ohio History Collection. His history – his story – reveals a man of intelligence, determination and courage.
Boyd was born in Carlisle, Kentucky, the son of two worlds: his father was white and originally from Scotland; his mother was black, an enslaved person originally from Virginia. Boyd seems to have determined early on to buy his freedom. In his late teens he was hired out to work at the Kanawha saltworks in Virginia (now West Virginia) located about 150-160 miles from Carlisle. When slave owners had too many enslaved persons, one option was to send them to work at other farms or businesses. In this way the owner could continue to profit from their labor. For the enslaved person, it meant a year-long separation from family and possible exposure to dangerous conditions and harsher treatment. If there was an advantage to being hired out to the saltworks, it was that the enslaved person was allowed to work extra hours (overwork) to earn money they could keep. While in Kanawha, Boyd’s world expanded. He worked alongside enslaved persons from other states and interacted with free black men working the riverboats moving barrels of salt to Porkopolis (Cincinnati).
One of the overwork jobs that Boyd did at Kanawha was tending to the kettles in the salt furnace. The illustration is an example from the saltworks in Saltville, Virginia, as depicted in Harper’s Weekly, January 1865 (archive.org).
After several years, Boyd returned to Carlisle and was apprenticed to a carpenter (there are examples in the historical record of enslaved children of white owners given opportunities to learn a trade). During his apprenticeship Boyd would have had an opportunity to do overwork and earn money for himself. We don’t know exactly when his apprenticeship ended, exactly when he bought his freedom, or once free if he stayed in Kentucky for a while to earn more money. Fortunately for Boyd, Kentucky did not prohibit enslaved persons from learning to read and write, nor require them to leave the state within a set period after earning their freedom. We do know that once free, Boyd would have had to carry his official freedom papers with him at all times.
Boyd arrived in Cincinnati sometime during 1825 or 1826. Finding work along the busy docks of the Ohio River was fairly easy, but finding work as a black carpenter, no matter how skilled, was not. Although Cincinnati was a non-slave northern city, it had strong southern sympathies and business concerns. Eventually, with the help of a white man he was able to start working as a house carpenter. A newspaper biography published in 1877 relates the story of how Boyd met his future mother-in-law and how he came to live at 15 New Street. On his way to Cincinnati he was introduced to a woman whose widowed daughter lived in Cincinnati. She wanted to provide Boyd with a letter of introduction, but was illiterate. Boyd wrote the letter for her and on visiting New Street met Keziah, his future wife, and Sarah Jane, his future step-daughter. The 1850 census shows Emma Laws, his mother-in-law, was then living with them. One chance meeting on his journey to live as a free man resulted in a family firmly tied together. When Keziah died (estimated in 1862) they had been married 36 years. At the time of Boyd’s death he was still living in the same house on New Street with his daughter Maria and her family. He was buried next to Keziah in a cemetery plot owned by Sarah Jane.
Within eight years of arriving in his new city Boyd had his own business building houses and was employing five or six men, both black and white. In addition to having his own family and permanent residence, he had earned enough to purchase the freedom of two siblings.
Boyd was also planning and tinkering. He solved the most common problem of rope-suspension bedsteads (collapse) by devising a stabilizing screw-fastening system that tied the horizontal rails and vertical posts into a strong frame. With the help of George Porter, a Massachusetts-born cabinetmaker, he had the fastening system patented in 1833. At the time, black inventors were legally able to obtain patents, however, there were obstacles that made the preparation and submission of patent materials prohibitive. Six years later, in 1839, Henry opened his bedstead manufactory at the northeast corner of Broadway and Eighth Street.
An 1840 Boyd Bedstead, Smithsonian Collections.
Boyd advertised his bedsteads in city newspapers and business directories. Prominent business owners bought and endorsed his bedsteads. The 1850 Federal Profits of Industry Census shows the woods he used for bedsteads were poplar, walnut, mahogany, sycamore and cherry; more than 1,540 bedsteads were made annually for a production value of approximately $41,000. He employed an average of 20 men and, although the census doesn’t detail this, we know he employed both black and white men. Boyd’s bedsteads were popular in the South and and were transported by boat down the Ohio River to the Mississippi River, a cost-efficient transportation method for Cincinnati businesses.
From “Cincinnati in 1841: Early Annals and Future Prospects” by Charles Cist, Cincinnati Public Library.
The growth of Cincinnati and other “Western” cities attracted the attention of visitors, including abolitionists, from the East Coast and Europe. Henry Boyd and other successful black business owners were visited by the likes of Martin R. Delaney, Frederick Douglass and William Cooper Nell, and their successes were reported in abolitionist newspapers including Douglass’ The North Star and William Lloyd Garrison’s TheLiberator.
Sanborn Fire Map (1887) showing the location of Boyd’s home on New Street and the location of his former factory at Broadway and Eighth (Library of Congress).
Before the mid-1850s we know Boyd had expanded his operations into three or four additional buildings close to his original factory, and had more than doubled his work force. In addition to bedsteads he was advertising other types of furniture. He was also struggling to keep up with competition from larger furniture makers whose annual production values were more than triple his. One competitor, Clawson & Mudge, exclusively made bedsteads and offered 95 varieties. We also have documentation from an 1857 credit evaluation that indicates there was a level of turmoil in the workforce. By 1860, Boyd was not able to pay his leases and closed his factory. The leasehold agreements he had on the factory building and other holdings were advertised in sheriff’s sales.
The oft-published reason for Boyd closing his business was that his factory had been burned out three times and after the last fire he could not obtain insurance. The basis for this story is a newspaper article from the late 1870s. There is no documentation of Boyd’s factory being burned out either in the records of the Cincinnati Fire Department or in city newspapers. (Furniture factories in the 19th century were disasters waiting to happen with open fires, volatile liquids and plenty of wood shavings. There are plenty of records of other furniture factories burning down, including those of Clawson & Mudge.)
Boyd continued to operate a small furniture business for a couple more years, and in the late 1860s was employed by the city as a station-house keeper at one of the police stations.
Although he is best known for manufacturing bedsteads with a fastening system he devised and had patented, Boyd accomplished and contributed more to his adopted city.
When cholera arrived in Cincinnati in the autumn of 1832, the leading medical authority, Dr. Daniel Drake, was convinced the disease was caused by a type of aerial insect that was ”poisonous, invisible…of the same or similar habits with the gnat.” Boyd, on the other hand, thought cholera was in the water supply and communicated his idea to Charles Hammond, editor of one of the city newspapers. Hammond published Henry’s suggestion.
We don’t know if many people took up Boyd’s suggestion to boil drinking water. We do know Boyd survived cholera outbreaks in 1832, 1849, 1866 and one late in the 1870s. Twenty-two years after Boyd’s idea was published, a definitive study in London determined cholera was spread in the water supply.
While enslaved, Boyd was allowed to learn to read and write and learn a trade and was well aware of the advantages gained through education. In Cincinnati he supported and was involved in the initial efforts to open schools for black children. We don’t have full details on all of his family, but do know in 1849, when young women were not often allowed a higher education, his daughter Maria, age 16, was sent to Oberlin Collegiate Institute and completed three years of study. The Mechanics Institute prohibited enrollment of young black men wishing to learn a trade. We know of at least one instance where Henry apprenticed a young black man to learn how to be a turner.
Boyd had a home and business, paid taxes, obtained a patent and filed a lawsuit for non-payment for a house he built. Before 1857, he was citizen – of sorts, because he could not vote. After the 1857 Dred Scott decision, he was no longer considered a citizen. It was not until 1868, when the Fourteenth Amendment was passed, that he regained his citizenship. The Fifteenth Amendment passed on March 30, 1870, giving him the right to vote; three days later, on the evening of April 2, Boyd participated in the ward-level meetings of the Republican Party of Cincinnati. He was elected the initial chairman for the 13th Ward. In the autumn of that same year, at age 68, he voted for the first time in the state-wide election for the U.S. House of Representatives. The following year he joined the Grant Club to work for the re-election of Ulysses S. Grant.
Boyd had a humanitarian commitment that was not known until late in the 19th century. He was an active member of the Underground Railroad, contributing funds and helping to coordinate the movement of escaped enslaved persons to safety. He worked with other members, including Kitty Dorum, William Watson, Calvin Fairbanks and Levi Coffin. He knew Theodore Weld, a Lane (Seminary) Rebel, considered to be one of the architects of the abolitionist movements. Huntington Lyman, another Lane Rebel, revealed in correspondence with Wilbur Siebert (author of books on the Underground Railroad in Ohio) that Boyd had a hiding place in his house for escaped enslaved persons. Boyd’s involvement in helping escaped slaves seems to have begun within a few years of arriving in Cincinnati; they continued despite increased dangers brought about by the 1850 Fugitive Slave Act, and lasted until the end of the Civil War, a span of more than 30 years.
Transcription of an 1898 letter from Huntington Lyman to Wilbur Siebert outlining what he knew about the Underground Railway in Cincinnati. Siebert sent out hundreds of letters to “construct” the Railway trying to establish “stations” and “conductors.” In reality, the network of people and locations was not rigidly structured with members falling into a hierarchy. Siebert Archive in the Ohio History Connection.
There aren’t a huge number of chronicles of 19th-century black men whose lives included buying their way out of slavery, long-term involvement in freeing others from slavery, invention and entrepreneurship, enduring four race riots in 12 years, and involvement in the early struggle for the civil rights of equal education and the right to vote. Boyd’s story adds dimension to the history of Cincinnati in particular, and to American history as a whole.
Using historical documents and contemporaneous accounts we can reconstruct much of what Boyd did in his life and we can extrapolate ideas that were important to him. He was, however, always living in two worlds. At his birth, his white father owned him and his mother was enslaved; he received an education likely denied to others. He could start a successful business, prosper and be well-regarded, but his public life was proscribed by state Black Laws and threats of violence. He had a law-abiding public life countered by a dangerous hidden life of illegal acts to help escaped slaves. We can try to imagine how he felt to truly be a citizen and cast his first vote, but we can’t even get close. About his suffering while enslaved, or once he was free, we will never know.
When my former boss hired cabinetmakers, he would always ask for photos of their work. It didn’t have to be a fancy portfolio – snapshots were fine.
Some of the job candidates brought this to the interview instead: “I’ve made some incredible pieces. I just finished up this coffee table with bookmatched veneer panels, stringing and inlay. Just stunning.”
Those people were not hired.
That policy stuck in my craw. So when I started selling pieces in the 1990s, I kept photos of every piece I made – even if it was just a snapshot. Those photos are organized by date in three-ring binders in my office.
These days I simply load a selection of my photos to my personal website, christophermschwarz.com. Even though I closed my commission book in 2019, I keep the website up to date because it’s easy, and it’s a great way to answer the question: What sort of work do you do?
But there’s another reason I keep my website up – one that might not be obvious. Whenever I encounter someone online with interesting ideas or opinions, I try to find pictures of their work. I always like to see furniture. And I like to see if the person’s words match their deeds.
If I can’t find photos of the person’s work, or if the photos don’t jibe with the words, I roll my eyes. What do I mean when I say “the words don’t match the work?” Example: People who jabber on about handwork and David Pye but the only pieces they show are crazy-quilt cutting boards with a routed-out juice groove. Or the person goes on and on about furniture, but the only work they show is router jigs.
These days, keeping a record of your work is practically free. Phones take better photos than cameras. You can upload your photos for zero dollars to a free blog. Or Instagram. So I don’t buy the argument that only professionals or wealthy people can keep and display a record of their work.
I’m not saying everyone should do this (but it would be fun and awesome if everyone did because I love to see furniture). If you’re an amateur woodworker who doesn’t spout opinions, proclamations, maxims, criticisms and homilies everywhere you go, then feel free to just continue being a good citizen.
But if you’re trying to change my mind, you’re going to have to have the photos to do it.
