I have often heard the fact stated, and I have noticed it myself when looking through some of our workshops, that the mechanics’ places in this country, in nine cases out of ten, are filled by foreigners. The building trade seems to present no exception to this general rule. Very naturally the question arises, Why don’t our American youths learn trades? Some blame it to idleness, but I think that is not a satisfactory explanation. Others say the boys prefer to measure tape, and appear to better advantage than they would as professors of carpentry or knights of the trowel.
There is one thing certain, foreigners do not make any better mechanics than our own countrymen. Our boys are no less ambitious to-day than they were 40 years ago, but still the fact remains that they are turning their backs on trades. I propose to try my hand at a solution of this problem, leaving the readers to judge whether or not I am right. I propose for illustration to take my own trade, one which, had Carpentry and Building been printed 20 years ago, would have had thousands of better posted men in it than it contains to-day. (more…)
The chair shown here was the first piece of furniture to ever register in my young consciousness. My grandparents had it in their house in New York, and I can remember it clearly when we lived there during my dad’s tour in Vietnam.
I was struck by the chair because it didn’t fit into the Platonic ideal form of a chair. Since that time, I’ve always loved this Victorian chair, and when it was up for grabs in my family, I snatched it.
Several readers have asked for some details on the chair after seeing the chair as a prop in a post last week.
The chair was made by E.F. Peirce & Co. (sometimes spelled E.F. Pierce & Co.) of Boston and was sold by Payne’s Furniture Co., also of Boston. Both companies marked the underside of the original rattan seat. Peirce was active as a chairmaker in Boston during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
The chair is almost certainly oak.
The legs all have a major diameter of 1-9/16”. The spindles are 1” in diameter at the center and taper to 3/4” at the mortises. The front leg is 18” long. The three long legs are 26-7/8” from the floor to the point where they enter the armbow.
The armbow is made in three pieces. The hands are 1-1/8” thick. The backrest on top of the hands is 1-3/4” thick where it meets the arms and tapers to a point 3” above the two hand pieces. The seat is 16-1/4” square.
I have posted the photos at a resolution that is higher than normal. If you save them to your computer you should be able to use the dimensions above to piece together turning profiles and mortise locations.
Though I have been to England six times for work, sightseeing and research, I’ve never been asked to teach there (my wife says it must be because of my German last name). I love the country, and it has inspired a lot of my books and writings, from the Nicholson workbench in “Workbenches: From Design & Theory to Construction & Use” to “Campaign Furniture.”
So I am particularly pleased to announce I’ll be teaching two courses this July that have been organized by The New English Workshop, a group of woodworkers who are deeply concerned with handwork. The classes will be taught at the workshop at Warwickshire College in Leamington Spa. For Americans not familiar with England’s geography, that’s in the center of the country, a little southeast of Birmingham.
On July 21-25 I’ll be teaching The Anarchist’s Tool Chest, a traditional English chest that’s an intensive course on dovetails, handwork-based case construction, cut nails and bench planes. I won’t lie, the pace of the course is not leisurely, and it usually requires a couple of long days, which oddly always end up at a pub afterward.
During the class we build the carcase, lid and skirting of the chest. The internal structures are up to you at home. But we look at lots of examples so you’ll know what to do when you get home. I have been working out of a traditional tool chest since 1997 and have yet to find a better way to protect and organize your tools.
On July 28-29 I’m teaching the Dutch Tool Chest, a lightweight, portable and surprisingly durable chest. This is the chest I travel with and I am always pleased with how much the chest can carry and how easy it is to work out of. This chest is built using dovetails, dados, rabbets and lots of cut nails. It takes two long days, but we usually get everyone’s chest assembled and ready for hardware.
The organizers tell me the courses are already half full. If you are interested in attending or getting more details, visit The New English Workshop web site.
There are some other interesting components to these classes I’ll be discussing in the coming months, including the fate of the two tool chests I’ll be building during the classes. So stay tuned.
This trip is also an opportunity for me to do some research on campaign furniture, Gillows of Lancaster and a few other things I have brewing.
Every boy ought to know how to drive a nail and saw a board. Somewhere in connection with every well-ordered home there should be a workshop of some sort. An article could easily be written treating exclusively on the advantages accruing from even a slight dexterity in the use of a few tools, and it could easily be shown that these advantages are by no means confined to artisans, but that professional men and men of affairs find healthful exercise, pleasant diversion, and mental discipline “over the bench.”
But omitting all that, we start now with the postulate that a boy ought to have a workshop, and the only question for present consideration is how it ought to be fitted up. As the chief purpose of the boy’s workshop is rather to give the boy plenty of congenial work than for the sake of the work the boy will do, the more of the work of fitting up the shop that is left to the boy the better. We put four “works” in that sentence, and we are glad of it. Happiness depends almost wholly on occupation. Professor Albert Hopkins once gave as his idea of happiness, “right activity.” (more…)
Lots of people ask me what I miss the most about working at Popular Woodworking Magazine. I am supposed to reply: “I miss the people.” But that’s not true.
I miss the fights.
Now, I don’t miss the jerk-won’t-look-you-in-the-eye brooding that sometimes accompanies an office brawl. But nine times out of ten, an honest spat made the end product better. Magazine covers looked better. Techniques were explored deeper. Assumptions were sunk.
Now that I work at home alone, I have tried to maintain that atmosphere by sending out my work to friends, colleagues and people I know who disagree with me for them to look it over. And as always, many of my ideas are vetted first on the blog, where people are happy to take a hatchet to them.
The result is, almost always, a better product.
Last night I pored over my proofs for “Campaign Furniture,” and realized I didn’t like some of the “beauty shots” of the finished furniture. So today I tore apart our house to shoot new photos. And then I sent them to Megan Fitzpatrick for her to assail. Then I took them over again. Sent them out….
This process continued until I needed a beer. Which is right now.
— Christopher Schwarz
P.S. While all the photographic criticism below is appreciated, it is for naught. The shoot is over. The pages are set.
