This all reminds me a story, of which yes, I do have proof.
Way way back, when rocks were soft and the earth hadn't fully formed yet,
I didn't know any other woodworkers. I guess it must have been ~1973.
I was 21 years old.
Unbeknownst to me, other forces in the world were already moving too.
Mike Dunbar was messing around in a dirt floor shed with no windows like
me, trying to get the old tools to work too. The board of regents had
recently hired Jim Krenov for the college program. I don't think they
got what they really wanted. Ron Hock was making kitchen cutlery and
starving. Art Carpenter was opening a woodworking school, because he
couldn't sell what he made, and he thought maybe tuition from wealthy
families boarding their children might be a way to go. (not quite a
reform school, but not too far away from it either) Tommy Davis was
dreaming of miniature furniture. Paul Hamler had an unknown bug in his
ear. Maloof was working somewhere.
George Nakashima always knew exactly what he wanted. Unwavering
vision. He would never sell cheap. He wasn't selling much of anything,
but when he could, it was not sold cheap.
None of us knew each other, at all. But something was afoot!
Oh, I had a couple friends who were starting to build log cabins. But
they were just peeling poles with a drawknife and were years away from
the rudest bench, with a cloth tacked across the front to cover up the
rude shelves and unsightly legs, that they would eventually call a
kitchen cabinet.
I was already a veteran by then. It had been a couple years, after all.
I thought I had King Soloman's hoard of tools. I had --2-- Stanley
planes, a Disston 12" backsaw (that came to me for a buck with a chipped
tote, so I tried my best to reshape that tote into something closer to
what I has seen on the "expensive" saws in the antique shops).
I had a Disston D7 rip saw and a crosscut I had saved up and bought
new mail order from Silvo Hardware. None of the saws were particularly
sharp, but then I was only just beginning to try and figure out how to
file them. First couple of tries failed pretty badly, but I would stick
with it.
I had a few chisels (with hacked out handles) and squares etc. I had a
hand crank grinder and a stone. I had already laid open my hand to the
bone, learning to sharpen edge tools.
I was in love with my bench hook. Which I used on my bench, which was
an old table nailed to the wall that I reinforced with extra wood.
I had read a few old books from the town library.
I had a few projects under my belt already.
I lived in a cabin from town with no electricity so there was no
cheating, not even lights.
If I worked at night it was by kerosene.
I decided I needed a real toolbox. I didn't much know what that
meant. I'd never seen a traditional tool chest or a wall chest, but I
had seen the little Stanley logo with a man carrying tools in an open
top tool tote, lots of times.
I did not like the idea of my best tools hanging off nails on the
wall. I considered that amateurish and besides not only did I have
limited wall space, but my "shop" was not exactly airtight.
I didn't know from dimensions and frankly, the box I eventually built
can scarcely be carried. Its pretty much way too big for a portable
toolbox, but pretty small for cabinet tool storage.
I had some vague knowledge of joints by then. I decided dovetails
were over my head. But I knew I could do finger, or more like large box
joints. I laid them out fairly big.
I laid them out partially contrary to where the grain should really have
been running. But I didn't know that. I just knew it needed to have
joints with visible contrast.
I expected to see them from across the room.
Drawers were basically over my head, but I started with and old
broken drawer from the dump, and put it back together to fit. Then I
stepped all the way up and built my first real drawers from scratch
It was the crowning achievement of my life up to that point. I saw so
proud of it. I didn't understand why people weren't coming in from far
and wide to see it. Boxes, tables or bedframe or garden gate, all these
they could see and appreciate.
Here it was, the great toolbox of my life, and hardly anyone noticed.
But I loved it so.
Here it is over 40 years later. Its not pristine anymore but then,
neither am I.
http://users.snowcrest.net/kitty/sgrandstaff/images/shop%20pix/tooltote
.jpg">http://users.snowcrest.net/kitty/sgrandstaff/images/shop%20pix/tooltote.jp
g
yours Scott
--
*******************************
Scott Grandstaff
Box 409 Happy Camp, Ca 96039
scottg@s...
http://www.snowcrest.n
et/kitty/sgrandstaff/
http://www.snowcr
est.net/kitty/hpages/index.html
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