The shorter list would be to ask Jim Leamy what he can't do.
Truly, he's a talented fellow. And he and his wife hosted a tour of his newly-built 1,100 sq. ft. shop for our woodworking club yesterday.
One room contains all his metalworking machinery. Another is his office. The main room holds, among other things, an enormous display cabinet that houses much of his antique plane collection and other tools.
Jim makes all the parts for his reproduction plough planes, and his perfectionism and meticulous eye for detail are apparent. Even the number and size of the threads of the knurled knobs are historically accurate.
For 30 years prior to making planes, Jim spent time with another type of plane—in the airforce. There, he worked for the EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) where he dismantled bombs. "I loved it." he said.
After that he worked in a cabinet shop, then a retail store repairing furniture.
He collected antique tools all the while and one day decided to reproduce one of the plough planes from his collection. Then, someone asked him to build one for them.
For two years he built planes part-time and has been making them full-time for ten years.
Jim uses legally-obtained ivory in many of his planes. He's also used artificial ivory, but has found that it yellows with age (as seen in the close-up image of the plane's gears at left. The yellowed parts are artificial). Real ivory stays brilliant white. It stinks, he says, but it machines nicely.
In his wall-size display cabinet are many of his antique tools, plus some new ones, and a few dovetailed boxes made by Jim that are just as beautiful as his planes. In his home are period furniture pieces, a living room suite, and a soon to be garage-converted-to-master bedroom—including the plumbing—all built by Jim.
Jim's talent doesn't stop with deactivating bombs, building reproduction plough planes, metalworking, making furniture, and remodeling his home.
High on the walls of his workshop hang a dozen or so framed illustrations of airforce planes, all drawn by the planemaker himself. What an inspiration.
In anticipation of this year's Woodworking In America conference, I'd like to highlight some of the toolmakers you will meet in the Marketplace.
Last year I met Ron Brese, maker of exceptional infill planes. Ron left a career in engineering to pursue planemaking, and the woodworking community is all the more fortunate because of it.
If you plan to attend this year's conference, stop by to talk with Ron in person and try his planes. And if you're in the market for a handplane that can tame the most highly-figured surface with ease, read on.
Here is Ron's response when I asked him what distinguishes his planes from the competition:
There are several unique features to the tools that I make and some of them are not always very apparent on the surface.
(1) My tools are assembled with a riveting process that allows me to assemble very accurate and quite rigid and strong plane bodies. This also creates near invisible joinery that keeps the lines of my planes very clean looking. This process allows me to utilize different alloys of metals that don't always react well the double dovetail peening work involved in other assembly methods.
(2) Thicker irons and no cap iron configuration. We don't make any surfacing planes with a bed pitch of less than 50 degrees and have found no difference in the surfaces that these tools leave in their wake with or without cap irons. At these steeper angles, more heat is generated at the cutting edge of the irons, and the thicker iron serves as a heat sink to draw this heat away from the edge and help extend cutting edge life.
(3) We have worked hard to find the optimum mass factor for our tools. Adding mass to a tool for mass sake is not a good idea. There is a point of diminishing returns. We have worked hard to find the optimum ratio between weight and balance.
(4) Visually there are some very distinctive features that make my tools recognizable as a "Brese Plane". (A) The small safety button at the top of the iron. The single iron configuration creates a situation that would allow the iron to fall through the mouth of the plane if the lever cap screw was loosened while the plane is held above the surface of the workbench. This button will catch on the lever cap screw or lever cap, preventing the iron from passing through the plane.
(B) The rear tote of the full size planes has a distinctive shape with the top of the horn tapering to a thinner, elegant edge at the very top. This, coupled with the option of the diamond-shaped, mother of pearl inlays, creates a distinctive look for these tools. The front bun shape on our 875 Series Smoothing planes is unique to these planes as well.
(C) The overall look of the 650-55 "J" overstuffed version of our small smoother is a unique shape that is only seen in this line of planes. The side cutout and "J" configuration of the 650-55 "J" overstuffed design was the vision of Jameel Abraham of BenchCrafted.
We are in the process of developing a new line of very refined, very precision-made, stainless steel non-infill planes. The first of this line was a 13.25" long panel plane that was on our bench at the WIA conference in Valley Forge. We have two other sizes of the stainless plane in the design process and are developing one more infill smoother as well.
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Ron plans to have at least two more planes that will be part of the new stainless steel line ready to debut at the 2010 WIA.
Coopering is a trade that dates back 4,000 years and involves making wooden, rounded containers made of tapered, beveled staves.
Some containers are “bellied”, called casks, while others are straight-tapered, like buckets. All have hoops, made of hardwood saplings or iron, that hold the staves together.
You may have heard the term “barrel-maker”, but a barrel is only one size of cask; it holds 31.5 gallons of wine. Other wine casks are Rundlet (18 gal.), Tierce (2 gal.), Hogshead (63 gal.), Puncheon (84 gal.), Pip (126 gal.), and Tun (252 gal.).
Beer and ale casks, depending on size, include: Firkin, Kilderkin, Barrel, and Hogshead.
In the 18th-century, casks held dry and wet goods, such as flour, grain, and tobacco (especially in Virginia), gunpowder, wine, beer, milk, and butter, and were used to ship all manner of items like food, spices, nails, and clothing. So, the burning question is: what’s the secret to cutting the bevels on the staves so the pieces fit tightly together to be watertight?
The secret is a careful eye. Coopers use a broad axe with a short handle to rough out the bevel and then use a large jointer, positioned upside-down, to shave the staves to the perfect taper and bevel. All. By. Eye.
That, according to Ramona Vogel, journeyman cooper at Colonial Williamsburg, is the most difficult part of learning the trade.
No glue is used and all the staves are butt-joined. The hoops, which are hammered in place with a driver, cinch the staves together to make them tight.
Ramona makes the task look easy, but then, she’s been doing this for years.
Coopers at Colonial Williamsburg apprentice for 7 years—the traditional period—before becoming journeymen. Or women.
Were there actually female coopers in the 18th-century? Absolutely! Although, for most, if not all, it would not have been their first lifestyle choice. Most women would have wanted to be married and have children.
Ramona, who has done her own research on the subject of female coopers, found that historical documents indicate that orphans, including girls, were taught a trade. It was better to teach them to be productive citizens rather than allow them to become beggars. The youngest apprentice recorded was three years old.
Women became owners of cooperages upon the death of a husband or father, or became apprentices if they were unmarried.
She and the other coopers at Colonial Williamsburg use traditional tools to make all types of containers for the village. By using straight-grained and riven Atlantic white cedar, white oak, and yellow pine, they shape the outside of the staves with a backing knife (or drawknife) and the inside with a hollowing knife. Well-worn shaving horses, based on 18th-century models, figure prominently in the small shop.
A metal bit attached to the front of the shaving horse head digs into oak staves so that the board doesn’t slip out and injure the cooper. Conversely, white cedar, a much softer wood, requires a small piece of scrap to act as a cushion between the head and workpiece, otherwise, the metal bit and head would mar the wood.
How is the head (top and bottom) of the container made to fit so snugly? Once the container is shaped and the staves are held together with hoops, Ramona uses a compass to determine the diameter of the head, builds it to fit, cuts a croze (groove) in the top and bottom, loosens one end of the container, and slides the head in until it snaps into place. Then, the container is tightened with hoops that are hammered in place with a driver.
“Bellied” casks undergo a heat-treating process, called trussing, where a metal cresset, that is packed with pieces of hardwood, sits inside the walls of the open container (no bottom), and is lit on fire. Experienced coopers feel the outside of the barrel, watch the color of the smoke, and keep an eye on the sheen of the wood to determine when the staves are pliable enough to bend. Halfway through the procedure, the barrel is flipped end-for-end so that it’s heated evenly.
Once the cask is bent to its final shape, it undergoes another heat-treating, called pomping, so that it retains its shape. Various shaves are used to clean up the “gunk” inside.
Coopers’ tools are often heavier than comparable tools from other trades. Axes, for example, have short handles and beefy heads. They are much heavier than a hewing hatchet. In the film, you’ll see Ramona lift the cutting edge only a short distance from the workpiece. She lets the heft of the axe do the work.
The same thing goes for the metal driver and hammer that are used to tap the hoops in place. Both are very heavy and short-handled. Making the hoops is also the job of the cooper. They purchase large coils of wrought iron (low carbon steel today) and cold-rivet them together. All hoops are flared to match the shape of the container.
Final touches to the containers include using a topping, or sun, plane to flatten the tops of the staves. When completing a cask, an adze is used to cut an inner bevel, called rounding off, along the top edge of the staves. The staves are made flush with one another on the outside of the container with a shave called a Buzz, so that the hoops create even pressure all around the circumference.
If you’d like to know more about Coopers and Ramona Vogel, visit the Colonial Williamsburg site. Or, better yet,visit Ramona at the Cooper’s shop. She’ll be happy to answer all your questions.
The joiners' shop at Colonial Williamsburg is a relatively new, and most definitely welcome, addition. Joiners in 18th-century Williamsburg were responsible for building everything from shipping boxes to houses, as evidenced by the newly-constructed Charleton Coffeehouse, built by the joiners using period tools.
They were the jack-of-all-trades of the day—an indispensable part of the village—combining carpentry and joinery into one business.
Corky Howlett was building a sailor's box made of heart pine when we visited. The workbenches were also made of the same species—a dense, heavy, stable wood that is well-suited for utilitarian pieces. He explained that all tradesmen must work through a 7-year apprenticeship before becoming a journeyman. It doesn't matter what you already know about the trade when you come to work at Williamsburg; you start at the beginning, just like the 14 year old apprentices in the 1700s.
The shop is a hand tool lover's dream with rows of bench planes, moulding planes, complex moulders, handsaws, bowsaws, squares, and more. It's the kind of space that makes you want to take up a mallet and chisel and start chopping dovetails. Two streets away is the cabinetmakers' shop, run by Master Mack Headley.
Ahhh. To visit the shop is to enter woodworking nirvana. The first things that greet you are exquisite reproductions made by the cabinetmakers, using only handtools. Many of their pieces complement the historic buildings in Colonial Williamsburg.
Mack told me that most of the furniture is made with black walnut or mahogany, and southern pine or tulip poplar are used as secondary woods.
They had sandpaper in the colonies in 1765, he explained, but they also used equisetum (horsetails) for its abrasive qualities.
To achieve a glossy finish, they use unrefined shellac—a 1.5 pound cut to 1 gallon of (presumably denatured) alcohol. They apply 4-5 coats a day until they reach 16-18 coats. Next, they rub with sandpaper, then pumice and rottenstone, and finish with wax.
For pieces that will receive gold leaf, they mix rabbit-skin glue and chalk to form a gesso as the base.
Brian Weldy, the other cabinetmaker on sight that day, offered other tidbits. In the 1700s, a saw would cost you a week and half's wages. A chisel would cost a day's wage.
The original workshop in Williamsburg was a 5-man shop, and each person would work 10-12 hours a day, 6 days a week. Each journeyman owned his own set of tools, and apprentices would build their own toolbox at the end of their apprenticeship. Speaking of toolboxes—they have an incredible reproduction of the 213 year old Benjamin Seaton tool chest for visitors to admire. Just...out...of...drool... range.
The veneer for the tool chest was cut with a wide-blade frame saw to 3/32". Brian remarked that a wide blade tracks a straighter kerf than a thinner blade, which is ideal for cutting veneer.
Brian is in his third year of the apprenticeship program. But you can tell he's in for the long haul. He's got that "I'm in heaven" look in his eye.
This year it's billed as "The Ultimate Skill Building Weekend" and is being held at the Northern Kentucky Convention Center—in the greater Cincinnati, Ohio area—on October 1-3. Registration opens in May.
Compared to past conferences, this one will have some power tool sessions (in a different location than hand tools), more classes, more vendors, and fun add-on events that are on a first-come, first-served basis.
The class descriptions are diverse and include many things upon which woodworkers would like to improve. Topics include: using different types of hand tools, how to use and sharpen them, and how to cut particular joints and details with both hand and power tools.
There are some new speakers on the list, like Marc Adams and Michael Fortune, as well as familiar ones, like Roy Underhill, Frank Klausz, Bob Lang, Glen Huey, and Chris Schwarz.
I'll give you one bit of inside information. Although I was not able to attend any of his classes, I was told by many people that Ron Herman was the hidden jewel at the conference in Valley Forge last year. I'm going to do my best to sit in on at least one of his presentations this year.
There are three things in life that are impossible to do: sneeze with your eyes open, slam a revolving door shut, and take a bad photo at Colonial Williamsburg.
Everywhere you look are lovely 18th-century vignettes of reproduction buildings, and men and women in full period regalia.
Thanks to the vision of Dr. W.A.R. Goodwin and the generosity of John D. Rockefeller, Jr., a ghost of a town with deep roots in our nation's history was brought back to life for our edification and entertainment.
Here, you can tour restored buildings that are filled with reproduction furniture and other essentials made by tradesmen who are currently working in Colonial Williamsburg, visit shops that sell the same wares, take carriage rides, eat in taverns, and learn about the people who lived in what was the capitol of Virginia 250 years ago.
During that time, white or gray hair was all the rage, and the wigmaker was cranking out animal-hair pompadours as quickly as possible. Wigs were so highly prized, they were put into wills and passed from one generation to the next. Small wonder, since some of the best would cost you anywhere from several days' pay to a full year of your salary.
No money for a wig? No problem. Just sneak up behind some young lady with bountiful tresses, snip off a handful using whatever cutting device you have, and run away like a.....like a guy who just stole some lady's hair. It happened.
And so did a lot of other things. Like cabinetmaking, coopering, gunsmithing, silversmithing, basket making, brick making, and weaving.
The town was abundant with busy hands while laws were being made that would fashion a new nation. And the same things are being reenacted here today through employees, actors, and volunteers.
To visit Colonial Williamsburg is to step back into 1765. Except with public restrooms and indoor plumbing. Huzzah.
All material on the Village Carpenter blog is original and copyright-protected and can only be used with the express permission from the author, Kari Hultman.
The shorter list would be to ask Jim Leamy what he can't do.
Jim makes all the parts for his reproduction plough planes, and his perfectionism and meticulous eye for detail are apparent. Even the number and size of the threads of the knurled knobs are historically accurate.
furniture.
Jim uses legally-obtained ivory in many of his planes. He's also used artificial ivory, but has found that it yellows with age (as seen in the close-up image of the plane's gears at left. The yellowed parts are artificial). Real ivory stays brilliant white. It stinks, he says, but it machines nicely.
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