Signpost is a free ezine from Bob Dillon Windsor Chairs. It is the
mission of this monthly ezine to explore the history and contruction of
Windsor chairs as well as other aspects of life in early America. For more
information please go
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***Signpost***
Issue No. Four -- May 10, 2000
Contents:
- News
- The Windsor Work Force
- Skipper Ireson's Ride, by John Greenleaf Whittier
- Happiness... One Book at a Time by Lynn Hummel
NEWS:
Being Spring, the distractions are numerous and my ambition is less than I'd like it to be. The auction I meant to announce with this issue never got set up, nor did I add anything to the custom page. And this issue is a little late. I am properly ashamed and promise to work harder in the future.
My first show for 2000 took place at the International Market Square in Minneapolis. The show was nicely organized, and it was a beautiful April weekend -- too beautiful, apparently, to spend time indoors at the Furniture and Design Show.
Attendance was a little off, but some business came my way anyway.
I begin this issue by talking a little about the people who made those old Windsors the antiques collectors love so much. It was a different world then, and we can only imagine how doggedly those folks worked day in and day out. There wasn't much to do for recreation in the 18th century, and leisure time was all but unknown to the working man. They truly made a life out of their work.
The next item is included here as a coda to
last issue's story on tar and feathers. "Skipper Ireson's Ride," by John Greenleaf Whittier, first
published in 1857, was brought to my attention by one of
Signpost's most ardent fans. She also happens to be my proofreader and
sometime style editor. For her able assistance I would like to say: Thanks, Mom.
The editors of Homespun magazine have kindly given me permission to reprint some of their work. I begin here with an essay in praise of books and reading. More articles will follow in future issues.
Homespun is a local publication which celebrates "the art of creative living" at a rate of ten issues per year. Contact information is listed in "Sources" below.
Until next time,
Bob
The Windsor Work Force
Though a chairmaker just starting out in the 18th century might have commenced business by himself, once a little prosperous he would take on an apprentice, and likely add more as time went on. The apprentices (and perhaps some journeymen as well) spent their days shaving spindles, bending backs and shaping seats. Turned parts (legs, stretchers, arm-posts) were made by a turner employed at the shop, or were purchased from an independent turner. The master served as the chair framer -- he drilled holes and assembled the chairs. Painting would also be carried out by apprentices, with decorative painting sometimes being turned over to an outside source.
Working in this way, it is said that a few men could produce up to a thousand chairs a year.
An apprentice was legally bound to his master through an indenture which typically lasted seven years, or until he was 21. He would live with his master's family and was provided room and board and, maybe, a small allowance -- or in the words of one 1726 contract, "all necessary Cloaths, Meat, Drink, Washing, Lodging, and all other Necessaries...." In return the boy "by these Presents doth bind, and put himself an Apprentice and Servant" to his new master "to learn his Art, Trade, and Mystery." During his apprenticeship, he would also build his first set of tools -- the Woodcraft catalog had yet to be invented.
The great Benjamin Franklin was apprenticed to his older brother, a printer in Boston, at the age of twelve, an indenture which was to last until he was twenty-one. At seventeen, however, Ben ran away to Philadelphia. Although the circumstances of Franklin's departure were unusual, there was nothing unusual about an apprentice running away. In such cases it was typical for the master to advertise for the return of the boy and offer a "reward and reasonable charges." Rewards commonly ran from a few shillings to a few pounds; however one chairmaker from Ohio, clearly ambivalent about his young servant, offered but one penny, stating that whoever returned him "will be coolly treated and receive no thanks...."
Following his completed apprenticeship, the boy, now a young man, might be ready to start his own shop, or he may hire on as a journeyman. In the European system of the time, a journeyman literally traveled with his tools on his back, sometimes from country to country, hiring out to a succession of men in his trade. In this way he gained wider knowledge and experience on his way to someday becoming the master of his own shop. This practice was apparently not common in America, probably because of rapidly expanding settlement and population -- ever-increasing demand created ample opportunities for a young chairmaker to set up for himself.
More Tar and Feathers
Late in the autumn of 1808 the schooner Betsy of Marblehead, Massachusetts, homeward bound in a full gale, came upon the Active, of Portland, Maine, wrecked and taking on water. Betsy's skipper, Benjamin (Floyd) Ireson, his crew miserably afraid for their own lives, pressed on toward home. The Active subsequently sank, but three survived to tell the tale. The people of Marblehead were outraged and one moonlit night a group of their men knocked upon the skipper's door....
Skipper Ireson's Ride
by John Greenleaf Whittier
Of all the rides since the birth of time,
Told in story or sung in rhyme, --
On Apuleius's Golden Ass,
Or one-eyed Calender's horse of brass,
Witch astride of a human back,
Islam's prophet on Al-Borák, --
The strangest ride that ever was sped
Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead!
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Body of turkey, head of owl,
Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl,
Feathered and ruffled in every part,
Skipper Ireson stood in the cart.
Scores of women, old and young,
Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue,
Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane,
Shouting and singing the shrill refrain:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"
Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips,
Girls in bloom of cheek and lips,
Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase
Bacchus round some antique vase,
Brief of skirt, with ankles bare,
Loose of kerchief and loose of hair,
With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang,
Over and over the Mænads sang:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"
Small pity for him! -- He sailed away
From a leaking ship in Chaleur Bay, --
Sailed away from a sinking wreck,
With his own town's-people on her deck!
"Lay by! Lay by! they called to him.
Back he answered, "Sink or swim!
Brag of your catch of fish again!"
And off he sailed through the fog and rain!
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur
That wreck shall lie forevermore.
Mother and sister, wife and maid,
Looked from the rocks of Marblehead
Over the moaning and rainy sea, --
Looked for the coming that might not be!
What did the winds and the sea-birds say
Of the cruel captain who sailed away? --
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Through the street, on either side,
Up flew windows, doors swung wide;
Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray,
Treble lent the fish-horn's bray.
Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound,
Hulks of old sailors run aground,
Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane,
And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"
Sweetly along the Salem road
Bloom of orchard and lilac showed.
Little the wicked skipper knew
Of the fields so green and the sky so blue.
Riding there in his sorry trim,
Like an Indian idol glum and trim,
Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear
Of voices shouting, far and near:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"
"Hear me, neighbors!" at last he cried, --
"What to me is this noisy ride?
What is the shame that clothes the skin
To the nameless horror that lives within?
Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck,
And hear a cry from a reeling deck!
Hate me and curse me, -- I only dread
The hand of God and the face of the dead!"
Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea
Said, "God has touched him! why should we!"
Said an old wife mourning her only son,
"Cut the rogue's tether and let him run!"
So with soft relentings and rude excuse,
Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose,
And gave him a cloak to hide him in,
And left him alone with his shame and sin.
Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
*******
Note: After Ireson's death, it came to light that it was, in fact, his crew who refused to risk their own lives to help those of the Active. The people of Marblehead, not pleased to have their rash judgement dredged up and committed to literature, received an apology from the poet.
The following is reprinted with permission from Homespun magazine.
Happiness... One Book at a Time
by Lynn Hummel
I ran into a guy today who has acquired by a bizarre twist of business, two semi-loads of old books. He didn't intend to get them, he just more or less got stuck with them. That may seem like two semi-loads of trash to some folks, but this guy thinks he may have a treasury second only to the Library of Congress. I think so too.
Dwight Moody was a famous American evangelist in the late 1800s. He founded the interdenominational Moody Memorial Church and Moody Bible Institute in Chicago. He was a one-time shoe salesman who became famous for his inspirational sermons. How good were they? Nobody remembers. But my friend knows -- the guy with the warehouse full of books. He knows because one of those old books is full of Moody's sermons. And he says they were great.
I can think of only one thing better than to acquire two semi-loads of old books all at once, and that would be to acquire them one book at a time. One of my favorite spots in the library is the "clear out" table where they put old overstocked books they have to get rid of. The hardcover books are $1.00 each and the paperbacks are 50¢. Then there are discount book stores where you can get new hardcover volumes for $2.95.
The way it works is like this: If you get a book about Franklin Roosevelt and read it, you realize you're going to have to learn more about Harry Truman. After you've read about Truman, you need to read about Douglas MacArthur, then on to Dwight Eisenhower, followed by John Kennedy, Lyndon Johnson and Richard Nixon. Then you take a break from the presidents for awhile because Richard Nixon leads you to Earl Warren and Earl Warren to Felix Frankfurter. Who was Felix Frankfurter? You can look him up.
Then the next thing you know, you're reading about Lewis and Clark as told by Stephen Ambrose, and when you read about Lewis and Clark, you have to read more about Thomas Jefferson who sent them out in the first place. But Stephen Ambrose was so great you have to read his World War II books -- one about the artillery grunts from D-Day to Victory in Europe, and one about Eisenhower the general.
Then if you find something about Sigmund Freud on the bargain shelf, you get it and read it. And Lincoln -- as many as you can find and as often as you can find them. Then, some good novels in between.
When is there time to read you ask? Before you go to sleep at night, during the night if you can't sleep, early morning when you wake up, during trips, instead of TV, instead of movies -- whenever. Some people read a lot in the bathroom.
Why read? As Channing said, "God be thanked for books. They are the voices of the distant and the dead, and make us heirs of the spiritual life of past ages." The great minds and the great storytellers of the past speak to us in books, and the mediocre minds too, if we allow them. My more serious friends say life is too short to read fiction, but good fiction can provide insights and perspectives that non-fiction never does. Don't miss out on good fiction.
Books are the cure for boredom, your ticket for a cruise around the world of ideas. If fate favors you with two semi-loads, don't dump them or squander them -- you have just won the lottery. Stack them in your attic or garage or under your bed and read them as fast as you can -- to yourself, out loud, to your sweetheart, to your children and to your grandchildren. Then call me -- I'd like to borrow a few.
Also from Homespun:
- A Dog's Best Friend by Lynn Hummel in Signpost #5
- Love Those Planes by Lynn Hummel in Signpost #16
Sources
- Indenture of James Franklin to Benjamin Franklin
- A Typical Indenture Contract From 1726
- Advertisements for Recovery of Runaway Servants
- Advertisements for Recovery of Runaway Servants
- American Country Furniture by Nick Engler and Mary Jane Favorite, Rodale Press, 1990
- Works of John Greenleaf Whittier
- Homespun magazine (free copy available)
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