Finally put this project to bed…Shaker inspired nightstands.

A few years ago we repainted our bedroom.  This prompted my wife to want a new headboard for our bed.  The old headboard was dark cherry and just didn’t fit with the room anymore, so I made a new one. Once that was done she observed that now the nightstands didn’t really work (also dark cherry), so I set to work on a new pair.  As it happened, I had just inherited a healthy stock of maple from my father and was looking for a suitable project.  Given the overall aesthetic of our home, I thought that a shaker/19th century vernacular style would be a good place to start with the design.  I’ve learned the hard way to always draw plans before the first cut to give one a a sense of size and proportion.

Shaker inspired, but also pretty reminiscent of the 19th and early 20th century vernacular style I was accustomed to seeing as a kid in rural Pennsylvania.

I started dimensioning the stock and gluing up the sides last winter–then spring hit and the carcasses sat in my shop while I went to work prepping the garden.

Lovely (and very hard) maple
Glue up

I thought that being on sabbatical last Spring would afford me all the time in the world to get these done–such was not the case!  As summer gave way to fall my wife became a little more impatient and openly speculated that perhaps it was time to start looking at furniture stores for a pair of nightstands.  OK, I got the message.  After Christmas I finally got back to it.

With the carcasses largely complete to this point it was a matter of assembling the face frames and building the drawers and inset panel doors.

While I am certainly not opposed to the use of power tools (never giving up my table saw or router!) I still enjoy prepping stock with hand tools–I can joint a board with this Stanley #8 pretty quickly. This piece of stock was resawn to make the book matched panels for the cabinet doors.
Drawer assembly–my dovetails are improving
Hand cut dovetail.  I cut them slightly proud then trim the ends of the pins and tails with a block plane before final sanding.
Final fitting of drawers, doors, and hardware

After drawer construction was complete (all hand cut dovetails) and the doors glued up I assembled both nightstands for a final fitting.  Originally I had intended to use Shaker style hardware–wooden knobs and latches.  My wife requested modern hardware in something like a brushed nickel finish.  Our compromise was antique salvage hardware from the 1920s or so: glass pulls for the drawers and steel Hoosier cabinet latches.  I like the look.  After fitting I removed all of the hardware, gave everything a final sanding to #220, and applied three coats of Tried & True Danish Oil burnishing with #0000 steel wool between coats.

I love this stuff

I’m pretty happy with how this project turned out.


Plenty of room for bed time reading

While I was at it I thought a “new” clock was a good idea as well.  I have and old Telechron given to me by a colleague that I love, but the alarm was always pretty temperamental.  So, I found another Telechron (circa 1940s) in need of a little TLC–it needed a new cord, some lubrication, and the case looked like it had been dropped down the stairs.

Cleaned, lubricated, new cord and the finish restored this vintage Telechron goes well with the maple nightstand.

Done and done.  Next project (after resharpening all of my chisels and plane irons that got beat up on the hard maple) is a reproduction of an 18th century sea chest.

The things we leave behind

I received a text message several weeks ago from a friend and former student: a friend of his was tasked with cleaning out her grandfather’s house in Watertown, Massachusetts which included a basement workshop.  Her grandfather had died at the end of 2019 at the age of 94. Unsure what to do with everything, she and the family decided to try to sell off his tool.  I said I’d be interested in taking a look; at the very least I could provide some guidance on what was of interest to collectors and what wasn’t.  Perhaps I’d even find a few things for myself.  What I didn’t expect was to be as affected as I was by digging through the now quiet workshop of Charles Paone, a man I never met.  His friends and family called him Charlie.

Mr. Paone’s workshop was located in the basement of the modest cape style home (circa 1940s or 50s) adjacent to a  basement den paneled in tongue and grooved knotty pine that instantly betrayed (in a very familiar and for me pleasing way) the age of the the home.  The shop itself was filled with stray off cuts of lumber and shelves full of stains and varnishes.  All around were empty Chase and Sandborn and Folgers coffee cans and Prince Albert tobacco tins now filled with an assortment of nuts and bolts and wood screws.  I immediately thought of my grandfather’s garage and the baby food jars filled with hardware. I spotted a few tools that were of interest to me but I mostly was interested in learning about the man who spent his Saturday afternoons and evenings after work building and fixing things at a workbench still strewn with the tools and clamps he used on his last project.  I talked to his granddaughter a little about tools, but mostly I asked about him.

What I learned is that Mr. Paone was born in Watertown in 1925.  He was a veteran of WWII where he served in the south pacific with the US Army–it is likely he lied about his age to enlist early, a not so uncommon practice!  Following the war he built his home in Watertown where he raised his family and worked for Waltham Millwork Corporation.  What I found fascinating was the number of home built power tools–belt sanders, bench grinders, and router tables.  I picture him sitting with a set of plans from a 1950s Popular Mechanics and adapting an old washing machine motor to run a stationary belt sander.  I found a couple of piles of old electric motors patiently awaiting their reuse.

Most of the old power tools are of greater interest to a collector than they were to a collector and user like me.  There was one major exception, which was a Craftsman model 103.23620 bench-top drill press.  As best as I can figure, it was produced sometime between about 1947 and 1951.  I plugged it in and it fired right up and ran smoothly. I loaded the drill press and an assortment of hand tools into my car and spend a bit of time chatting with Mr. Paone’s granddaughter.  It was clear that they were close. Before I left I spotted a picture of Mr. Paone and his wife June on their wedding day and quickly snapped a pic.

Paone (2)
Charlie and June sometime in the 1940s

I got the drill press home and gave it a through cleaning and lubrication.

Back on my home workbench


Craftsman: The tools that launched a thousand home workshops

After some consideration, I made the decision to replace the motor.  Originally I had planned on just replacing the cord, but further inspection revealed deteriorating insulation inside the motor; it also emitted a very strong odor of ozone.  I don’t think it was original to the drill as the manual claims it had a 1/3 hp motor from the factory, while the one mounted to the drill when I brought it home was 1/4 horse.  I upgrade to a sealed 1/3 hp motor from Grizzly Industrial.

The old General Electric 1/4 hp motor
The new motor mounted easily and is lighter and more powerful.

She now runs like a top and I couldn’t be happier–I’ve wanted a drill press for awhile.  What I got was even better: a drill press and a story.

I picked up a few other odds and ends as well.

Stanley #99 side rabbet plane
Stanley #71 router plane
Fitchburg Tool Co. combination square. I don’t know the date, but what little info there is on this company indicates it went out of business in the 1950s.

I was certainly very happy about finding these tools, but being there in Charlie’s shop also made me feel a sense of sadness and loss.  Mr. Paone marks the passing of a generation of men and women who fought their way through the deprivations of the Great Depression and then fought their way through the horrors of the Second World War in Europe, the south pacific, and on the home front.  After that, to have the chance to own a modest home on a modest street and to have a small space to work with your hands and a place to raise your family must have felt like a profound luxury.  As we get further away from the hardships and triumphs of Charlie’s generation we forget that there is not just happiness but also nobility in a modest life lived simply and well.  Men like Charlie made great sacrifices and asked for little in return but a little shop in the corner of the basement where all of the destruction he had witnessed could be negated but the small but powerful act of creating.  His shop was my grandfather’s shop.  His shop is my father’s shop.

As I left, I promised Mr. Paone’s granddaughter that I would not sell the items I had bought, but rather, I would honor him by using them to build things for my family and loved ones.  I am proud to have such an opportunity.  Thank you, Charlie, for everything you have done–I only wish we had had the chance to meet.




About a week after I visited Watertown and returned with some treasures from Charlie’s shop I received a large envelope in the mail.  Inside were the original owner’s manual for the drill press as well as the funeral card pictured above.  There was also a very kind letter from Charlie’s granddaughter thanking me for taking such an interest in her grandfather, “his craft, and his life.”  The honor was mine.  I will put the funeral card up in my shop as a reminder of Charlie, a man I’ve never met but have enjoyed getting to know.