For the last few years, Tom Brewer, Mike Sloggatt, and I have been traveling around America doing carpentry clinics at local lumberyards and tool stores. The experience has been a blessing. We’ve met carpenters and lumberyard staff, manufacturers’ representatives and marketing people from every corner of the country. Regardless of the jokes and criticism we all hear about our industry, every mile of the way we’ve met honest, hardworking, and responsible trades people.

(Click any image to enlarge.)

Walking into Glen Rock Stairs is like stepping back in time. Sure, they’re using some new machinery, like automated CNC routers for cutting out stringers, but, for the most part, they build stairs the old-fashioned way. Each carpenter is assigned a specialty task and a special area of the shop.

Carriages

Dave Jeltes works on a comfortable hardwood floor, assembling carriages. I caught up with Dave as he was fastening the stringers to the treads (see photo, right)—all with hand nails: “I like to feel the nails do their job—draw things up tight,” he told me. “That’s something I can’t feel with a nail gun.” He didn’t need pneumatics at the speed he was driving nails.

Unlike most carpenters today, Dave’s hammer is his most-used tool.

After securing the treads, he lays the carriage down and drives in wedges before installing the risers.

Stepping quickly, he snaps on the wedges with the side of the hammer.

Next, risers are dropped into each mortise. Then the risers are nailed into the back of each tread.

After that, more wedges are driven, each with a single hammer blow…

…and snapped off with the flat of the hammer.

There’s no fancy machinery in Dave Jeltes work area, just Dave.

Radius Stairs

Everyone has a nickname at Glen Rock—and for good reason. Many of the craftsmen are first generation Polish immigrants. “Richie” (Ryszard Kluk) builds radius stairs in Glen Rock’s new assembly room, where everything imaginable is possible. Even the radius stairs have housed stringers. Once the stringers are mortised, Richie installs the treads.

Starting at the top, he slips each tread into a stringer mortise, then marks for the bullnose cut.

The two bottom treads are laid out for bullnose returns on both ends.

Nosing Returns

“Voytek” (Wojciech Minarczuk) cuts and fits each bullnose return on a bandsaw, starting with a miter.

It takes a steady hand to support the workpiece and make a straight cut right through the miter.

Next, Voytek makes the cross cut.

And last, he makes the rip, cutting off the bullnose waste.

The pre-cut radius caps are fit by eye,

trimmed a little on the miter saw,

and then the final joint is finished on the band saw.

To perfect the miters, Voytek holds the joint tightly closed with his hand, then carefully passes the bandsaw blade through the miter.

Timing is critical. Voytek stops cutting precisely at the heel of the miter, then releases the cap before withdrawing the tread.

All of the bullnose starter steps are assembled in another corner of the shop, by Faith Noah. She’s the only woman working in a shop full of men, but no one risks giving Faith any guff. Her workbench is set up for one chore, and with every clamp and cawl in place, she makes the job look easy.

In a much larger space, Jaroslaw (Jerry) Ziplinski assembles all the handrails. Using power tools is dangerous, and we all try to work safely. Jerry was kind enough to remove the guard on his custom dual-kerf cutter so we could see clearly how the tool operates. Jerry starts by making two cuts in the first piece, then matches the joint and marks locations for mating cuts in the second piece.

Jerry joins all of his railing parts with Clamp Nails.

Clamp Nail Company: 21 W. Lone Cactus Dr. Phoenix, AZ 85027-2940 (623) 581-0204

Back in the 1980s, we used to fasten all our casing miters with Clamp Nails. I never knew where they came from. Now I do. And they work great for fastening all types of wood joinery.

Clamp Nail was started in 1917 near the Chicago area and is still owned and operated by the same family, though sixteen years ago they moved to Phoenix, AZ. Used in everything from furniture to picture frames to cabinet doors, clamp nails are really popular for caskets. The company tends to sell mostly to manufacturers of high-end products.

Jerry likes the fasteners because they’re much faster than rail bolts, and the joints are bulletproof. Clamp Nail have flanges that open on the wide end, so as the nails are driven—wide end first—and the flanges narrows, the joint is drawn tighter and tighter.

John Everett took us on a tour of the shop first, then, like saving the dessert, he showed us his workstation last. Tucked into a corner at the back of the shop, beneath a bank of high windows, John operates a lathe that surely dates back to the 19th century. Once powered by steam, and maybe even a water wheel, the lathe pulley and belt are now driven by an electric motor. And that is the only difference between John Everett and generations of wood turners who have used the same machine.

• • •

(With Keith Mathewson and Tom Brewer)

Last summer, while Tom Brewer and I were doing Roadshows in Washington state, we stopped by and visited with Keith Mathewson at his shop in Seattle. Keith specializes in custom woodworking, and he shares his shop with a few like-minded woodworkers. Everything that goes out the door of Seattle Fine Woodworking is a one-of-a-kind custom creation.

Keith Mathewson, working in his shop. (Note: Click any image to enlarge.)

Keith says, “I wanted a big shop but I didn’t want to have employees—I’ve been that route and didn’t want to repeat the experience. So I built the shop, setting it up with workstations that I could lease out. Then I went looking for guys who had skill sets that were complementary to the work I do. We pool projects and we assist each other, which actually works out well in good times and in slow times.”

While Tom and I were at Keith’s shop, not only did we get the nickel tour and a peak at a custom spiral stair that Keith was in the middle of building—one piece at a time—but we were lucky to get a few more tips on using hand tools.

Like many readers on the JLC finish carpentry forum, I owe a debt of gratitude to Keith for teaching me about hand tools and how important they are—not to collect and hang on your wall, but to learn how to use. There are countless tasks that machine-oriented carpenters face on a daily basis that can be accomplished quicker, and sometimes better, with hand tools.

As Keith said in a recent TiC article: “I think it is a shame—actually, a detriment to the craft, and to craftsmen—that the occasional use of hand tools is not more common on jobsites. Unfortunately, all of us tend to use the tools and techniques we have been exposed to, and, over the last several decades, exposure to hand tools has been reduced to the point where they are all but on the endangered species list. But they shouldn’t be.”

In another article, Keith kept up the harangue: “I think carpenters are being shortchanged today. They’re losing out on learning solutions to common problems. They’re not learning simple, fundamental techniques. And all those solutions, all those techniques, share one thing in common: hand tools. If a power miter saw is the only tool you know how to use, then the solution to every problem is a miter!”

Watch this video, and step a little outside your current comfort zone. The video tour of Keith’s shop is less than fifteen minutes long, but I guarantee it will open your mind to new possibilities, which, in turn, will expand your understanding of wood. What could be better than that? (If you have a good internet connection, try the 720HD version.)

In the modern world, we value college degrees over trade-school know-how; and our educational system—and our country—pays the price. The Williamson Free School of Mechanical Trades is a good example of effective education, education that actually works, where, truly, no child is left behind; and where success—both for educators and students—is easy to track: at Williamson, nearly every graduate who wants a job gets a job, and that is a great measure of success.

• • •

I did okay with math, up until high school geometry. Then Trigonometry and Algebra hit me. I think that’s where I bounced off the learning train and math went on without me. I just didn’t understand the concepts, couldn’t grasp the meaning of negative numbers, square roots, formulas with two variables, tangents, cosines.

Looking back more than thirty years, it’s easy now to identify the problem. Back then, I thought it was me—I blamed myself for being dumb, ‘math challenged.’ But my career has proved that judgment wasn’t true. I’ve been a carpenter for more than thirty years, and I’ve learned to use trigonometry to solve countless problems on jobsites, from laying out foundations to framing roofs; from installing wainscoting on stairs to measuring crown molding. I divide, multiply, add, and subtract complicated fractions every day. I love math on the jobsite. Obviously, I’m not stupid. The problem wasn’t me. The problem was ‘chalkboard teaching.’

Today, our educational system is failing for a variety of reasons (reduced budgets, teacher layoffs, and deferred building maintenance are just a few reasons—don’t get me started), but one of the reasons our school system fails is because we don’t reach students who learn through physical experience—through hands-on physical contact with a problem—rather than abstract equations on a chalkboard.

The Williamson Free School campus. (Note: Click any image to enlarge. Hit your browser's "back" button to return to this article.)

Learning by doing, or rather, learning by failing—where you actually watch your mistake take shape, where you hold it in your hand and study its evolution, where other students see it, too, and also learn from the vicarious experience—has distinct advantages, especially for students who learn through images and hands-on experience.

As Matthew Crawford writes in his recent book Shop Class as Soulcraft, “…the experience of failure seems to have been edited out of the educational process…. A student can avoid hard sciences and foreign languages and get a degree without ever having the unambiguous experience of being wrong.” (p. 204)

Crawford concludes: “There may be something to be said, then, for having gifted students learn a trade, if only in the summers, so that their egos will be repeatedly crushed before they go on to run the country.”

The School

Enrollment at Williamson Free School of Mechanical Trades is limited to financially disadvantaged young men. Each student must choose a three-year program and specialize in a trade: Masonry, Power Plant, Painting, Carpentry, etc. But classes don’t concentrate solely on occupational training. Students study general education courses as well as gaining practical experience through hands-on training.

In addition to intensive shop classes like welding, boiler control, drafting, carpentry, painting, and masonry, students take required courses in resume-writing, Spanish, chemistry, math, and business management. Williamson offers a well-rounded program that supports well-rounded citizens; ironically, that is precisely the goal the school began with in 1888, and is still the school’s objective today.

Isaiah Vansant Williamson started the school with a two-million-dollar endowment and clear directions based on the Quaker ideals of hard work, honesty, religious faith, and modest lifestyle. Williamson endowed the school with more than just money, he established the school’s mission: “In this country every able-bodied, healthy young man who has learned a good mechanical trade, and is truthful, honest, frugal, temperate, and industrious, is certain to succeed in life and to become a useful and respected member of society.”

Imagine if our entire educational system was based on the same ambition.

19th century ideals in the 21st century

Today, the school is led by President Guy S. Gardner, who fittingly blends the founder’s late 19th century altruism with our modern culture: Gardner is a Vietnam vet and fighter pilot; from 1980-1991 he served as a NASA astronaut and piloted two space shuttle missions. Yet his down-to-earth approach and determination provides what Gardner describes as “an atmosphere of mutual respect at Williamson,” and solidly bridges the past to the future.

Frank Furness designed the school toward the end of the 19th century. Little-known now, Furness was considered a cutting-edge figure in the Philadelphia area–Louis Sullivan worked and studied under Furness, and Sullivan went on to influence Frank Lloyd Wright.

Furness believed in transcendentalism and abolition—spiritual values linked to the first half of the century; he also believed in capitalism and industry—the strength of Victorian America expressed during the second half of the century (the close of the Civil War ushered in the Transcontinental Railroad). Furness expressed his personal confidence—and his confidence as an American—through Romanesque architecture, a popular institutional style of the period.

In fact, Williamson Free School embodies a revival of 19th century values, where learning and discipline were irrevocably connected: the school provides a Judeo-Christian environment—Chapel services are mandatory; students wear coats and ties to meals and classes (except shop classes); guidelines are strictly enforced for academic performance; participation in sports and other activities is dependent upon academic standing.

Shop Classes

The goal of the program is to graduate men who are not only prepared to enter the workforce, but to contribute to their communities.

During a recent visit to the campus, I watched freshman students learning how to sharpen and use hand tools (freshman carpenters aren’t allowed to use power tools during their first semester); I watched one senior carpentry crew install final trim to complete a recent remodel on one building, and another senior crew lay out the foundation for a new building. I watched the horticulture students weeding, planting, and mowing the grounds; paint students were refinishing woodwork. In fact, all general maintenance on the 220acre campus, and most new construction (with the exception of electrical and HVAC work), is performed by students.

The Trades in America

Americans may be able to get computers, appliances, and steel from China; we may be able to buy our cars from Japan and outsource our data entry to India; but we still need to have our homes built, remodeled, and maintained right here in America—by Americans. And yet, in this country, we have few educational programs in the construction trades, and no continuing educational programs that focus specifically on the trades; no ‘hands-on’ programs that cover real-world construction issues: How to properly layout a foundation; how to lay block walls square and level; how to frame a house plumb and straight; how to install a window so it won’t leak; how to design and build simple and complicated stairs.

After three years, Williamson students graduate with a firm academic foundation, knowledge of a trade, and an appreciation for discipline and hard work. As Norm Yeager, a Williamson graduate of 1969, says:

“I was one of the original latch-key kids: my mother raised me but was never there—she worked full time. I bounced from school to school with little discipline. Williamson was tough, really tough for me. I wanted to quit. They took 80 students and 7 quit the first week. My class graduated with 53. I quit, too, right after my freshman year. I went out and got a job in a factory. I worked right under the time clock and couldn’t believe how slow fifteen minutes could go by—it seemed like two hours. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life looking at a clock, so I quit that job and went back to Williamson. I was never able to serve in the military, but I imagine attending Williamson was as close as it gets to being drafted.”

With a reputation for producing solid employees, Williamson men are quickly plucked up for jobs in the Philadelphia area and throughout the country. Williamson graduates tend to move up the ladder fast, becoming project managers, jobsite superintendents, and self-employed contractors. Tom Wisneski, Vice-President of Education, explains the reason why the Williamson program succeeds: “While fewer than ten percent of our students pursue four-year degrees immediately upon graduation, considerably more go on for further education within their first five years out of school, primarily because Williamson men learn first-hand to appreciate the vital role that education serves in career success.”

Norm Yeager confirms the important role education has played in his life and career: “They took a guy like me—not the brightest bulb in the chandelier—and taught me a trade; they gave me pride in the trade, too. Sure, graduating from Williamson by itself gave me a sense of accomplishment, but when I graduated, I learned quickly how valuable the education had been. I discovered there weren’t a lot of people on real-world jobsites willing to share what they knew. The general attitude was ‘I learned it the hard way. You’ll have to, too!’ But instructors at Williamson weren’t like that—they cared about us, they wanted us to succeed. And we did. I went to my first job already knowing a lot about construction. It wasn’t long before I became a project manager and superintendent—I’ve taught college-level construction training classes, too. And I’ve loved every minute of it.”

Carl Hagstrom, a Williamson graduate from 1974, shares the same opinion: “Williamson Free School of Mechanical Trades produces solid mechanics, which is a word not used often today, unless you’re talking about auto mechanics. But there was a time when people referred to a competent tradesman as a good mechanic.”

While students graduate with a firm foundation in a trade, Williamson is not a Trade School. If it were, students would spend most of their time in shop classes, but they don’t. A glance at their daily schedule reveals that each student spends as much time in academic classes as they do in shop classes. The school’s mission is to “prepare deserving young men to be useful and respected members of society,” and they follow through on that mission.

Carl Hagstrom boils the school’s mission down to “creating men of character.” He adds: “You can read it in their handbook. They actually believe and act on their published commitments. One of them is that our work should manifest a spirit of unity and harmony, and that everyone should be treated with fairness, dignity and respect. All of the instructors at Williamson believe that. We were taught to work as a team, to respect the instructors, to respect each other, and to respect ourselves, too. Which makes it so much more than a Trade School. Where in this country can you get an education like that?”

Hagstrom started at Williamson when he was seventeen, before even graduating from high school. “My mom died when I was young and my father only knew how to push the wrong buttons. I started working in a service station when I was twelve, and wasn’t home much after that—I stayed with friends. Williamson was tough on me but I stuck it out because I wanted to learn. And the stuff I learned was well suited for me—and it was free!—it was a primer on engineering: how to size beams and girders and lintels; and everything about masonry. I even went back there after I graduated to take carpentry classes. But what I really learned from Williamson was how to learn. And that’s made a big difference in my life.”

If only other schools in America had the same impact.

Not long ago, Gary Katz and I visited the William Thorsen House in Berkeley, CA. Built in 1909—one year after the Gamble House—the Thorsen House represents the “last of the large and elaborate wooden houses designed by Greene and Greene,” (Edward Bosley), for which Randall Makinson, in his book Greene & Greene: Architecture as a Fine Art, coined the term, “Ultimate Bungalows.”

At the turn of the 20th century, bungalow homes were so common throughout the country that companies like Sears sold bungalow kit homes with everything included—from the tapered columns to the leaded glass cabinet doors. But Henry and Charles Greene took the form to a new height, building several expansive homes for wealthy industrialist clients, including: the Blacker House (1907-1909), the Gamble House (1907-1909), the Pratt House (1908-1911) and the Thorsen House (1908-1910).

As Gary mentioned in his earlier article about Frank Lloyd Wright and Falling Water, architects of the period had recognized the value of horizontal lines in architectural composition as opposed to the vertical lines popular during the heyday of the Victorian period. Architects after the turn of the 20th century focused on designs for comfortable, natural homes that fit—rather than fought—with the environment.

Charles Robert Ashbee, a central figure in the British Arts & Crafts movement, toured America in 1908-1909 and noted that Charles Greene’s work was: “beautiful; among the best there is in this country. Like Lloyd Wright the spell of Japan is upon him, like Lloyd Wright he feels the beauty and makes magic out of the horizontal line, but there is in his work more tenderness, more subtlety, more self-effacement than in Wright’s work, and it is more refined and has more repose” (Bosley, Greene & Greene, p. 140).

And no single word better describes the Thorsen house than “repose.”

The Thorsen House (Note: Click any image to enlarge, hit your browser's "back" button to return to this article.)

Exterior

Ironically, the Thorsen house has stronger vertical lines than any of the Greene’s other Ultimate Bungalows, and that’s because it was designed and built in Berkeley, CA, on a hill, unlike the Greene & Green homes in Pasadena, which were placed on mostly level ground with a horizontal plan. But the Thorsen’s multi-level home sits on a unique corner property, and has an L -shaped plan that climbs up the hill gently, masking it’s size—over 9,000 sq. ft.

Timbered rafter tails with long overhangs and strongly cantilevered porches are distinctive features, but instead of sleeping porches—which the Greenes included on Southern California homes—this colder-climate house was designed with uncovered balconies, though the balconies have since been covered and turned into sleeping areas by the current owners and residents: since 1942, the home has been owned and cared for by the Sigma Phi Society of California.

We were early for our appointment the morning we visited, so Gary and I took our time exploring the front of the house. There are many features that are common to Greene and Greene homes, like the cloud lift design in the window muntins (you’ll see more of that when we go inside for the videos).

A similar pattern is repeated in the basement windows.

The milk delivery door repeats a theme common to the Greenes and to Frank Lloyd Wright—long horizontal head casings.

A small pathway provides access to the back yard. The fraternity has plans for a new garden wall, which will protect their privacy more, but I’m sure they’ll be saving this gate.

I caught Gary on his hands and knees taking a picture of the full-sailed ship in this panel (see photo, left). John Thorsen, William’s father, was born in Norway; although he earned his fortune in the Michigan lumber industry, he always had a close connection to the sea. William shared the same interest; in fact, as we later learned from our tour guide, features in the dining room and living room repeat the same nautical schemes.

Approaching the front steps, we first passed through an inspired iron archway.

Deep steps with low risers lead to the entry door.

The door is decorated with a gnarled grapevine pattern. Vines also form the primary imagery common throughout the Thorsen home. I’ll show you more of that once we get inside the house.

Full-time Maintenance

Before we go inside, I thought all the carpenters reading this article would appreciate seeing the shape the house is in today, and learning a bit about the type of work required to maintain the home. These folks welcome the help of experienced volunteers!

The Greene brothers used Peter Hall as the contractor on this home, just as they had on all of their other Ultimate Bungalows. Hall hired William Isaac Ott to supervise the job, and the workmanship is impeccable. Most of the maintenance issues Gary and I saw could have been avoided if the original carpenters had used different techniques, or if they had some of the great materials we have today—which is a good lesson: we all have something to learn!

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen an exposed ridge beam that has lasted very long without a flashing cap. I suspect the reason this one is still there—or, at least, part of it’s there—is because it was an old growth timber, all heartwood, nearly impervious to moisture—nearly. If you try a detail like this one, cap that baby!

I liked this trellis, a lot. In fact, I might make one for my house. If only the wood had been maintained—a coat of oil every few years might have killed the plants, but it would have saved the trellis.

Here’s what remains of the side yard fence—at least the bottom rail. Notice how the fencing was mortised into the rail! What a job of joinery. And built to last.

Too bad it rains so much up here—moisture got trapped in the mortises, rotting out the tongues. Even though the carpenters tried to avoid that problem by drilling drainage holes in the bottom of each mortise, that wasn’t enough to save the fencing. Maybe a few more holes would have done the trick. I bet if they had had a Domino….

Entry & Living Room

Greene and Greene homes always contain a symbolic thread or device that ties one room to the next: lotuses are a symbolic device in the Blacker house; the “tree of life” is a primary device in the Gamble house, from the front doors to the living room inglenook; and rose and grapevines serve a similar purpose in the Thorsen home. They decorate the frieze in the living room and the frieze in the dining room.

The frieze is broken by intriguing U-shaped brackets, which are secured to the top rail of the paneling with multi-stepped pins. The pins in the corners rest on both walls, while the rose vine continues all the way around the room.

If I were forced to compare them all, I’d say the living room probably contains the most interesting design features in the home. Watch this video, and you’ll see what I mean:

Stairs

Like the main stair in the Gamble house, the Thorsen stair is an eye-catcher, but it is also much different than any other stairway I’ve seen in a Greene and Greene home.

The Thorsen newel posts are the real focal point of this stair; the railing, though it’s massive, and reflects the lift design, is almost secondary.

Though the bottom newel post is more highly decorated, the geometry of the landing newel posts is outstanding. The articulated form of the two posts, joined in the center by a deeply pillowed filler, stopped me cold. That pillowing was also cut into the mid-flight posts. To punctuate the design, the pegs on the posts and the railing alternated from round to rectangular.

If any of you have visited the Gamble House, you probably remember the exaggerated finger joints in the risers. The Greenes repeated the same detail in the Thorsen stair.

• • •

Dining Room

There are several features in the dining room that are worth noting. I’ll start with the fireplace. Mahogany pilasters—cut with reversed pillows or steps—flank the tile surround and support a simple mantelshelf with finger joints at the corners. The wall paneling is also deceptively simple: single panels—which are both tall and wide—frame the fireplace and are divided only above the mantelpiece, in a plumb line with the pilasters below. Small pillowed keys are mortised into the joint between the stiles and rails. A small square molding captures each of the panels; additional interior “stiles,” cut with a lift design, also flank the low panel above the mantelshelf.

The tiles in the fireplace surround are decorated with a periwinkle motif. If the original furniture were still in the house, we’d be able to see that same design repeated through delicate inlays in the chair backs and the dining table. If you want to see want I mean, check out Edward Bosley’s book: Greene & Greene.

Like the living room, the dining room carries the same nautical theme, and is meant to resemble the bow of a ship. In fact, the bay window is bowed over the front of the house. The crown molding—it must be called that even though it’s a simple build-up of flat moldings with eased edges—is broken at every corner by a multi-stepped “figurehead” pendent, which also resembles the bow of a ship.

But the real glory-piece in the dining room is the china cabinet!

Supported by a thick two-knuckled finger-joint, and stepped brackets that extend back into the wall, this piece is a real keeper.

To get a really good look at this cabinet, watch the video!

Rear yard

Nowhere is deferred maintenance more obvious than in the back yard, where the lower sun deck is supported by temporary shoring (see photo, right). The job of rebuilding the bridge and deck will be a costly one. But the art and craft of the home is still alive, even among the recently installed posts and pads. The Greene brothers’ palette of materials included wood, stone, brick, concrete, brass, copper, and hand-forged steel. Rusted collar straps, tightened with driven wedges, accentuate the strength and repose of the Thorsen home.

Hull-Oakes Lumber may be the last steam-powered commercial saw mill in the country, and they’re one of the few mills capable of cutting large timbers up to 85 ft. long. The mill has been on the National Register of Historic Places since 1996. Large long timbers are still used in railroad trestles, the restoration of historic structures, and for the spars and masts of ships. By coincidence, the day I arrived the mill was cutting an 80-ft. long timber for the restoration of the C.A. Thayer, an early 20th century three-masted schooner used to transport lumber along the West Coast.

(Click any image to enlarge. Hit your browser's "back" button to return to this article.)

In 1934 Ralph Hull went into the sawmill business by leasing a mill which had been closed since the beginning of the Depression. Hull started building a plant on the current site in 1938. Right up until he passed away, in May 2002, he continued to check in on operations, but his grandson, Todd Nystrom, now runs the mill, located about fifteen miles south of Corvallis, OR.

Operation of the Mill

Trucks arrive loaded with logs.

The waggoner, a log-handling machine, grabs the logs before the binders are released, then lifts the logs clear of the truck.

The truck pulls out…

and the waggoner drops the logs over the log brow…

into the log pond.

Then the truck backs up under the A-frame hoist, the driver releases the trailer…
and the trailer is hoisted “piggy back” onto the truck.

The waggoner operator also doubles as the “pond monkey.” Back in the early 20th century, a pond man walked the logs in the pond, arranging them with a pikepole and stacking them at the log lift. But today, a pond boat quickly shuffles the logs, picking and ordering them at the base of the lift, so the boat operator is often called a “pond bronc.”

The bark that accumulates in the pond is lifted on a conveyor up to the mill, where it’s transported to the chipper. All debris goes to the chipper.

Once the logs are ordered and ready to be lifted, the boat operator goes back to off-load another truck of logs.

The log-lift hoists the logs individually out of the pond…
and drops them into a chain-driven conveyor, called the “long transfer,” which transports the logs through…

the barker, where the bark is stripped off and conveyed to the chipper.

The logs continue on the conveyor to the “short transfer,” or log table, where they stack up. The sprocket-and-chain-operated table moves the logs individually to the log cradle (see photo, below) which holds each log in preparation for a short tumble down to the log deck and the log turner.

The log turner lifts, rolls, and shoves each log onto the carriage. The heavy steel arms—operated by steam cylinders—can throw a six-foot diameter, eighty-foot-long log. At the extreme right side of the photograph (below), the next log is held by the cradle.

This 80-ft. log (see photo, right) is carefully rolled and positioned in the carriage prior to making the first cut. All the cutting operations are powered by steam.

Now the log has been rotated to minimize waste. The first cut removes mostly wane—the round and bark-covered edge of the log.

The off-bearer (right side of photo, below) secures the fall-off until the log clears the blade, though large logs require more help. Here the ratchet setter lends a hand, too.

The carriage rides on tracks, like a railroad car. The movement of the carriage is controlled by the sawyer. The sawyer looks at his order board then motions to the rachet setter, who operates the carriage, racheting the log closer or farther from the blade. Hand signals are the only way to communicate with all the thunderous noise. Everyone wears ear protection.

The sawyer and the rachet setter must be sharp and quick, as the carriage moves the log past the blade quickly. Two fingers means the log must be moved out for a two-inch cut; a fist or a connected finger and thumb followed by four fingers means a 14-in. cut.  In this way, the rachet setter knows that the carraige must be returned to the log turner so the log can be rotated before the next cut.

The Sawyer controls the movement of the carriage with the wooden-handled lever on the left, while simulataneously controlling log-loading and log-turning with the control on the right. The control on the right also operates the “short transfer” chain conveyor and the log cradle.

The rachet-setter is seated behind controls that operate the movement of the log on the carriage, and controls that secure the log to the carriage.

This log now lies flat on a clean cut, ready for another pass through the band mill, which squares the timber in preparation for making a new mast for the C.A. Thayer. The mast is so long that transporting the log required a truck-and-trailor with stearable rear wheels. The finished timber will be transported by barge to the ship restoration project in San Francisco.

The off-bearer works right beside the blade, as the mill squares up the timber.

The off-bearer relies on an assortment of tools to help move both slabs and sawdust away from the headrig.

Measuring the final cut

Long timbers become a hands-on operation when they’ve developed a slight bow.

Hull-Oakes specializes in cutting long logs and big ones, too, over 6-ft. in diameter.

The off-bearer guides the second cut onto the rollers,
and helps pivot the slab slightly. Gravity does the rest.

The slab is shoved tight against the straight-edge fence of the edger table before going through the edger.

The edger cuts wide slabs…
into narrower beams and boards.

All of the fall off—the bark, the wane and waste—goes into the wood chipper. Some of the resulting material is used to fire the boilers, but most of the chips are shipped to Toledo, a nearby paper company.

After cross-cutting for length,
timbers and beams are hoisted to a pallet, loaded on a lumber carrier,
and stacked for shipment.

The Headrig

The over-sized bandsaw blade runs around two wheels in the headrig. The headrig includes the blade, pulleys, and protective housing.

The blade is removed for sharpening every two hours. The doors on the blade housing swing open and a carraige moves the blade off the pulleys…
then lowers the blade to the ground. The saw filer, with assistance,
guides the blade onto a long dolly.

It only takes two men to position the blade…

in several careful steps…

into the sharpening station.

	The carborundum grinder must be dressed before sharpening each blade, then the saw filer calibrates the machine for the stone, adjusts the travelers, and starts the machine, which…
	runs automatically.

Though the saw filer still has to keep an eye on the process.

The shark-size teeth on this blade are a little larger than those found on most band-saw blades.
This old boiler, now used to store water, has the doors removed, revealing the inner tubing.

The heat from the fire below circulates through the tubes, boiling the water within the tank.

The fires are fueled by a mixture of sawdust, planer dust, and bark,

	transported on conveyor belts from the mill,
	and fed into the furnaces. Two boilers supply steam to the steam engines.

The headrig, carriage, edger, and log-table are powered by steam engines. The main engine, an Ames twin-cylinder, built in 1906 and still operating, powers the headrig and edger. A second steam engine powers the carriage, which is drawn back and forth on its tracks by a cable-and-pulley system.

The steam engines have fewer breakdowns than any other equipment at the mill. The larger engine has two 16-in. cylinders, an 18-in. stroke, and the pulley is 8 ft. in diameter. The engine is 13 ft. long and 10 ft. 5 in. wide.

But it’s an assortment of chains…

sprockets…

and gears that provide the fine tuning power of this mill.

In this photo, Bill Oakes adjusts the steam pressure feeding the engines. Bill’s family, like many employees at the mill, has a long history of working at the mill: his father, Ken Oakes, felled timber in the logging woods for forty years, providing logs for the mill. Ken retired at the age of 71 and passed away in September 2001 in his 90th year. Today, Bill’s grandson pulls and sorts lumber at Hull-Oakes.

The operation of the mill is dependent upon the millwrights, who repair everything from hydraulic lines, to steam engines, to boilers.

The millwrights have to know every inch of the plant, and how to operate nearly every aspect of the mill.

Finished timbers ready for shipment

I first visited the WindsorONE mill in Willits, CA about ten years ago. Don Dunkley, the events coordinator for JLC LIVE, arranged the tour for a group of show presenters. I remember driving up there in a van with Tom Carty, Mike Sloggatt, Don Dunkley, Tom Brewer, and a few other guys. The trip is still vivid, mostly because Tom Carty got carsick in the back of the van.

By that time, I’d worked with WindsorONE trim boards a few times at JLC LIVE; but this trip happened before they started making moldings, so it was before I started working with WindorONE as a Katz Roadshow sponsor. (Full disclosure: WindsorONE is a Katz Roadshow sponsor now, and I want to get that out in the open! In fact, The Katz Roadshow was Craig Flynn’s idea. Craig is President of WindsorONE. So if you’re sensitive about reading an article with a possible “conflict of interest,” stop right here!)

Back then, I’d never been in a big modern mill. I expected monstrous machines, piles of sawdust, trees, bark, and noise—a lot of noise. The only thing I was right about was the noise. Otherwise, the whole plant was like a typical cabinet shop, just way bigger.

Last year, Ray Flynn, the owner of Windsor Mill, passed away, but I was lucky to meet with him several times in his last few years. I’ll never forget the stories he told me about milling old-growth redwood and Douglas Fir—he grew up in the business, first driving trucks, then working his way up to general manager of a mill, and finally borrowing enough money to buy his first mill.

But Ray was much more than a lumberman. He was a sharp businessman. In 1990, the spotted owl was added as a threatened species in connection with the Endangered Species Act. In 1991, a court order ended logging in national forests. Perhaps 100,000 jobs were lost in the Pacific Northwest. President Clinton’s 1994 Northwest Forest Plan did little to calm nerves from Northern California to Oregon and Washington.

To tell the truth, the lumber industry had been spiraling down for decades, and Ray Flynn knew it. He was a visionary, and he kept up with every detail related to his business.

A study by the University of Wisconsin-Madison revealed that logging jobs had been in decline since 1947. Automation probably had much to do with that decline, but so did the massive, uncontrolled harvesting of old growth timber.

Seeing that his mill would soon run out of raw material, and feeling a family-like responsibility to his employees, Ray looked into the future. He invested in a new source of fast-growth renewable lumber, harvested from plantation-like forests in New Zealand and Chile. Instead of running old-growth logs through a barker and a bandsaw, the team at Windsor Mill now sends a continuous line of lumber through a laser-operated scanner that cuts out knots and defects without any sign of slowing.

In fact, Windsor Mill is now more of a mill shop than a lumber mill. The mill is laid out just like your shop or mine—at least if we had our dream shop. That laser operated scanner is right at the loading door; wood blanks follow a circular path from finger-joint machines to edge-gluing presses, to rip saws, to surface planers and molding machines.

But the heart of the operation is fingerjointing and planing, and both require absolute perfection. The man behind that operation is Charlie Holum. Charlie personally sharpens every blade and knife at Windsor Mill. Watch this video and you’ll see what I mean about “sharp.”

Not long ago, we visited Bill Bode in his garage shop on Long Island.

Mike Sloggatt had said about Bill: “Wait till you see this guy’s shop! He’s the exact opposite of me. You can eat off the floor of his garage.”

“What’s he build,” we wanted to know, “fine furniture?”

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“No,” Mike laughed. “He makes speaker boxes! Out of MDF.”

We don’t know about you, but one of the things we hate most about MDF is the dust. It gets everywhere. That was the first thing we noticed about Bill Bode’s tightly organized shop. No dust. None. But it didn’t use to be that way.

Until he finished building his own CNC machine, Bill cut and routed all the interior support panels for his speaker cabinets with a handheld router and templates. You can imagine the MDF dust. Collecting dust from a router, especially when routing inside shapes, is notoriously difficult. Cleanup is exasperating. And even though router templates are easy to use and they produce precise parts, making too many of those parts isn’t good for your mental health. Besides, Bill wanted to spend more time with his daughter and less time doing mindless chores in this shop, like routing out the hundreds of interior braces he uses for his speaker cabinets.

With the help of a kit and instructions from www.JoesCNC.com, Bill solved a lot of problems by building his own CNC machine. But don’t think that just anyone can pull this off. Building your own CNC machine isn’t like making a model plane. Plus, once you build it, you need some serious computer skills to know how to use it! But the advantages are sweet. Bill can now setup several pieces on his CNC machine, then leave the shop and play with his daughter. When he comes back, there’s no mess to clean up!

And other than a little touch up with a flush-cutting bit to remove the alignment tabs, the pieces are picture perfect and ready to install.

———

———
AUTHOR BIO

Growing up, Bill enjoyed working in his dad’s shop, where he received a solid background in all types of woodworking. Later, Bill found work as a car audio installer, and particularly liked the constructive aspect of the installs. He soon became the main fabricator because of his carpentry knowledge and background. However, after many years of endless wiring and climbing in and out of cars, he found himself going back time-and-again to building subwoofer enclosures because he enjoyed that aspect of his job the most.

Now at 43 years of age, Bill has a business designing and building enclosures exclusively. No more wiring and climbing into cars.  Eventually, he decided that a CNC would be needed to produce the volume and quality of products that his business warranted.

Bill is constantly finding new uses for his homemade CNC machine. He is an active participant in online CNC forums, and is constantly seeking to expand his knowledge of CNC automation. He now cuts everything for his enclosures on his CNC machine and could not imagine having to do without it.

Every once in a while we have an opportunity to do something that makes a difference — something that has meaning beyond the everyday duties and responsibilities of being a parent, or partner or community member. Not to dismiss being a good parent or spouse but sometimes the opportunity to go beyond comes our way.

The water was up to here when it settled, and it stayed about that high for 3 weeks. Kind of reminds me of the Randy Newman song: "It rained real hard and it rained for a real long time. Six feet of water in the streets of Evagline."

In Feb ’08, on a return trip from the Builder’s Show in Orlando, my wife and I stopped by New Orleans to check things out. While Kathy had never been there, I had worked in Louisiana and the Gulf of Mexico for 15 years as a commercial diver on the oil rigs. A lot had changed in the 20 years since leaving the land of crawfish, jazz and good times. The most notable was Hurricane Katrina and Rita resulting in catastrophic damage from high winds, storm surge and failed levees — especially failed levees.

We stayed in the French Quarter at a hotel with a Paul McCartney suite on that trip. Eventually we made our way to the Lower Ninth Ward — the place we all heard so much about from Anderson Cooper on CNN when Katrina and high water were flooding the Crescent City.

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Before I visited the city, I’d seen the damage on CNN, but the media coverage had slowed to a trickle. I thought all of the rebuilding had been done. But our visit to New Orleans proved different.

By the time we arrived most of the debris was cleared and what was left needed work — lots of work.

The amount of work was and still is overwhelming — if you try to swallow it at one time. In some ways New Orleans is like a foreign country — a third world country: so many damaged houses, so many empty lots with only narrow driveways and concrete porches. Yet no one was doing anything, or so it seemed at first.

In some cases, all that remained were facades.

~~~~

This home was pushed right off its foundation.

An All-Volunteer Army

After a day or more of looking around, I realized work was being done, just not at my kind of pace. Billions of dollars have been poured into the rebuilding effort. Some of it has hit the target, but most hasn’t. Here’s why.

Prior to the hurricane, much of the housing stock on the area was in decline. The population of New Orleans has been dropping since the ’70s, but there is still much to value here — a community with deep roots, reflected by the fact that sixty-five percent of the homes in the Lower Ninth were owner-occupied. And though many of these homes were of historic significance, most were built on marginal foundations, had no housewrap, no insulation, had antiquated wiring and plumbing, and would never meet current building codes. While several elected officials have boasted that “We’re going to re-build New Orleans,” for the government to rebuild these homes, they’d have to bring them up to code — an impossible task because the cost would far exceed the appraised value of the homes.

Some people ask: “What’s worth saving?” I look at it the other way: “How can we throw all this out?”

And that’s the primary reasons why volunteer and non-profit organizations (faith-based, environmental, historic preservationists, etc.) are doing most of the work. And what a great bunch of folks to be around. No other organized program is having nearly the impact at helping homeowners in the Ninth Ward.

After spending only a few days in the area, I was hooked but didn’t yet know how deep. By June, after I’d made five separate trips to New Orleans, staying for a week each time so I could tend to business back home, I realized I had a lot more to do. With a little support from OSI (a leading manufacturer of construction adhesive and sealants), I was able to plan a two-month extended stay in Louisiana. Once again, New Orleans seemed like a third world country — after all, isn’t this how we handle our foreign affairs?

Windows, insulation, moisture, and more

On our first trip to the city, my wife and I had come across a jobsite where a group of “carpenters” were installing windows.

“Do you see that?” Kathy pointed at a couple of “carpenters.”  I was so busy looking at all the devastation that for a minute I couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Yet right in front of us, eager volunteers were installing “new” vinyl windows in place of wood doublehungs.

Initially I thought, “Now there’s some progress.” But then I started wondering why they were throwing away the old jambs and sash — the old windows were still operable, the wood was probably old-growth yellow pine or cypress, and the glass was still good, some of it the wavy historic type. On top of that, the new windows were smaller than the existing jambs and to solve that problem, the carpenters were installing wider trim, without any flashing — the walls had no housewrap, the weatherboards (beveled cypress siding) were the only protection.Finally, inside the house, I saw another group of volunteers installing insulation — fiberglass batts. Faced fiberglass batts at that.

That’s when the light came on — several of them: leaders in the rebuilding effort and government agencies were emphasizing energy efficiency and that meant dual-pane windows and insulation. But no one was thinking about the consequences.

The walls did not have a weather-resistant barrier. They had been stripped from the inside down to framing with only studs and weatherboards remaining. The average rainfall in New Orleans is about sixty inches. On top of that, the humidity in Louisiana averages around 80%+.  Historically, all of that hot humid moisture has passed through the exterior cladding into the wall space, but since the walls are balloon framed, plastered and un-insulated, diffusion and air circulation have helped to dry out that moisture.

But once the walls are insulated and drywall installed, the moisture won’t be able to dry out. Excessive humidity and rainfall penetrating the siding will be absorbed by the insulation and condense against the Kraft paper, right against the paper-backed drywall — a perfect breeding ground for mold, especially because once wet, the insulation will never dry out. (The building code mandates the Kraft paper on fiberglass insulation go to the warm-in-winter side of the wall assembly — except in climate zones 1 & 2. New Orleans, and much of south Louisiana, is in climate zone 2. This is often overlooked by building officials and certainly by most contractors as well as rebuilders, especially the volunteer type.)

I consult with homeowners regularly and I always advise them not to use spray foam.

I noticed some jobsites were using spray foam, the two-part stuff that comes to the jobsite in a truck. The big benefit of this application is being able to quickly fill every nook and cranny with high R-value foam. It is quick and usually thorough — cheap it ain’t. However when this foam is applied directly to the backside of the weatherboards, the ability to drain and dry is drastically diminished.

Remember that for 70-100 years+ these walls have wetted and dried through the ventilated wall cavity behind the siding. The spray foam takes that option away. The least that happens is the paint begins to peel and the worst is the wood begins to succumb to the attacks by mold, mildew and decay. This is not hypothetical; I have seen it happen.

And mold is just one problem, Formosan termites are another. In fact, New Orleans is a case study on how these insects do their business. Since I’ve been working down here, every window I’ve examined that shows signs of water intrusion and not enough drying, also suffers from formidable Formosan termite damage.

Well-meaning folks — both governmental and non-profit volunteers — were unknowingly creating a second disaster and it had nothing to do with the rising waters from storm surge and failed levees.

But that’s not all. That new wider trim used to patch in the vinyl windows wasn’t like the original material — vertical-grain old-growth cypress of yellow pine.Oh no. The new trim was #2, unprimed, face-grain softwood. And no one was priming end cuts. The same material was used to trim doors, too, and planted right down on the concrete porches. If I could have pulled my hair out, I would have.

Modified rainscreen

After my first visit to New Orleans, I struggled for a solution to these unique insulation/weather resistive barrier, and trim issues. With technical assistance from building product manufacturers, especially from Pactive, and with help from Julie on the JLC Forums, along with techniques developed by the LSU AgCenter Extension program, I came up with a simple modified rainscreen design to insulate the unprotected walls, one that would allow for air circulation and diffusion.

~~~~

Step One:
These homes are balloon framed — and I mean down to the foundation, if there is one! (see illustration above). We work on these homes after the interior is gutted and the walls stripped down to bare studs. There’s no housewrap and there’s no way to install it. We start by installing a bug screen. Because of high humidity, we don’t block the stud bays off but instead we encourage air circulation so that any moisture that penetrates the weatherboards and enters the “rainscreen cavity” will dry. The bug screen blocks little critters from climbing up inside the walls.

Step Two: We install 1-in. wide strips of 3/8 in. extruded polystyrene foam (XPS) to either side of every stud bay, gluing the strips to the weatherboards with adhesive caulking. Those strips provide the 3/8 in. rainscreen cavity.
Step Three: We cut 1-in. XPS to fit snugly in each stud bay, then seal all gaps with spray foam. Once the XPS has been installed there’s still room for fiberglass (even when it’s compressed a little, fiberglass still has a good R-rating!).

———

Big money isn’t always better

My real gig is window and weather barrier installation. Of course, I’m always watching how other folks do it, especially the large projects that have been getting most of the press attention down here, like Brad Pitt’s “Make It Right” campaign, and Global Green. Surprisingly, those folks aren’t getting it right either. I’ve watched their crews installing Marvin Integrity windows and getting it wrong:

• They’re still cutting the X to modify the building wrap.

• They’re not lifting the head flap up and flashing beneath it shingle-style.

• They’re sometimes using engineered wood adhesive to seal the windows to the wrap.

• They’re not always using self-adhesive flashing to seal the nailing fins to the weather resistive barrier — I’ve driven by homes where the nailing fins are still exposed.

• And when they do apply flashing on top of the nailing fin, they often flash over the bottom fin, too.

Our industry is slow to change — almost glacial. Anyone in our business knows that problems with windows and WRB integration aren’t limited to New Orleans. The fact is that every time a manufacturer introduces a new product, it takes almost twenty years for builders to adopt the proper installation procedures. Professional construction education is a national and urgent issue.

EDH: Efficient, Durable, & Healthy

As I see it, high-visibility programs and projects aren’t the answer to the problems faced by homeowners in New Orleans. Proper funding, supervision, and educational programs are the only way to save this city.

Dens Armor installed on the lower half of the first floor walls.

One faith-based group we worked with rejected using paperless drywall (Dens Armor Plus) in areas subject to wetting because of the additional cost for the material, approximately $500-$1,000 per home.The math was simple. They had a limited funding source and if even $500 was added to each home, they wouldn’t be able to rebuild as many homes. Now that’s a real problem.

The volunteer and non-profit organizations doing the bulk of the rebuilding are performing miracles — one home at a time, in some cases several homes at a time. It has been a long learning experience, but they have the process nailed down. They are getting people back in their homes. And while that’s one image I’ll never forget — watching a homeowner carrying insulation and drywall into his recently cleaned shotgun-style home — there is a serious storm on the horizon.

The focus of getting folks back into homes — on budgets that are often too tight, frequently sacrifices critical core issues that make a home efficient, durable, and healthy and avoids the most important issue: Should we rebuild more homes poorly or fewer homes well? To my knowledge, those folks are still installing regular drywall. In this climate, and with these porous homes, it’s just a matter of time before mold begins to grow on those walls, compromising the health of the occupants and the community.

Long-term solutions

Recently, while working with some organizations to launch minority contractors into mainstream weatherization, I have had an opportunity to work with a remarkable group of licensed contractors who really want to learn. Those folks have motivated me to start a “contractor’s club” with regular meetings. We’ll bring in guest speakers from the industry, and we’ll review proper building practices and new products, because the solution down here isn’t “one window at a time,” it’s “one contractor at a time.”

The time for the hordes of untrained volunteers is over down here. Like many parts of the country, New Orleans needs well-trained professionals to lead the rebuild; construction managers to supervise contractor, carpenters, and volunteers. If you’re wondering: “What can I do to help?” just come down for a week or so. But first, make sure you are going to be placed where you can do the most good. And if you can’t make the trip, find a local organization where you can lend a hand with funding.

One Community at a Time

One of the first people I met here is Ward McClendon, “Mack” to everyone. He owns and runs the Village. I met him at the first Historic Green event in ’08. Our first meeting was at the back of the Village. When we passed by each other, Mack’s response to my “How ya’ doin’?” was “Too blessed to be stressed.” Turns out that is a common greeting down here, and an exceptional attitude.

Another person I’ve met here in Louisiana is Ms. Shelia, the first homeowner I consulted with in New Orleans. In this region of the country, it is common to add a Ms. or a Mr. to everyone’s first name — it’s way of showing respect. Believe it or not, I’m called “Mr. Bill.” Once you get used to it it’s kinda’ nice being respected, and showing respect.

When I first visited Ms. Shelia’s home during the renovation process, I was more than disturbed. So much was wrong: the foundation was failing, the brick veneer was coming away from the soffit, windows were not installed correctly, signs of water intrusion where everywhere, and I’m not talking from the flood.

The group working on her home (lowernine.org) was pushing hard to get the home ready for Ms. Shelia and her family to move back in. It brings tears to my eyes to write this. Those folks wanted to come back home, to their house, to their neighborhood. I realized right then and right there my part was to help make their home as good as it could be so it would be a safe place for them to live.

I have been preparing for this all of my life and now I have my chance. My first reaction to seeing the damage in New Orleans was “What can I do to help?” Now I’m asking “What can we do to help?” Slowly and surely, I am becoming part of this community. That is the important component without which all of the rest is only mildly interesting and not very effective; and certainly not durable or sustainable. It is all about relationships; making connections. It’s not about rebuilding a city. The job we face is rebuilding a community.

———

AUTHOR BIO

I believe that, from an early age, we all start on a journey toward some kind of goal or destination. A few of us reach that place. Some of us keep on traveling toward it all our life. Some of us just wander around in circles. I’m still trying to figure out where I fit in that system.

I have lived in Indiana, California, Arkansas and Louisiana. I have done military time in California, Virginia, Washington, and Vietnam. I have worked in the North Sea, England, Scotland, Ireland, Norway, all three coasts of the US, and both coasts of South America — Venezuela and Chile, plus New Zealand.

Through all of my jobs, all of my traveling, I’ve wanted to see what is on the other side.

These days, I’m training, consulting, and educating anyone who will listen on how to build efficient, durable and healthy homes. Sometimes I wonder what gives me the right or privilege to do this? Who died and made me king? But that’s just part of my journey.

I had a car accident in ‘68 right after returning from Vietnam. My eye was patched for about 6 months. Nearly lost it. Ended up getting a leather eye manacle and got a lot of mileage out of that. Used to ride motorcycles then. Nothing left but a dim memory....

When I started working construction in Santa Barbara (for a fraction of my previous pay as a diver), I worked on a framing crew building a 12,000 square foot home in Montecito. I was surprised at the hectic jobsite, the lack of organization, of leadership, of expertise. No one seemed “in the know;” no one seemed in charge. What a difference from diving, where for fifteen years I often worked 400-500 feet below the surface. Not much room for error down there; someone in the know was in charge all the time — or people died.

Not so in residential construction. People think that anyone with a circular saw, a hammer, and a hundred foot power cord can be a carpenter or a contractor. But what are the guidelines? Where can you learn more?

One day while working for a contractor on a basement remodel, everyone seemed to suddenly disappear and I found myself in the middle of the slab on knee-boards with a steel trowel in each hand. I didn’t have clue what to do.

At that moment I decided I was going to find out how all of this construction stuff worked — and share it with anyone else who would listen. I felt helpless out on that wet concrete and knew there was no reason to. No one should feel helpless in this industry.

I still do not know who is in charge (and I still don’t know a lot about construction, either), but I’ve helped a lot of folks in New Orleans. My greatest accomplishment has been as a father to three wonderful daughters, next to that, I’m working to make a difference in the rebuilding of a city.

Pretty cool!

I recently read The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. What a great story about an architect—Howard Roark—who refuses to compromise his creative ideals or his personal values. In a biography of Frank Lloyd Wright, Brendan Gill discusses the comparison between Wright and Roark, and the common misconception that Rand based her character on the famous architect (Many Masks, pg. 490-492). After reading several biographies of Wright (and learning Wright was a colossal egotist), then visiting many of his homes (where I was overwhelmed by their timeless beauty), I have to agree: it’s too bad there wasn’t more in common between the man and the myth. But Wright’s work, and especially his influence on architecture, will definitely outlive his personality.

Traditional design

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Traditional architectural is dependent upon classical designs that date back thousands of years, to the Greeks and Romans. For centuries, our homes and buildings have been influenced by countless architects and artists—from Vitruvius to Palladio to Michelangelo, but almost all of them based their designs on historic styles, and classical orders.

Yet in one lifetime, Frank Lloyd Wright influenced architecture in a way no single man ever had; he changed the form of the homes in which many of us live; Wright’s innovative work can be seen in diverse styles from modern open-plan designs to ranch-style homes. While it’s regretful that Frank Lloyd Wright wasn’t a better man, that he didn’t care more about his clients’ needs and the small details that make people comfortable, no one is perfect, not even Mr. Wright.

Examples of Wright’s work

The first Frank Lloyd Wright home I visited was right here in Los Angeles, the Ennis House, one of Wright’s “Mayan” designs. Even in these concrete-block homes Wright stressed horizontal lines over vertical rise, using long repeated rows of decorative block and extended headers over doorways—even piercing whole walls with low soffits. The house isn’t currently open to the public, but hopefully it will be soon, after extensive renovations are completed—especially to the foundation. You see, Wright didn’t grout the walls solid—not even the bond beams: the steel reinforcement bars rusted out—sometimes staining the block. A few of those walls are retaining walls, too. Sometimes Wright got it pretty wrong.

Another nearby home is open to the public, the Barnsdale House, which is designed with similar decorative concrete block. If you’re ever in the area, don’t miss seeing Wright’s Los Angeles work.

A few years ago, while doing a JLC Live show in Chicago, the folks at Hanley Wood organized a tour for the entire JLC Live Crew—they took us in a bus to Wright’s Robie House. Talk about stressing horizontal lines: even the brickwork was laid to emphasize the horizontal joints: all of the horizontal joints are struck and raked out deeply, but the vertical joints are flush, making them—as Gill notes—”nearly invisible.” After visiting the Robie house, I read that the ‘horizontality’ of Wright’s Prairie Style Homes originated with the endless ‘horizons’ of the Midwest—at least that’s what Wright said. Except few of his homes were built on the prairie.

Greg Burnet did some remodeling work on Unity Temple and introduced me to that Chicago icon. Even though the building required substantial height—it’s a temple, after all, and replaced a Gothic Revival church that burned—Wright still tied the design together with horizontal elements. The main floor seems to float as you enter the temple, the ceiling rises past the upper pews, but long slender bands of horizontal molding break through the height; the pews add to the horizontal ‘grounded’ feeling inside the building. Like many of Wright’s low-slope and flat-roof buildings, water was always a devilish problem for Unity Temple. The scuppers are still being repaired today—though this time with self-adhesive, self-healing membranes.

The same low-slope roofs and long horizontal lines—emphasized by extreme cantilevers, welcomes visitors to Wright’s own home in Wisconsin. Unfortunately, the same problems with water damage are prevalent at Taliesin. While visiting the home, besides stained stucco soffits, we saw pots and jars spread around the floor to pick up roof leaks. And signs of rot were everywhere, from the windowsills to the rafters.

Falling Water

So what’s all this have to do with Falling Water? Prior to Falling Water, Wright had a vision of homes built without “order,” independent of the post-and-lintel structures that predate Stonehenge, and definitely independent of the classical orders that dominated architecture since the Chicago Worlds Fair of 1893.

Looking back while writing his autobiography, Wright said: “…Changes came along slowly because, to eliminate the post and beam as such (the old order), I could get no help from the engineer.  …Engineers reduce everything in the field of calculation to post and girder.  …The engineer had not yet enough scientific formula in any handbook to calculate at all for continuity…the “third dimension” (as I myself had been calling it” (pg. 85, Gill).

Acting as his own engineer, pursuing his vision of a new architecture, without order, where the horizontal planes of a home melded with the surrounding land and the horizon, Wright achieved his greatest success with Falling Water.