I’ll Take The End In The Middle

It weighs 439 pounds.

To recap, I have a 350 Pound Doorstop In My Basement, and I’m damn near out of business until I replace it. Do you know how to move heavy things? I see all sorts of educated people that can’t fathom how people built the pyramids. They’ll believe aliens did it, but not regular people. When you become far removed from everyday things, you’ll believe anything but the truth. Construction workers don’t watch Mythbusters.

If I told you you had to move that 439 pound box down a flight of stairs, could you do it? Here’s what’s at your disposal: A thirteen year old boy, his mom, and whatever you have laying around. Easy. By the way; you’re in a hurry, because the item is made from cast iron, and it’s going to rain. And you can’t drop it — it’s precision machinery.

At the risk of sounding like Steve Martin or Charlie Rangel telling you the way to be a millionaire and not pay taxes is to “get a million dollars and then don’t pay your taxes,” I’m going to just wave my hand and tell you you’ve got to accept the shipment five miles away because your driveway is too long and skinny for the truck. Then you get the box into the back of your van using only a ramp.

Look, you’re going to have to understand the simple machines and be able to predict how much of a boost each can give your available manpower. For the benefit of people with advanced degrees that train you to be able to type into a little phone with your thumbs and not much else, the simple machines are:

  1. Pulley
  2. Lever
  3. Wedge
  4. Wheel and Axle
  5. Ramp (Inclined Plane)
  6. Screw

Some machines are instantly recognizable as what they are. Others need a little contemplation to recognize. A saw is basically a wedge, for instance. So is a nail.

We don’t need all those for this. We’re going to need the lever and the ramp. We’re going to be wallowing in friction, though. And gravity.

The very first thing, and most important, is making up your mind to do it. I’m serious. You need to determine if it’s possible, and then commit yourself to doing it. Otherwise you’re going to succumb to the spectre of one idea after another to quit and get more help and more equipment forevermore.

Everyone wants a wheel, right away. It’s the last thing you want, in many cases. The wheel and axle part of our story was the semi truck that delivered it. Gravity and weight will get someone hurt, especially if it’s skating all over the place on wheels. We walked the box up the ramp. On wheels, we could never have pushed it up.

I’m going to have to pick it up myself. I’m strong enough to beat you up, but I can’t lift 439 pounds — so I’m going to have to be smarter than you, too. You can pick up anything with a lever, if the fulcrum is placed correctly and the lever arm is long enough. Let’s make a sled, and combine the ramp and the lever.


We’re going to keep the item from sliding down the sled with a strongback. Putting structural members perpedicular to one another increases their resultant capabilities.


Speaking of strong backs, a thirteen year old’s is strong enough:

We’ll capture the sled on an inclined plane, and use friction to keep it from ending up in China, and me, flat, in geostationary orbit above China. Remember, wheels are bad.

We’re going to need a platform at the top to sit the box on. Let’s make it from… heh… IKEA furniture.

Somebody gave me a knock-down shelf 25 years ago. This is all it’s good for in the long run. Buy real furniture, people! I use pneumatic nails to nail it to the frame.

So we walked it down the ramp from the truck and put it right on the sled. We needed to avoid it tipping over and crushing me, standing at the bottom of the ramp, so I nailed the pallet to the sled with as many three inch framing nails as I could fit. The strap was gravy.

I could easily lift the box by pulling down on the bottom of the lever arm we’d made. There was less than three feet under the box, and I had over nine feet of lever. But there would be a moment when the sled would be tipped downhill, but not fully in contact with the whole ramp. It might start moving pretty quick — too fast. Fast is always bad. So we put self-adhesive abrasive tape on the ramp to increase the friction.

There’s a lot of figuring and checking. My helpers can’t be hurt, as they’re at the top of this rollercoaster looking down, but I imagine that watching the thing crush me and being sent to the workhouse for the rest of their miserable lives would be less fun than shoe-shopping and playing X-Box, so I was determined not to let the thing land on me. I’m considerate like that.

But it started to rain, less than thirty seconds after I was dumb enough to say: “Thank God it hasn’t rained.” Time to act.

I tipped that thing down, and the sled hung up perfectly on the ramp. The boy ran around to the bottom with me, and we inched it down by wiggling it a bit. The angle of the sled gets less acute as the lever end slides across the floor, and so the force trying to make it a runaway train abates pretty quick. Et voila!; it has arrived:

And then the setup faeries came while we ate cupcakes and then slumbered, and they put the thing together from the jumble of gun-greased cast iron and bolts that was in the crate. Or I put it together. It was one or the other; I can’t recall now.

And now, we’re back in business.

Thanks For The Inquiries


Lots of people seemed to like the TopTen List of Tools.

[Update: I forgot to mention the Intertube mensch that liked my little push stick first: Gerard of American Digest. Mi dispiace. Speaking of inside baseball, he has given me many glimpses into the nuts and bolts of magazine editing, about whichI knew nothing.]

I never know what I’m supposed to be writing about, so I generally write about not knowing what I’m supposed to write about. Perhaps I can add writing about being surprised I was supposed to be writing about what I just wrote about to my list of topics, making in all, two.

The vast majority of opinion offered on the Intertunnel is written as if it was expert. I rarely consider the author of an article an expert, so you can imagine how I feel about the comments section.

But comments appended to information can have an enormous weight and significance, even if they rarely do. I find it immensely interesting to see what other people know. But everybody is just the fourteenth chair on the right on the McLaughlin Group now, yelling about anything as if they were the final arbiter of everything.

Why do people overlook the one area where they are the final arbiter of everything? You are the foremost authority on your own opinion. I’m always interested in what other people think, especially about their own affairs. I’m not all that interested in hearing about what I’m supposed to be thinking because you read a whole lot of magazine articles and remember some of it.

If you’re a scribe, your area of expertise is supposed to be writing things down. That’s morphed into: I’ve got a barrel of ink so my opinion trumps yours. Not hardly. Even photographers abdicate their responsibilities to depict, not to foist an opinion.

I have expressed a certain amount of contempt for professional politicians here because they believe that they understand all the affairs of all other men enough to run their lives. The newspapers and TV seem to think the same thing. I can’t help noticing that not one of them seems suitable to perform the most menial task in the real world. A scribe that thinks they are the subject of every sentence they write is of no use to me.

Each and every one of the comments on my last, crummy little essay was interesting and/or useful to me. I’ll tell you why:

Thud said…
a great list and no doubt a surprise to some…where is all the power etc?

Thud is probably a much more skilled artisan than I am, though I do not know him. He’s pointing out that power tools and machinery are a given. I get to talk about the humdrum little things because the big things are taken care of.

Ron said…

I dunno…I’m pretty cow dumb around wood related things…I’d probably need a 6″ square to cut the cheese…

Ron comments here often. If you don’t particularly know something about a topic, normal, decent people try to participate by saying something that might at least be amusing to others. Ron is like that. But he’s the only one that picked up on the William Jennings Bryan vibe to my logo, so his “cow dumb” self assessment doesn’t apply much of anywhere else, I imagine. Mark Twain used to call himself that a lot. He might have been… exaggerating.

David St Lawrence said…

Excellent recommendations!

Although I designed custom furniture for a few years, I never graduated to the distressing of surfaces.

The brick is perfect.

Thanks for sharing this. I will forward your post to the neighbor I lent all of my woodworking tools to when I changed careers.

I didn’t realize David made furniture. I put him in my blogroll because he seemed like a decent sort of fellow. I had no idea he subscribed to my very own black art.

Excellent advice as usual, but tell us about the lovely wood used in the table top. What grain! And the perfect finish used to enhance the grain.
-Deb in Madison

Deb is a regular, and points out a hole in my thinking. I just took the handiest thing in the shop to display the items, a Kipling Table, and never gave it another thought. It’s made from Tiger Maple. I use “Soft Maple,” which isn’t all that soft, really, being only about 25% softer than Hard Maple, which is very hard indeed. Soft Maple is more dimensionally stable and takes finish and fasteners better. Plain maple had a very light and bland grain, but has a number of iterations of wild grains like birdseye and tiger. The grain in Tiger Maple undulates up and down, and as you saw through it it exposes end grains which appear darker and look like tiger stripes. It’s very American. It was a favorite of Shakers, for instance.

The pictures were taken in my shop which give the table a greenish/yellow cast from the fluorescent lights. It’s a very handsome color in real light, which I call Cinnamon. By the way, the table was ordered by another blogger, Bird Dog at Maggies Farm. He’s growing old and gray waiting for me to figure out how to make a humidor to go along with it. I am always interested in what Bird Dog has to say.

Harry said…

Thanks. I’ll save this for my Christmas list.

Harry is a fellow Massachusetti, but I’ve never met him. Sterling fellow. I don’t know why he wants a stick and a brick in his Christmas stocking. He must have enough coal for the furnace already. Everyone should wish Harry’s wife a get well soon!

Eric said…

I think I just learned more about tools in the 5 minutes of reading that post than I have in 20 years of casual watching of Norm and those this-old-house guys.

That’s nice to say. I tried to tell the truth about what I know. Everyone likes inside baseball.

Stuart wrote an opera in three parts about his stairs. I found it interesting and compelling. I have an enormous respect for people who make things for themselves despite how hard it is. I learned everything the hard way, myself. You can see that when Stuart gets his compound miter saw he’ll really use it, because he’s trying to do it now even though it’s hard. Imagine what he’d accomplish if it was easier.

I built my own house. Not alone of course –all praise and gratitude to my good friend Steve at Central Cape Construction — but if you can see it, I did it. We had no money. Half of the house parts I salvaged from a dumpster. I was trying to figure out my stairs on my own. A friend of mine was helping. (Hi Fischer!) My wife and I had moved into our house with only two rooms finished: our bedroom and a bathroom. The entire upstairs and the stairs themselves were left rough.

I was trying to bolt the upstairs newel post to the framing. A staircase and railing is the most complicated woodwork in your house. My wife was sick. Sore throat. She had gone to the doctor while we fumbled around with the lag bolts. When she returned, we had basically gotten nowhere from when she left.

My wife is quieter than Calvin Coolidge, and better looking. She walked past me and Mark, took a mordant look at our progress, and said:

“You’ve got eight months to finish that.”

It was, and I’m sure will remain forever, the greatest moment of my life.

Ten Of The Eleven Of My Top Ten Tools

People ask me occasionally about the tools I use, and the place I use them in. They always ask about the wrong tools. Tablesaws and jointers and bandsaws are important, don’t get me wrong, but they are machinery. Tools are things you can pick up.

I never buy wood at Home Depot, or the Blue Home Depot, either. I buy wood at a real lumber yard and machinery by mail order. “Mail Order” is now the Internet.

The average tool show is selling what I consider toys. The average Norm show is using tools that require three phase power now. If you need the electrical utility company to perform $25,000 worth of service upgrade to your pole so you can make a spice rack, you might want to rethink your strategy.

At any rate, here’s the Top Ten Tools I Use most every day. I’m just trying to get things done, so I thought it might surprise and interest you. People who care very deeply that all their tools have to be (Fill in the blank — Oh the hell with it. Delta. The cranky woodworker always says Delta. They’re like Apple fanatics.) I need machinery now, not just tools, but I don’t give them a lot of thought. These little tools matter. It’s not that I can’t get along without them. It more like I’d lay down on the floor and die if they were taken away from me.

1. A Stick
No really, a stick. That one’s Poplar, I think. I’ve been using it for four years. I push all the wood through the table saw with it. It has a hook cut in it to hold the wood down as well as push it. It has common blade heights marked on it so I can raise and lower the blade without measuring over and over. On the Norm shows, they always lie and say that they’ve removed the blade guard temporarily so you can see the cut. Lies. All lies. All woodworkers throw them away. If you can shove a piece of wood in the saw, you can shove your hand in there, too, so the guard won’t save you unless you fall on the blade. Here’s better advice: Never, ever, ever put your hand between the blade and the fence. Never. Use a push stick for everything and you’ll never be known as lefty. If you need to be told not to put your hand between the wood and the blade, you can’t read this so there’s no point in me warning you.
2. A Tiny Plane
I know John Denver got in trouble in a tiny plane, but don’t be scared. It’s a plane iron I’m talking about. That one is 1″ wide, and I use it on every piece of wood I handle, more or less. Never sand if you can cut. Take the sharp machined edge off the corner edge of everything with a perfect bevel made with this tool. You have to learn the knack of holding it exactly at a 45 degree angle to make a chamfer, while learning how to swing your arm in a curve while describing a straight line, but it’s fun to see the little angel hair shavings come curling out of the thing.

3. The Stop Block
I’ve explained accumulated error here before. It always shows up; don’t make the mistake of inviting it over, too. Stop measuring with a rule over and over. I clamp that little elegant block to fences and jigs with a big clamp and cut multiple pieces all the same. They might all be wrong, by by gad, they’re the same sort of wrong.

4. The 6″ Square
You’re not a framing carpenter. If you’re wearing a huge belt in your shop, you’re confused. You need little things that you can put in a pocket that serve many purposes. Marking perpendicular lines gets done all day. This is all you need. You can slide the blade all the way up and set fences on the saws and jointers too. You’ll need the bubble level a lot if you’re not a dope, too. You’re not a dope; I know you.

5. Square Drive Screws
I’m old enough to remember the dark ages before phillips head screws. I still use flat head screws, as they are still common in boatbuilding and furniture hardware. But phillips heads rule all else. Forget them. Those bad boys there in the picture have a square hole in them, hold like the devil, the heads never slip, and the ingenious bulbous shape of the threads make them self- tapping, so they don’t drive components apart when you drive them through. Google McFeeley’s. You’re welcome.
6. Pocket Hole Jig
Here’s the first thing you can use your square drive screws for. That’s a Kreg pocket hole jig and stepped drill bit. You clamp the jig to the piece of wood you wish to join to another, and it will drill an angled, stepped pocket hole. You then clamp the two pieces of wood to be joined, using the same Vise-Grip clamp you see there, and drive square drive screws into the stepped, angled holes you made, and voila! Instant joinery with no mortise, tenon, biscuit, dowel, or domino. No glue either, if you want to take it apart later. Cabinet makers put face frames together like that, with the holes hidden on the back of the face frames. I assemble every cabinet, workstation, and jig in the shop using it.

7.Bungee Cords
Bungee cords are next to worthless for their suggested purpose, which is holding down cargo. Cargo straps shouldn’t stretch. But in a place where work is done, everything must be kept from getting underfoot or interfering with tools on the bench. You will never get any kind of meaningful dust extraction on hand tools unless you learn to suspend the snaky vacuum hoses from underfoot, or worse, from dragging all over the work. Instant and adjustable and stretchy work setups.

8. Moisture Meter
The least understood part of woodworking. Humidity is how much water is in the air. It affects the wood. But the moisture content of wood is really important, and only related, not the same. Wood is full of water, and they dry it by either putting it out in the air, or more usually, by putting it in a kiln (oven) to remove the water in the cells. But the water will want to get back in there, and if there’s water available in the atmosphere, the wood will absorb it and swell. And shrink later. Furniture, designed well, will allow for seasonal movements in wide pieces of wood, and good finishing techniques will slow the change in moisture content in the wood. But you’ve got to start with dry wood. All home improvement shows tell you to take kiln dried flooring and put it in a half-built house to “acclimate” for a few days. Said house generally being built in the summer, with thousands of gallons of outgassing water from the concrete, plaster, tilesetting, and every other darn thing during construction. Then your strip flooring shrinks during heating season and you wonder what happened. In general, shrinking is bad and expansion isn’t good, but can be managed. Never deliberately introduce water into any wood product, ever.

9. A Brick
Small, heavy things are always useful in a shop. But the brick is not mentioned here for its exciting doorstop possibilities. It’s the weapon of choice for distressing things. It’s the perfect thing to mimic the gentle loss of fiber that the bottom of table legs gets from many shoekicks, chairleg dings, and miles of being dragged across the floor. It rubs edges raw. The soft, abrasive face of a brick is perfect to wear away things believably, and when the face becomes too smooth with paint and other finish, you can restore it by rubbing it on… you guessed it, another brick.

10.Cotton Gloves
If you work in the barbarian arts, you learn early to wear gloves as often as you can stand it. Manual work will use up a sacrificial layer of something. You can choose it to be your hand, or the glove. Most finish carpenters come from the land of framing, and you can never “let them up on the furniture.” Workers who learn to work dirty never get over it. I can’t afford to smear finish-repelling oils from my hands on freshly sanded work. Productivity goes down if your hand is throbbing with splinters all the time. There’s plenty of delicate work to be done with most woodworking, and if your hand is like a catcher’s mitt you’re useless half the time. All fancy gloves are a waste of time. Get big rubber coated versions of these to handle solvents and so forth, and wear these the rest of the time you’re material handling, painting, and so forth. It’ll save you carrying a rag all the time, too. Oh; you’ll have to be tough enough to be called a sissy at the jobsite if you wear them.

What are you looking at, tough guy?

What A Three Hundred And Fifty Pound Doorstop Looks Like

I don’t do ToolTime often here. There’s a reason for that.

As a general rule, everybody has a backwards process for purchasing tools, especially gadgety-type tools. It goes like this:

-If it was easy, I’d do it.

No, you really wouldn’t.

It’s the same idea that gets you into trouble in house design. If you had a big fancy tub, you’d bathe luxuriously every day. If you had a pool table, you’d play all the time. If you had an elaborate kitchen, you’d become a world — or at least, neighborhood –renowned chef.

But you stand in your shower every morning and look at your jetted tub over there, you start storing boxes on top of your billiard table, and you make mac and cheese in your stainless steel microwave and put it on your granite countertop.

To predict what others would benefit from, you have to watch what they try to do even though it is difficult, and make it easier for them. I used to often be consulted for strategies to remake existing rooms in large houses to entice the occupants to even enter them, never mind use them. I used to refer to them as “furniture mausoleums” –rooms inhabited only by chairs, the specter of Martha Stewart, and the ghosts of paychecks past. You don’t go in there because all the living never happens in a living room anymore. You’re not going to sit in a hoop dress and read The Mayor of Casterbridge while fanning yourself and waiting for Jeffery Devonshire Fairfax the XXIV to call.

And so it is with the tools. If you’re struggling mightily with next to nothing trying to make things, then you’ll probably get the benefit out of tooling up. Otherwise, forget it. You’ll become what Kliban called the Satisfied Hammer Owner, a guy with forty five different hammers displayed inside a series of hammer-shaped outlines on your pegboard. Every so often you’ll dust them and rearrange them.

I have to cut a lot of wood, as you could imagine. It is a calamity for the central machine in a wood shop to be disabled. And because I intimately know what I’m trying to do, I know exactly how to proceed. Here’s how my little rat mind works, and how yours should, too, in any situation like this:

  1. Is it broken? (Well, it sounded like a coffee can filled with bees and washers being thrown at a plate glass window, so, yeah, that’s a definite possibility)
  2. Do you need it, really? (Well, not really. I only use it twelve hours a day six days a week, so it is kinda handy)
  3. Can you fix it? ( Give me two weeks, and the run of a machine shop, and I’ll come up with something. I’ll be bankrupt in two days, so maybe that’s a bad idea)
  4. Can you jerry-rig it? (Sure. I did once already. That’s why it’s a total wreck now. And the words “jerry-rigged blade spinning at 3500 RPM” don’t make me feel like Christmas.)
  5. Can you get someone else to fix it? (Sure. I’ll carry it up the stairs, and bring it to Taiwan. It’ll be good for me, cardiovascularly, I’m sure.)
  6. Can you get another one? (Absolutely. It’s on a truck from Pennsylvania right now.)
  7. Can you afford it? (No. But it costs more not to buy one than to buy one. That’s the logic that escapes everyone. Which leads me to…)
  8. Can I keep going?

Absolutely. I can go out to the shed and find an old, crummy one and hook it up. I love the gentle massage of table legs being hurled at me by the blade because the motor can’t cut hardwood in a tapering jig. I like the popping circuit breaker, too. Just like old times. You see, I first bought a real cabinet saw years ago, when I noticed I’d been trying to make furniture, over and over, with nothing but a few useless and broken tools and my wits.

I’ve lost my wits. But I’ll have decent tools, by god.

Month: September 2008

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