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Reviving a Reinhard’s Natural Billiard

Guest Blog by Robert M. Boughton
Member, International Society of Codgers
Member, North American Society of Pipe Collectors
http://www.naspc.org
http://www.roadrunnerpipes.com
http://about.me/boughtonrobert
Photos © the Author

Reinhard: Old Germanic male name meaning brave, hardy; fox
― From “Behind the Name”

INTRODUCTION
After searching in every nook and crevice of the Internet I could conceive, in search of a single clue, even, as to the origin of this Reinhard’s natural billiard, I had to concede defeat and turn to my friend and mentor, Chuck, for any suggestions he might have. I was certain this sleek gentleman’s pipe, with its classic form and fine engineering that from the general look and color hinted at a vintage make, must be an established brand, however limited its period of manufacture. The crispness of the nomenclature in particular threw me. Although the possibility that the Reinhard’s could be the creation of an independent pipe shop somewhere had crossed wires somewhere in my mind, I wanted to believe the elegant piece of briar was descended from a higher pedigree. When Chuck came back with a scenario that was not only viable but likely, therefore – that the derivation of my pipe indeed was probably a small shop somewhere, but with the added conjecture that it was likely of mid-western U.S. descent, from a place with a high concentration of German or other Teutonic immigrants – my spirits were somehow bolstered. Maybe the Reinhard’s was something more than the variety of pipe commonly relegated to the classification of “no-name” after all.

The natural, dark brown color of the pipe, reminiscent of staining popular during the 1950s and ’60s and into the ’70s, had grown more pronounced with age and regular use. As with all such pipes I come across, I wanted to bring out more of the natural grain I was sure was hidden beneath a thin layer or two of decades of accreted grime on top of the original finish. The bowl is slightly canted, suggesting a Canadian except for the longer bit. And so I settled on a sweet, alternative billiard. Please correct me if I’m wrong. I still have trouble with the whole Canadian-Lovat-Lumberman-Liverpool mess.

RESTORATION

First, there was the typical carbon buildup in the chamber and the rim cleaning to confront. A 17mm fixed reamer started the process of dispending with the cake, and followed up with sanding, using 150-grit paper to even out the chamber interior after which I smoothed it with 320-grit paper, the result was chamois-smooth. The basic cleaning with Everclear-soaked bristly cleaners and a thorough retort was easier than I feared, but still necessary, of course. I’m always happy when a pipe only needs two or three infusions of strong boiled alcohol through its innards to leach out the buildup of tobacco juices and other elements of regular enjoyment; it shows that the previous owner cared for the pipe.

After a bath with distilled water on small pieces of cotton cloth, wet micromesh paper from 1200-3600 did a nice job on the rim. The soft, brown, more natural exterior of the bowl and shank came out with delicate use of superfine steel wool.

Almost done, I used the same wet micromesh progression that cleaned up the rim to smooth the exterior of the pipe.

The bit was in exceptional shape, but I still rinsed it in a OxyClean solution and micro-meshed from 1500-3600. Finally, I buffed the bit with red and White Tripoli, with the clean wheel in between, and used white Tripoli, White Diamond and carnauba on the wood.

CONCLUSION
I achieved the effect I wanted, without over-removing the darker stain, to maintain the integrity of the maker’s – whoever he might have been, God bless him – plan.

Being somewhat of a known easy touch when it comes to gifting pipes to deserving individuals, I found myself at my tobacconist with a small box of finished pipes, including the Reinhard’s, and some that still needed work. Candice, the lovely young worker on duty, had told me she had her eyes on a golden-orange The Pipe for sale. As it was to be her first foray into the world of pipe enjoyment, in my judgment, that just would not do.

Candice, cropped from a photo with her in the background

Perhaps a bit impetuously, I laid out my wares, separated so that Candice could choose from the restored samples. The good lady did protest, of course, citing the old it’s-too-generous excuse and even offering to pay something, but I would have none of it. They weren’t moving on my business website, after all, and Candice (who was named for Candice Bergen by her thoughtful parents) looked them all over and concluded she could not make up her mind, and she would be happier if I chose one. Isn’t that just like a woman? I love it!

And so, with a slight pang, my hand went on its own volition to the Reinhard’s, which I handed to Candice. Something in her reaction told me it was the one she would have chosen, had push come to shove, so to speak.

In my humble opinion, the Reinhard’s fits her always helpful, friendly, sparkling personality to perfection.

The Coming Calm after the Storm

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Guest Blog by Robert M. Boughton
Member, North American Society of Pipe Collectors
http://www.naspc.org
http://www.roadrunnerpipes.com
http://about.me/boughtonrobert
Photos © the Author

Dedicated to Louis Arthur Hille (February 14, 1969-October 8, 2015)

“Part of me is afraid to get close to people because I’m afraid that they’re going to leave.” ― Brian Hugh Warner (a.k.a. Marilyn Manson), U.S. singer/songwriter/
performer/rock journalist/painter/actor, born January 5, 1969

INTRODUCTION

Like a panther, the young man caught in this rare snap-shot had the edge of menace in his pensive yet calm and subtly wild gaze and the firm set of his jaws. Though he seldom permitted the opportunity to penetrate the murky depths of his intellect long enough to preserve the moment in a photo, it shone through anyway. We were best friends and roommates for the past 15 years; I was his certified, consumer-directed caregiver during the last seven, and, in 2009, when his health took a big dive and he needed someone to protect him more than ever, he reluctantly made me his agent under a durable power of attorney. At the risk of being misunderstood (a possibility that really doesn’t threaten my hardy sense of self-identity in the least), we were soulmates.

The term snap-shot itself, as I may have noted before, originated as a hunting term: “A quick or hurried shot taken without deliberate aim, esp. one at a rising bird or quickly moving animal.” [Oxford English Dictionary] The word used in that sense dates at least to 1808, whereas the adoption by photographers appears to have started around 1860.

Louis told me, more times than I have mentioned in my blogs here how my dad was fond of saying I have a mind like a steel trap, that I would never meet anyone like him again. Once was well worth the almost manic-depressive ups and downs in near constant close quarters and proximity, but enough, if you can grok me. If my mind is a steel trap, Louis’ could go off when an ant happened upon it. To say Louis did not handle strict, unyielding strangers well, in particular those who could violate the sanctity of his room at will and in the hospital did so more or less constantly, and with apparent delight, is a gross understatement. He could and usually did revert to his five-year-old self and throw the kind of tantrums of which only an adult is capable. I’m sure the sole reason he was never put in four-point restraints, before the last year and a half or so when his hip and leg contractures became so bad that his knees were frozen up to his chin and made the heart’s desire of many a nurse and tech impossible, was the hospital staff’s well-founded fear of what I would have done.

A little more than a year before the serendipitous snapshot above, Louis celebrated his thirty-sixth birthday, on Valentine’s Day 2005, in a bed and hooked up to IV bags and monitors, during the second of many extended hospital stays. Before the end came last week, at home where he wanted to be, with his cats and me, Louis was to spend two more birthdays in hospitals, the most recent this year, on his 46th, and last. Celebrated, of course, is a modifier for birthdays that is worn thin by convention, and not at all the best choice in this case. In fact, the only way he lasted three months in that place was my gift to him his first full day of a large but portable CD/DVD player with headphones, as well as a couple of Stephen King’s better audio books and the latest Marilyn Manson release. That last would have been “The Golden Age of Grotesque”; this was two years before “East Me, Drink Me.” Yes, even Manson grew on me thanks to Louis’ knowledgeable and fervent guidance.

When I suspended the above moment in time, Louis had just recently been released (or, to be more honest, sprung by me) from the hospital full of quacks, imbeciles and ninnies. In their vast wisdom, which so often fuels a God complex, they mused at first over the likelihood of multiple sclerosis, given their myopic failure to get to the truth, so few years ago, that is now taught to pre-med students and even EMTs. Then they turned to lupus and several other look-alike possibilities. They even tested Louis for A.I.D.S. – not once, but twice, in case they missed it the first time.

This was how he often looked, for a time, after that quarter-year exercise in trial-and-error experiments that ended with our hectic, A.M.A., wheelchair career down several flights on the elevator and thence straight for the exit.

I have another favorite snapshot of Louis, taken with my cellphone when he had grown his hair back the way he liked it, which is to say very long. This one was taken around 2009-’10.It’s a favorite for æsthetic or artistic reasons as well as the way it shows the almost trancelike way he could stop in the middle of a step, having fallen into a reverie of contemplation that required stillness. I was surprised and pleased that he enjoyed this photo when I showed it to him after the barber had sheared off his beloved hair again.

The next year sometime, returning to my previous train of thought and meaning 2006 – I don’t recall the date but believe it was Spring – brought a surprise telephone call from Louis’ primary care physician.

I will never forget the similarity of the one-sided conversations, as I heard it from Louis’ side, and one of Bob Newhart’s hilarious 1960s “phone calls” from dead people, such as Abe Lincoln’s entreaty for help writing the Gettysburg Address – and Newhart’s deadpan response to one unheard complaint with something about how 87 years ago really wasn’t very snappy. Except that from my perspective, being able to “hear” what his doctor was saying based on Louis’ verbal responses, and in particular seeing the changes of his facial expressions, there was nothing to inspire laughter.

“Okay, then, I guess I’ll take the good news first,” Louis said after a moment’s exchange of niceties. Pause. “It’s not MS.” Pause. “That’s the good news?” Pause. “So what’s – the – bad news?” The last part was spoken as one word. “Oh.” Swallow. “It’s something different.” Pause. “Wait: neuro-what?” Repeating what the doctor told him, sound by sound. “Neuro-mye-litis op-ti-ca.” Nervous breathing, by both of us. “Oh. Yes, I heard you. MS isn’t fatal, but this is.”

And so the doctor did the unthinkable in a time when the pop medical practice remains to downplay the negative if not outright lie to the patient: he told the truth. Using the magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) scan photos from the big machine at the private hospital from which Louis escaped – the same kind of contraption that seemed to scare the devil out of Linda Blair in “The Exorcist,” only somewhat quieter – the head of the neurology department at our local university hospital spotted healed and unhealed wounds from the back of Louis’ neck and down his spine that gave her a good idea of what she was dealing with. She confirmed it with a blood test introduced the same year that differentiates the disease Louis had as a distinct and fatal entity from MS.

As it turned out, Louis was host to a genetic anomaly. In other words, the neuromyelitis optica (NMO, or Devic’s Disease) with which he was born – and which was just beginning, after 37 years of passing time slowly but methodically eating away at the myelin sheaths, fatty substances protecting Louis’ nerves, starting with those in the optic region, to thereby render him legally blind – had no precedence in his family. It was more along the lines of a ghastly fluke.

For those of you who have no idea where I’m going with this long account of Louis’ non-pipe-related demise (in fact, I even succeeded in getting him off cigarettes by supplying him with pipes and tobacco, although there was little chance he would ever live long enough to die of cancer), I will now clarify. Louis was by no means easy to get along with, but during the 15 years we were roommates, he – how should I put it? – grew on me as a good friend does, regardless of the many differences. Almost everyone who ever talked to him agreed on two points: one, he was a genius usually more capable than the listener to discuss complex issues of mathematics, science, world events, religious topics through the millennia, detailed weather phenomena and even the day’s stock market numbers. He was possessed of the ability to memorize the entire dialogues of movies, TV shows, commercials, popular and rock songs and more or less anything else – on a single viewing or hearing – and he could recite them for the rest of his life. The other general characteristic people who talked to Louis agreed on was that he could be a downright rude jerk. I’m not speaking ill of the dead, as should be apparent by the end of this unusual introduction; it was the simple truth, and he was never even aware of it despite my attempts to make him so. The fact is, he sounded like his mother, whom I knew. There was also the fact that his mind and spirit traveled at a speed comparable by mental comparison to the F-22 Raptor and was just as deadly with its offensive and defensive weapons loads. All of these factors tended to intimidate or just embarrass people.

Louis had theories far rarer than NMO, but as intricately informed as a spider’s web is spun, on such issues as the afterlife, prior lives, simultaneous lives, paranormal entities, abortion and other lively and nowadays popular and/or controversial concepts. Does a pattern emerge from these topics? Only now do I see it: Louis’ thriving thirst for life, before, during and after what most people would call his own. The thing about Louis is that he was out there way before it was cool to be out there.

The reason I stayed by Louis’ side almost as long as his parents, who kicked him out as an eighteenth birthday present, was that I could still see the same person I met the day after Thanksgiving in 2000. He was happy. He smiled and laughed and talked non-stop but coherently and cogently about almost anything, and when he couldn’t think of a name or a word or whatever, I was the only person who listened and understood where he was coming from and could fill in the missing spaces, and he could finish my thoughts, as well.

I miss those conversations at coffee houses or on buses or walking when I didn’t have a car, and he could still walk. I miss those good times not because we stopped having them after he grew sicker, but because they occurred less and less often, and now he is gone. All I ever wanted was to help him get better. Right now the only thing I have to replace that is working on pipes, trying to make them better.

This one, like Louis, was really messed up when I got it, and the consensus among my pipe restorer friends was to lop off about a half an inch from the top of the bowl and reshape it. But I thought: nah! Been there, done that. This time I wanted to try something a little different. Two previous restorations came to mind. One is a Ben Wade with an enormous crack down one side of the bowl that required emergency surgery to amputate about two thirds of the tall billiard, and is still in recovery as a squat pot shop pipe. The other is a no-name Italian freehand that I call the Beak and thought was someone’s first attempt at pipe making because of several mistakes I had to correct, including the unmissable in the following photos.

Louis, I know you’re listening, and this one’s for you.

RESTORATION

I am sure the reason my friends suggested the more drastic surgery is clear from these photos. Whoever put that gash in the rim ought to be brought up before the Pipe Court, have any other potential hostages he might be holding liberated and be forced to register as a pipe offender for the rest of his life, unless, of course, he can prove he is rehabilitated. The latter event is unlikely, as recidivism is high for this offense.

There are several not-so-easy to spot points. The traditional triangle with WDC, for William Demuth & Company (1862-1972), is missing, possibly from a previous owner gripping the bowl so tightly that it rubbed off altogether, or because of its original absence. Steve informs me that not all WDCs have the triangle. Also, the first few letters of Wellington are very faded, but the nomenclature type style is the same as other WDC Wellingtons, such as this System Billiard in the Peterson’s style that I restored a while back. Then there is the small STERLING mark on the close-up of the band, if you can make it out in the first group above.

At any rate, as much as the initial challenge appeared obvious – to see if I could pull off rounding the entire rim, thereby eliminating the horrid wound and hopefully leaving the rim even – I decided to clean and otherwise prepare the insides of the WDC first. The chamber appeared to have been well-cleaned, and all it needed was an easy sanding with 320-grit followed by 500. Then I remembered I needed a bit for the pipe and couldn’t even retort it until I found one! That’s okay, laugh all you like. I know I can be a bit spacey sometimes, and besides, laughing at the recollection now does me good.

What I wanted was about a three-inch tapered with the right diameter of the tenon end to fit flush with the shank, or a little bigger. Bigger, I can fix. In fact, considering I’m doing it the old-fashioned way, by hand and sand, so to speak, I’m becoming pretty adept. Of course, all I could find in tapered bits, even replacements (i.e., no brand marks) on other pipes awaiting restorations with which I am not above robbing Peter to pay Paul, had tenons that were way too small, or the diameters of the meeting points with the shank were too small. The pipe is banded, so neither of those options would do.

And so I turned to my sure supply of new saddle bits, which were just a touch shorter than I wanted but would do the trick. Here are shots of an uncut saddle bit next to the one I sanded down with coarse paper, identical except for the tenons, and the preliminary fit with the Wellington. Keep in mind that the condition of the pipe with the preliminary stem in it was taken after the next two steps, counting the basic fitting of bit to shank and the retort as finished.

I chose 200-grit paper for the task of rounding the rim so as to take more time and get the job done right with some extra work, but not overdo it with one fell swipe. I hope I’ve learned my lesson there! I was surprised at how easy it was to accomplish.

Here is the step I suggested above, under the photo of the pipe and bit, which made the wood look so inexplicably polished. Using 500-grit paper, I worked over the entire outer wood. I micro meshed from 1500-grit to 12000.

After a moment’s consideration of staining the wood below the rim a little darker, I concluded I would have to make it too dark for there to be any difference from the way it already was and opted to skip it. With that, I realized I only had to finish shaping the bit to the shank before buffing everything on the wheels.

That was when something really creepy happened. I had searched high and low for a tapered bit without luck, but in the meantime did a little straightening up in my office-shop. I had been working on the pipe in the living room with my mobile restoration cart handy and the couch much more comfortable. While looking for an upgrade DVD to an invaluable computer program that remains misplaced, I searched through a large plastic trash bag stuffed willy-nilly with papers, electronic gadgets and whatnot. I came across a nice, black wooden cigar display case with a hinged lid and clasp that I picked up at my tobacconist. No, there was nothing special in the box; it was empty, unfortunately. Then the thought occurred to me how it would make the perfect place to put my loose oddball bits scattered. Most of them were in one place on the bottom shelf, but I had come across some others all over the cart.

Back in the living room, I sat down on the edge of the couch with the box open on the floor in front of me and began to organize the bits in the box, tossing a few that could never be of any use as I went. At last I thought I had them all but checked the top shelf again, as I had before while looking for a tapered bit. I was about to call it quits when I spied two bit lips poking out from under a piece of sandpaper, and…well, I could not believe my eyes. One of them was tapered and appeared to have about the right size tenon. With near reverence, I tried it in the Wellington. The fit was a little loose – just enough to add a layer of black Super Glue, I figured. All it needed other than that was the slightest of sanding just below the lip with 320-grit paper, micro meshing and buffing on the wheel with red and white Tripoli.

Knowing it would be a perfect fit when the glue dried, I still could not stand having to wait another night to see. Of course that’s a figure of speech relating to patience, which I am normally all about, and so I physically survived the night. I was so worn out I even slept like a baby until morning came, and my first thought, like a kid at Christmas, was the present waiting for me on the cart. All I can add is that the black Super Glue had dried on the tenon in perfect shape, and the bit twisted to an exact, flush match with the shank.

Some of you may think this foolish, but I found breathing difficult. Emotion welled up in me again, and to fight it off I closed my eyes. I said out loud, “I’ll be darned [or another similar word]! Thank you, Louis.” He thought I didn’t believe in anything he ever talked about but told me many times he would be keeping an eye on me after he died. I believe he is.

Ready to finish this relaxing project, I buffed the bowl with red and white Tripoli, White Diamond and carnauba, using the dry wheel as usual between each, and then rubbed down the whole thing with a soft cotton cloth.

CONCLUSION

His vision, from the constantly passing bars,
has grown so weary that it cannot hold
anything else. It seems to him there are
a thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world.

As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,
the movement of his powerful soft strides
is like a ritual dance around a center
in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.

Only at times, the curtain of the pupils
lifts, quietly–. An image enters in,
rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,
plunges into the heart and is gone.
― Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926), Austro-Hungarian poet, in “The Panther”

This was one of Louis’ favorite poems. I was surprised when he revealed this insight into his personality, oh so long ago it seems now, back in the happy autumn days that are no more, to paraphrase another poet’s description of the feeling of ennui. Louis liked those somewhat morose lines of verse, also, the first time I spoke them to him from memory, and several times later asked me to repeat them. I used to recite the words in gushy, over-dramatic tones dripping with the contempt I thought I had for them. But in verbal repetition, I overcame that bad habit, for there was a reason I could recall the brilliant if brief sample of prose from a high school sophomore lit class that really was a long time ago.

For most of the 15 years I knew him, Louis had an intense fear of dying appropriate to someone with an equally free spirit of the simple joy of living that was stolen from him. I tried to reassure Louis, over and over again, that he was not there yet based on my knowledge of the progressively more horrible stages of the disease he came to face almost every waking hour. My mistake was not expecting the unnatural, man-made obstacles that hastened, for him, the day no one truly wishes to see. I am beginning to be at peace with the knowledge that Louis no longer suffers as he did for so long – that he is in a better place, despite my best efforts; and I am still here, to enjoy my life the way my friend wanted me to do, and to fight the good battles. Now I understand that tears are seldom idle.

Just a few more words with some illustrations to sum up: compare the photos below, one antique and the other still fresh. That’s Rilke – somewhere.

And just one more photo of Louis, age 16, happy at home with his parents.

MARILYN MANSON LINKS
http://www.rollingstone.com/culture/news/columbine-whose-fault-is-it-19990624

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9vyZK_CKkZo Marilyn Manson’s first David Letterman appearance – yes, he was invited back…and back!

A No-Account, Son-of-a-Gun, Sorry Excuse for a Bent Billiard

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Guest Blog by Robert M. Boughton
Member, North American Society of Pipe Collectors
http://www.naspc.org
http://www.roadrunnerpipes.com
http://about.me/boughtonrobert
Photos © the Author

“Pipes are like dogs: the smokin‘ man’s best friend. Why, you can cuss at ’em, shout out loud about the state of the world to ’em, carry on all you like ’til yer blue in the face an‘ sore in the jaw about how great the whole place would be if only you was in charge, heck, even put ’em out of mind and ignore ’em altogether…for a while. In fact, a perfectly good, loyal pipe, same as an old coonhound, will even put up with a might mess of outright scandalous behavior an‘ never even consider turnin‘ on you – say, like as if the dog was to chomp off yer ignorant head or the pipe up an‘ went to dumpin‘ hot, burnin‘ ash in yer lap all on its own…But Heaven help the man that treats either his pipe or dog like garbage to be thrown in the dumpster or a bug to be stomped on. He’ll end up with a companion called Cujo if it doesn’t find a better master in time to escape. The pipe or the dog, that is.”
― The Author, in “Musings of a Mind Bored Silly by a Roommate with ADHD Who Just Doesn’t Know the Meaning of Silence Is Bliss,” today

INTRODUCTION
My friend, Phil, he’s a heck of a nice guy. He’s a real big fella – six-three, 280 pounds or right there in the ballpark – and one of the smartest dudes you could ever meet. Now by smart I’m not implicating he’s got some big old stuffy nansy-pansy degree from any of your fancy-schmancy Poison Ivy Universities, with a capital U, back east somewheres, or anyplace else, for all that matters. What would he need with some piece of paper, outside of hangin it one of his walls? Now that’s the day I’d like to see! And if he was the type to frame up a piece of paper all marked with gibberish scrawling like the tests I used to get back from my teachers when I was just a young buck, where do you suppose he’d hang it? I’ll tell you, I will! Right in the throne room, direct across from where he’d be sitting to ponder what the heck good it does him, and other earth-shaking notions and such.

No, boy! Phil’s smarts are part on account of he was born that way, with a genius IQ is my guess, and the other part from all the books and fancy magazines he reads. Plus old Phil, why, he never watches regular TV; doesn’t even own one, not counting this huge thin flat monster that rightly belongs on a wall like I’ve seen at some of the old-timey stores you can still find at the mall, only he connects it to his computer with nary a cord somehow, and that’s how he likes it. Hooks it up to his little old lap computer right through the air with what he calls Wi-Fi and something else that goes by Blue Teeth or Blue Fairy or whatever. Anyhow, whatever kind of magic it is he does to make all this confounded tech-nol-o-gy happen that bring all of his gadgets, not just the TV monster but his walk-around pocket phone and even this genuine Made in China nineteen-hundred and seventies-era Ghetto Blaster he has, work together – well, it’s something else, and how! Why, it’s like he’s at Carnegie Hall in New York City, or at least that’s what I hear tell. Personally, I went to the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville once when I was a kid, and that was good enough for me.

Now, to get to the meat and potatoes of this little fireside story, my friend Phil, he’s a good man, and he’s also one heck of a carpenter. When it comes to woodwork, why, there aint a thing he doesn’t know about all the woods ever grown, and how to build a custom home, with balloon walls and the works, from the ground up – and up and up – and pretty much all by himself. He’s as comfortable with his tools, from his cat’s paw and level to a pettibone, as he is with his own big mitts. And when it comes to the strength and soundness of the whole enchilada, Phil just pretends to listen to all the back-seat drivers, even if it’s the new owner! And you can bet all the money in your sock old Phil won’t take any guff from some pissant, oil-palmed CCI snagger with his eyes out for left-over parts to pilfer more than finding any real faults with the job. Yessir, Phil knows his stuff, from cripples to “A” Braces, trimmers, bearing walls and joists. But…

Ain’t there always a but? Well, Phil’s but is that for all he knows about wood and carpentry, he doesn’t have a bull pucket of a clue about restoring tobacco pipes, even if it’s a fair shake he could whip one up that would be right-on engineering-wise and even show his own, one-of-a-kind style. He’s even told me a few of his ideas, and they sound pretty clever and original. Only, as far as using a wood that wouldn’t give him rashes or boils or even the Big C, and staining the shapely wonder with something other than a nice, thick, shiny, Chinese-style lacquer that would leave the wood Code Red as far as breathing goes, he’s, well, clueless. And then there’s all the taking care not to forget to tuck it away all safe and sound instead of setting it on his work table with all of his sandpapers and rasps and drill bits and other implements of construction that are, what you might say, not Kosher to keep around a frail work of art, plus dropping it and all around banging the thing every chance he gets.

To put it nice, Phil is pretty dang bullheaded when it comes to thinking he can do, make or fix anything, and what’s more, that he’s better than the experts that are here to do it right. And he wouldn’t budge when I suggested he must have had something to do with the billiard’s condition when I got a gander of it. He held to the story that he had nothing to do with it; never touched it, he said, other than smoking it. So I’m sure you all can use whatever cents you had to rub together when you were born and come up with a notion of how dramatic it was for him to – well, ask ain’t the right word – oh, snap! He intimidated that he could use “some advice” on how to fix this no-name, no country but probably Italian bent billiard. Okay, okay, I’m a nice guy, too, and I knew what he was driving at, so when he said it was one of the first pipes I gave him and I said I made it myself, I didn’t want to be rude, but I almost couldn’t help it. One thing is, I’ve never made a pipe in my life nor said I did, even if I have plans to soon; I even bought a nice square block of walnut with grain that’s the bomb and is big enough for two pipes. I figure I’ll go vertical with both of them, seeing as how once I cut it in half I’ll be all-in one way or the other. Anyways, to get back to what I was saying, the other thing is, I did finish a few pre-formed pipes I got my hands on and even made them look pretty smart, if I say so myself, but this here bent billiard wasn’t one of them, no way, no how.

So Phil, he hands the thing to me, and from the second he picks it up from the Blitzkrieg debris that his apartment was full of that day, I saw it was totally FUBAR. I mean, it looked like it was all that could be dug from the rubble of some poor Englishman’s former place of commode during the Battle of Britain after a buzz bomb attack where one of those nasty suckers stopped its buzzing and fell out of the night sky right through his roof before it went off. Okay, so maybe I’m exaggerating, but you get the picture. I’ll tell you, the real shocker to me was that Phil had somehow let this happen when he took real good care of all the other pipes I remembered giving him, including a su-weet, smooth Peterson Aran B11 Bent Brandy I fixed up from my collection and gave to him on his birthday or something after he’d developed a real taste for pipe tobacco. I threw in a sleeve, and he’s kept it the same as the day I gave it to him. Back to the sad billiard, while I’m turning it in my hands, forced to admire the almost total stripping of the wax I told myself had to be there when and if I actually gave him the once proud pipe, not to mention the unbelievable uniformity of scratches all over it that – I kid you not – looked to me to be the work of a man with a careful if twisted plan, Phil even uses that word, plan, just as I’m thinking it! I would have jumped if the awfulness of the billiard’s deformities hadn’t already made me numb all over, like. Here’s my favorite angle. Phil’s going on how he has some plans for it, like re-staining it some special, unknown color and yada-yada-yada, but he’s real quiet like he never gets unless he’s embarrassed and wants to ask a favor, which he doesn’t ever quite get around to doing. Well, I wasn’t born yesterday, and I just keep it in hand until I’m set to leave, and then I ask him all casual, “Hey, Phil, mind if I hold onto this to look it over some more?” And of course he just has to put on like he doesn’t want to, when that was the plan all along, but in the end I walked out the door with the mysterious, thrashed pipe still in my hand.

RESTORATION

I really like three of the things you’ll notice in the first of those photographs: the peculiar piece of cork used for some reason I won’t go into, the chamber chock-full of some leaf and the little improvised piece of paper on the tenon to make it fit right like it did when he got it (whoever gave it to him in the first place).

First off I scooped out all the stuff in the chamber and peeled away the sticky paper on the tenon. Without the paper, here’s a good general idea of how it looked. Now I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t abide with that ghostly remnant of stain, so I set to stripping all of it down to the bone and soaking the bit in an OxiClean bath. I took the wood out of the Everclear after a couple of hours and saw it still need some help removing the old stain. I used 500-grit paper and made the bowl and shank a little better.

And back to the stem for a minute. For a number of reasons, it clearly didn’t fit the shank, and so the motive behind the cover-up with paper. The OxiClean didn’t do much other than get rid of a whole lot of dirt and other mess inside and out, but this is a better view of the tenon and how someone had undercut it at the bottom and generally made a mess of the whole try at making it fit right in the shank. I suppose Phil had nothing to do with that, too.

Other than replacing the whole stem, a plan I wasn’t keen on seeing as how it was going to be for free, I figured I could mend it another way. I sanded it all over with 200-grit paper before putting the 400 to it and micro-meshing as far as I could go, from 1500-12000. With that a done deal, I put a liberal amount of Black Super Glue on the tenon, most of it on the undercut part, to make it all even again. Meanwhile, back to the bowl and shank. The stripping ferreted out more cover-up: the front of the pipe, no big surprise considering it wasn’t proud enough of the results to put a name to it or even the country it came from, had a nice little weed-like patch of holes that needed wood putty.

Since I had some time on my hands while the putty and Black Super Glue finished drying, I smoked my own pipe for a spell. Actually it was one heck of a long spell. But it came to an end, like everything else in this life.

I smoothed the putty real gentle with the old 12000 micromesh and used a brown indelible marker, then an orange one, to make it look a little more natural. Then I put just a thin coat of regular Super Glue over that. I had to get out of my place anyway, so while it dried I did some errands. Heck, yeah, even I have errands to run.

What with the swamp cooler on full-blast, by the time I got home again the Super Glue was good and hard and ready for a smoothing of its own. This time I needed something a little rougher and settled on 3200 micromesh with a respectful light touch. And I’ll be darned if it didn’t just do the trick! The rest of the wood I went the whole nine yards micro-meshing.

One of the ideas Phil had for doing it himself was to use a “different” color. After thinking on it a while, I came up with a mix of Lincoln Marine Cordovan and Fiebing’s brown boot stains – don’t ask me what was going through my head because I don’t remember. Anyways, it worked nice enough, so I flamed it and let it sit to cool before using the 3200 again to clear off the char.

Alright, now, hold your water! I know it! The front view here shows a need for more attention, which you’ll just have to trust me when I say I gave it because I forgot to snap a shot after. Also I sanded down the shank opening so the stem would meet it better. Again, I know it’s not perfect, but this was for free and besides, Phil was starting to breathe down my neck to get it back. Finally I just buffed it up on the wheels with a few waxes.

CONCLUSION
Phil is happy with the job I did – and the replacement cork that fit.

Now I’ve Seen Everything

7 Replies

Guest Blog by Robert M. Boughton
Member, North American Society of Pipe Collectors
http://www.naspc.org
http://www.roadrunnerpipes.com
http://about.me/boughtonrobert

“What will they think of next?”
― From “What Will They Think of Next?” Canadian science TV series (1976-1979), with Joseph Campanella and guest hosts

INTRODUCTION
On tonight’s episode, we’ll look at some of the most unusual smoking pipes ever conceived by innovative inventors whose lives have been committed to making the world the place we now know it to be! First from Langley, Virginia in the United States, a pipe that was, for many years during the Cold War, classified “Top Secret” by the intelligence community there; then to the United Kingdom for a glance at a pipe even children can enjoy, however illicitly; next to another U.K. company, originally headquartered in the U.S., known best for its metal pipes that have sold 44,000,000 and counting, but which also holds the distinction of having introduced this “unbreakable” pipe; back to the U.S., in San Marcos, Texas, for a pipe you can literally stick almost anywhere you find yourself…and more!

CUT TO COMMERCIAL BREAK

OUR PROGRAM CONTINUES
For those James Bond fans who think his gadgets are cool enough to die for, created by the ingenious Q in his ever-clever if not always quite perfected lab full of spy toys for Her Majesty’s secret agents with a 00-series license to kill clearance, we offer this glimpse of real-life tradecraft brought to you by the brilliant though perhaps somewhat sociopathic inventors at the Central Intelligence Agency: the meerschaum small billiard pipe, c. 1950s, complete with a screw-in tenon that can be removed for the open shank to act as a gun barrel. Capable of firing a single .22-caliber bullet by simply pressing the tiny ventilation-like system “trigger” on the underside of the shank, this is one tobacco pipe that would indeed be deadly to use. Although this petite, gorgeous beauty of a meerschaum, very similar to the women in Bond thrillers, was capable of being enjoyed in the usual sense of the term (with a nice bowl of tobacco), in this case the word smoked takes on a more sinister meaning. Note the somewhat creepy, lightly used condition of the bit just below the lip, indicating the pipe’s actual use at least once by an actual non-official cover (NOC), or deep-cover and fully-deniable, CIA agent.

Now, onto our next amazing variation from the norm in the world of tobacco pipes: the Puff Pop Lollipop Pipe! That’s right – Lollipop Pipe! Distributed by everyonedoesit.com, these unique candy pipes are fashioned with clear, hollow, plastic combination shanks/bits leading into the same old lollipops enjoyed by generations of children – except that one side of the round ball of candy is hollowed out to add real pipe tobacco, and the other is flat. Although there is a clear drawback here – the pipe shapes are limited to the one shown above – they are designed as sitters. The Puff Pop Pipes, cutting-edge versions of the old-fashioned candy on a stick, create an “original, cool, easily usable, tasty smoking accessory.” And that leaves out the obvious, disposable. Conceived by the “think tank that is Pitara, who are all about dual purpose,” they are available to order only online at a site that requires anyone who wishes to enter to certify he is 18 or older. That certainly ensures that potential underage smokers will be weeded out. The real draw of this great new pipe variety is that the tobacco taste and aroma are sweetened and flavored and “come in a number of different mind crackling flavors and colors, for all to enjoy.” Now, there’s a great idea!

Now onto a pipe – “The Pipe” – invented by Super Temp in 1963 with sales beginning in 1965, during the height of the Hippie movement, by Tar Gard. Not until 1971 did The Pipe become part of Falcon family, the renowned inventor of the metal pipe. Constructed of virtually unbreakable materials that led Falcon to drop this line quietly in 1972, due to the very nature of The Pipe’s unconventional construction, their manufacture passed to yet another pipe interest. Responsibility for making The Pipe moved for the last time to RJ Reynolds in 1973, the final year of its short period of manufacture but seemingly permanent existence. They remain available to collectors to this day, perhaps due to their all but indestructible nature. At last we come to the last but not least of this evening’s scientific wonders: Grabber Pipes! Available in two great traditional shapes and made of the usual briar, with one major difference, these pipes are modernized with the insertion of magnets to allow pipe enjoyers on-the go, or those who don’t have a pipe rack, to set the finished Grabber on almost anything metallic!

And that concludes tonight’s episode. Thank you for joining us, and look forward to the next account of scientific breakthroughs.

CONCLUSION
What can I add other than…now I’ve seen everything! Anyone with an account of any tobacco pipe odder than these, please, do tell.

SOURCES
For those of you who are interested, here are the websites to visit for more information.

Overcoming Bit Bending Phobia for a Comoy’s 1983 Christmas Bulldog

Revamping a Bavarian Folk Wine Pipe Made in Italy

4 Replies

Guest Blog by Robert M. Boughton
Member, North American Society of Pipe Collectors
http://www.naspc.org
http://www.roadrunnerpipes.com
http://about.me/boughtonrobert
Photos © the Author

“Voters in the southern German state of Bavaria [April 7, 2010] voted for Germany’s strongest smoking ban, meaning lighting up in bars, restaurants and beer tents at Munich’s famous Oktoberfest will be ‘verboten.’”
― David Levitz, journalist, Agence France-Presse

INTRODUCTION
Who would have dreamed that those crazy, fun-loving Bavarians who have been hosting the annual Oktoberfest since October 12, 1810, the day Crown Prince Ludwig (later King Ludwig I) married Princess Therese von Sachsen-Hildburghausen; the culinary health scoffers who gave to the world such artery-hardening treats as Weisswurst, Schweinshaxe, schnitzel and spaetzle, and for snacks and dessert, laugen pretzels, apfelstrudel, Baverische crème and zvetchgenkuchen – would ban smoking in all public buildings just months before the bicentennial of the world’s biggest excuse to get betrunken?

Bavarians are even so fond of beer and schnapps that they have a great little saying: Saufen bis zum Verlust der Muttersprache, or drink until you forget your mother tongue. And if you’ve ever seen many German tourists, how many of them didn’t look like triple bypass candidates? Of course, everyone knows smoking kills more people than drinking and/or diet-related maladies…right?

One 31-year-old Garden Grove, California woman who lost her job and started a blog, and has written a book but is still searching for a publisher, has a particularly active gift of gab. She blogged, “Bavaria’s cuisine is a monster truck. It crumples the delicate-by-comparison culinary offerings of Spain, Italy, and France like tiny little Fiats and Peugots in its path… It is rich and doughy and filling and is the only thing on the planet that can soak up German beer. Every other fare will simply hide in the corner of your stomach, petrified at the sheer awesomeness of the brew that resides in there with it, and it will never get digested.” Perhaps the most succinct line from this particular blog is, “Germans do it with bigger sausages.” [http://www.everywhereist.com/7-badass-bavarian-foods-you-must-try/] I, for one, can’t wait until the book comes out.

If the world is going mad as far as singling out tobacco as the great evil, then Bavaria may now be the capitol for the insanity. Maybe all that ice bockbier and apfelstrudel have saturated their bodies and have nowhere left to go but the brains.

At any rate, there remains for those of us who still appreciate the virtues of pipes and their tobaccos the glorious contributions of German craftsmanship in general and Bavarian in particular. And more along the lines of the subject of this blog:

When I emailed Steve a few photos of my new acquisition from eBay, for less than $11, I was happy as usual to receive a response but, I must admit, a little disheartened to hear of the 20 hours he spent restoring the 1810 Meerschaum Bowl masterpiece above. Then I considered the facts that his folk pipe was part meerschaum, and of course suspected he had, as his masterful skills and (if I may be so bold) somewhat obsessive creative bent allow, more than just restored it. He had in fact, of course, re-worked parts of it, as I learned when I read with pleasure his July 7 account. I mentioned the conjecture that Steve is a born pipe maker to my mentor, Chuck Richards, who with not an inkling of surprise to me that Steve has made a few pipes in his time. I therefore hereby suggest a blog by our host on these endeavors, which I am certain I am not alone in my curiosity to hear about and see.

Alas, as shall be seen, my Bavarian Three-Piece Folk Wine Pipe – not counting the screw-in bit – pales in comparison, although it did present problems I had not before encountered. Starting with the bit, the eBay photos revealed one gash that appeared to be so deep that it must have pierced the air hole. As Lady Luck provided, however, such was not the case. On the other hand, there turned out to be three bad divots in the bit, not counting the severe wounds just below the lip, top and bottom, from grinding teeth. Then there were the countless scratches on every piece; the well-caked chamber; scorching of what I believe is the ornate but aluminum wind cap; a serious cleft in the alternative wood shank, the variety of which I have not yet determined, and a hole in the bottom piece, where the wine is placed, too deep for any fix other than wood putty.

All of these complications, I knew, would be nothing compared to the task of cleaning and sanitizing a pipe with a form that defied retorting. Noting this anticipated cleaning conundrum with a quip, “That’s entirely rhetorical,” in fact, was the reason for Steve’s second reply to my email where he mentioned the time he spent on his folk pipe.

By the way, I owe a final nod to Steve, as well as the owner of my local tobacconist who confirmed his assessment, for identifying my Bavarian folk pipe (which turns out to be a no-name Italian version) as being designed to add wine.

RESTORATION This, as it happens, is how I decided to approach the restoration: piece by piece.

Without thinking – you might say a bit compulsively on my own part – I already cleaned and polished the wind cap before snapping the last shot above.

Other than the almost unconscious cleaning and shining of the wind cap, inside and out, with Everclear-soaked cotton cloths, super fine steel wool and mostly 500-grit paper except for a few tough spots requiring 320, I saw no reason not to dive in with the bit. After all, filling the crevasses – and I can only imagine the drunken stumbling about that caused them – would take several days of layering with black Super Glue and drying time in between. The remainder of the restore was finished in a day and a half of intense work. I gave the bit a good soak in an OxiClean solution to start and cleaned out the mess inside with about six bristly cleaners dipped in Everclear before they came out clean.

With that process begun and the pipe disassembled, I returned to the main tobacco chamber (remember, this three-parter has a second chamber at the bottom for wine) and used my Senior Reamer to take out most of the fairly even though excess cake. After that I swabbed it out with some alcohol-soaked cotton gun cleaner squares and finished the removal of char and smoothing with 200-, 320- and 500-grit paper. The yellowing of the cap’s inside area is the fault of my photography, not lack of attention. I know nothing of body work on cars, which is the kind of detail work the metal rim requires, and despite my restoration of this pipe for my own enjoyment, any tips on eliminating dings in metal, preferably without removing the entire rim piece, will be appreciated. Since the pipe is staying in my own collection, after all, I have a long time to work out that part.

I turned my attention to the outer bowl, first scrubbing out the draught hole with bristly cleaners soaked in alcohol – quite a few, in fact. Then I used 320-grit paper to remove both the old finish and the scratches, starting with the rough, un-sanded opening of the draught hole showing before and after below.

From 1500-4000 micromesh, I prepped the bowl for buffing. I liked the natural, lighter shade of the briar and chose not to re-stain it, proceeding straight to the buffer wheels. I used white Tripoli, White Diamond and carnauba.

The shank was what I expected would take most of the work, and I was right. I sanded the wood with 200 and 320 paper, deciding the cleft in the unknown wood gave it a certain character. Besides, it wasn’t going anywhere without the kind of serious reshaping Steve is into. I sanded it again with 500-grit paper and micro-meshed all the way. The ferrule was dull and scratched. I used micromesh on it and then Lincoln black boot stain, which I flamed, let cool and wiped clean with 4000 micromesh. Finally, I used Lincoln brown stain on the shank’s wood and used 4000 micromesh to take off the ash. I buffed it with white Tripoli, White Diamond and carnauba, and used red and white Tripoli on the ferrule. Onto the final stage – the bottom chamber where the wine is added. Here it is after sanding with 320-grit paper.

By the time I cleaned it out with bristly cleaners and Everclear, when added to those used for the other parts, I had a pile about as high as Steve’s from his meerschaum bowl folk pipe, only much grimier except for the last that came out clean.

Now take a closer look at the right side, first with the small hole that could neither be sanded away nor ignored, then filled with a dab of wood putty. I let it sit and harden until the next day, when I colored the putty with an indelible brown marker and squeezed a drop of Super Glue over the mark.

Late that night, I sanded off the roughness of the dried Super Glue and smoothed the whole piece with micromesh. And here is the finished, waxed result, without re-staining. At last, I was ready to assemble the separately restored parts and wipe it all down with a soft cotton rag.

The only nomenclature, just under the bottom ring in the last photo, reads Imported Briar over Made in Italy.

CONCLUSION
This restoration involved two firsts for me: filling a hole with wood putty, as basic as that is, and more significantly, the importance of considering each independent part of the whole. Never before had I encountered a pipe with more than a bit connected to a shank that in turn attached to the bowl. The simple addition of a second chamber for wine with two openings – one for the shank and the other for the regular tobacco chamber – forced me to approach the project from an angle that was novel to me. The ultimate restoration was a unique pleasure for me, and I am happy to report that the finished folk pipe smokes quite well, even without wine. I look forward to seeing how it works with Martinelli’s Sparkling Cider.

Now I have just a few final words on the Bavarian tobacco ban. It seems they tried the same thing in 2008, but the result was a scoff law that the authorities didn’t even try to enforce. Let’s hope that all of the pipe smokers in the southern German state of Bavaria unite to overcome the 61% of voters who decided to deny them the right to run their own lives.

The Pipe of the Baskerville

Take a Sad Pipe and Make It Better

8 Replies

Guest Blog by Robert M. Boughton
Member, North American Society of Pipe Collectors
http://www.naspc.org
http://www.roadrunnerpipes.com
http://about.me/boughtonrobert
Photos © the Author

“Only when you eat a lemon do you appreciate what sugar is.”
― Ukrainian proverb]

INTRODUCTION
The Beatles sang the idea more perfectly, to take the same liberty with the English language as Thomas Jefferson when beginning to pen the U.S. Constitution, and I’m not looking to start a revolution or create an international incident or any other uproar by saying that all Ukrainian pipes are lemons. My personal experiences have both been with the Veresk Company in Kiev, now the capitol city of the Republic of Ukraine. Before the fall of the former Soviet Union, the Veresk Cooperative factory was the only official outlet for tobacco pipes throughout the USSR. On the other hand, the following work of briar art was created by Ukrainian pipe crafter Konstantin Shekita, who made his start at Veresk. The Cooperative made all of its pipes during the Soviet days from fruit woods including cherry, pear, peach and apricot. After the collapse of the entire Soviet empire, brought about as an unforeseen consequence of Mikhail Gorbachev’s attempt to ease economic hardship for the common Russian with perestroika (rebuilding, reorganization) and to remove the iron-clad clamp on discussion of economic and political realities employing glasnost (openness), Veresk became a company and started to use briar imported from Tuscany, Italy. Although the fruit woods are still sometimes substituted, briar is now the preferred wood. This Golden Gate billiard, which with help from my mentor, Chuck, was determined to be pear wood, was probably made before the end of the Cold War.

On occasion, I find myself having to track down information on a given odd pipe every way I can: Internet engines using multiple query terms, emailing or calling friends, posting threads on various forums – even some Deep Web methods. Having a background as a newspaper reporter, I then try to verify the first source as well as I can. By and large, however, the first place I check is Pipephil, at http://www.pipephil.eu/logos/en/index-en.html. If that site has nothing on a pipe I have bought and/or restored, then I know I’m in for some real work. The contributions of Pipephil as a database trove of information on pipe brands, history, dating and other useful details is, for the most part, invaluable and irrefutable.

For example, about a week ago I saw a Kaywoodie Super Grain Lovat advertised as pre-1930s. Checking Pipephil, I learned that although that dating was not quite accurate, the placing of the Super Grain stamp above Kaywoodie and a four-digit shape number – in this case 5190 – dated the pipe to between 1931 and 1938. The inclusion of Imported Briar, introduced in 1935, narrowed the pipe’s manufacture to within three years during the latter part of the Great Depression. Lucky that no one else seemed to see these details, I won the very old but pristine Lovat for $32.50 with S&H.

At about the same time, seeing the Golden Gate advertised on eBay as “Wooden Smoking Estate Pipe,” I was able to make my decision to buy it based on the GG I spotted on the bit, which Pipephil, with its amazing logo-finding resources, identified with certainty as a Ukrainian brand with the unlikely name Golden Gate. I was also warned that I was liable to receive a pipe made with very alternative wood, meaning something from a fruit tree. For $10 Buy Now with no S&H, I didn’t care. P.A.D., I embrace thee! There are so many worse things on which to spend one’s money.

However, in its entry on the Golden Gate brand, Pipephil gives the translation of Veresk as briar. I have been unable to determine from which language this assertion is drawn. The Russian word for briar, шиповник, transliterates to shipovnik (ship-ŌV-nee-yik), and the Ukrainian шипшина is shypshnya (SHIP-shnee-uh). The best references to Veresk in regard to Russian I can find are a sub machine gun known to players as the SR 2M Veresk, used in a computer role playing game (RPG) called Alliance of Valiant Arms [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R9BFocl97_Y], and a surname most common in Russia [http://forebears.io/surnames/veresk]. Hence I suspect Pipephil has this tidbit wrong, and Veresk is in fact derived from the last name of some Party-loyal old Comrade. I emailed Pipephil the details above and asked if perhaps Veresk is briar in another language or dialect. I’m hoping for a response.

RESTORATION I snapped this first photo to add to my private collection, as I do all of my new and unused pipes that need no restoration, before I realized the peculiar stain probably hid something, such as a fruit wood that Pipephil identified as the most common type used by Veresk, whatever the company’s name means. Here is the Golden Gate after I stripped the old stain with an Everclear soak and then used super fine steel wool to begin the process of smoothing the assaulted pear wood’s skin, so to say.

I’m no expert on woods, but this does most resemble pear to me, after comparing all of the possibilities. Any knowledgeable wood-workers who might read this, please feel free to correct me

I tried a couple of fills of favorite tobacco blends before beginning the restoration, and enjoyed them, and after the Everclear soak, I was sure the pipe needed no retort. In hindsight, it occurs to me that I should have taken a close-up of the chamber before soaking the wood in alcohol and then using my reamer and sandpaper to remove the unusual coating that came in it as the billiard arrived in the mail.

Researching that general subtopic of pipe knowledge after my instincts already led me to eradicate the harsh-feeling stuff, I was horrified and reached the conclusion that the somewhat sharp and definitely alien material used to coat the chambers of both Veresk pipes I have purchased was the so-called “waterglass.” This attractive sounding term is a euphemism for sodium metasilicate (Na2O3Si), a highly toxic chemical compound that is “[i}rritating & caustic to skin, mucous membranes. If swallowed causes vomiting & diarrhea.” Then there are the serious consequences of absorbing or ingesting this diabolical method of coating the chamber of a pipe that, when lit, cannot help delivering its sickening and potentially deadly payload directly into the hapless pipe smoker’s body, causing “[u]pper airway irritation, fever/hyperthermia [and] leukocytosis.” [http://pubchem.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/compound/Sodium_metasilicate#section=Top. Also see its use in tobacco pipes at http://pipesmagazine.com/blog/out-of-the-ashes/bowl-coatings-the-good-the-bad-and-the-ugly-part-ii/.%5D

On a brighter note, I observed an unevenness of the rim. With the gentlest wood file I have, I corrected that minor problem and re-sanded and micro-meshed again until it was smooth.

I proceeded to sand the wood with 320-grit paper and used micromesh from 1500-4000.

Although I liked the grain on most of the Golden Gate and considered buffing without stain, I recognized the need for something darker to lessen the flaws on the front and back of the bowl. I chose Lincoln Brown boot stain and flamed it after I applied a couple of coats. This time I took off the char with 4000-grade micromesh and some extra pressure on the pad instead of going down to 3600 and risking removal of the new color in spots.

You can see in the first photo above that the small metal band came off from the alcohol soak, and so I used a few dabs of Super Glue to reattach it. Seeing the surface of the wood could use some slight further attention to prepare it for buffing, I took a small piece of super fine steel wool and only ran it over the surface of the wood with the gentlest touch, as though wiping dust or hand smears from the wood. With the pear wood ready to buff, I did so with white Tripoli, White Diamond and carnauba. The stem I left as it was.

CONCLUSION
Altogether I think I took this sad billiard and, with a little help from a friend, as the Beatles also sang, made it better. At the very least I am now willing to offer it for sale, knowing it won’t send anyone to the hospital or perhaps even kill him.

WDC Wellington Bent System – Restoring a Mainstay Pipe of the Celebrated Maker

2 Replies

Guest Blog by Robert M. Boughton
Member, North American Society of Pipe Collectors
http://www.naspc.org
http://www.roadrunnerpipes.com
http://about.me/boughtonrobert
Photos © the Author

Bruno Antony: Each fellow does the other fellow’s murder. Then there is nothing to connect them. The one who had the motive isn’t there. Each fellow murders a total stranger. Like you do my murder and I do yours…For example, your wife, my father. Criss-cross.
― from “Strangers on a Train” (1951), directed by Alfred Hitchcock, screenplay by Raymond Chandler and Czenzi Ormonde, starring Farley Granger and Robert Walker [Bruno]

INTRODUCTION
The movie was one of Hitchcock’s greatest and a favorite of mine. How could it not be, with the legendary detective novelist Raymond Chandler as the top word-man? But this is not a blog about swapping murders. It does concern the swapping of a bit, however, or to be more accurate, the removal of one from a basic Peterson’s System Standard in my collection of pipes awaiting more extreme repair, and which won’t be missed before it can be mended, to use for the William Demuth Co. Wellington System Billiard.

But first, let’s play Find the Pipe in the Lot. No doubt you have spotted it without trouble, or will soon deduce the answer from following photos.

Now for the criss-cross: watch as the bit, at first loose but in place in the shank of the Peterson’s Standard System to the right in photo one, without warning falling to the trademark green sleeve along with the battered band in photo two. Look long enough, and I guarantee you’ll see the moment of selfless sacrifice for the blighted, bit-less predicament of the once proud, near-twin WDC close by. And then, in photo three – the miraculous transplant to the WDC after the donated organ has embraced its new host body, at least tentatively.

A few words concerning the William Demuth Co. are in order, for those not familiar with its illustrious history. Demuth (1835-1911) entered the U.S. as an emigrant from Germany with no money when he was 16 and worked a number of odd jobs. His break came when he attained the position of clerk for a tobacco products trade company. Demuth founded his own company in Brooklyn, New York in 1862, two years into the Civil War, when he was only 27.

Success was rapid, leading to friendships with such prominent figures as James A. Garfield. [Garfield was inaugurated as the twentieth U.S. president in 1881 after winning by the narrowest popular vote margin in history, a mere 9,464 ballots, but with an extra 59 Electoral College votes. He served only four months before he was gunned down by a single shot aimed by Charles Julius Guiteau, an American lawyer denied an ambassadorship to France(evidently for good cause, as shooting the president on July 2, four months into his term, was not very diplomatic). Although Garfield lingered for about two and a half months, the assassin’s bullet caused the blood poisoning to which he succumbed. Guiteau was hanged several days short of a year after the ultimate assassination.]

At the Presidential Inauguration, Demuth presented Garfield with two meerschaum pipes, one in Garfield’s image and the other in the new First Lady’s. The friendship of the two men led to Demuth’s commissioning of a partial presidential line of pipes. But the linchpin WDC pipe was the Wellington, which lasted beyond the company’s own lifetime. Having become a subsidiary of S.M. Frank & Co. in 1937, WDC continued until the final day of 1972. The Wellington, however, was still offered in Frank’s catalog until 1976 and even had a brief reprise in the mid-1980s by way of consumer-direct sales.

Here are two other Wellington’s, the first courtesy of pipephil.eu and the second from pipedia.org. RESTORATION

In a sentence, this restoration was more about the stem than anything else. I had decided to go with a perfect replacement from a Peterson’s Standard System pipe in my personal collection. Then, when I donned my Dollar Store 3.75X glasses for a “final” close inspection, I cringed at the sight of the faint black outline of the Peterson’s P, shown below, now filled in with a white china marker. Note the correct shape of this bit from lip to tenon. My next brainstorm was to sand off the P, and in fact set out to do so when I came to my senses. What can I say? Sometimes I have the stupidest ideas. And so I opted to let the buck stop here and repair the bit I took off of the Peterson’s System Standard shown in the criss-cross photos of the Introduction. That System Standard needs serious work, also; not only a new, genuine bit but a replacement matching band. I will tackle that one when I have the new bit and band and am up to speed on the process of banding.

With a happy glow of contentment in the pit of my belly, I replaced the above bit, with the P filled in at last, on its rightful pipe in the stand-up, two sided bookshelf with doors where I store most of my collection, and opted to proceed with this restoration by doing the long, tedious work of applying layers of black Super Glue to build up the thinner, bottom section of the bit that lacks a tenon. As a result, while the rest of the Wellington has been finished for about ten days, the old bit, mangled by some wannabe pipe fixer, took days of patient layering, sanding and micro-meshing each phase, then polishing on the buffers, and was only completed moments ago.

I started the bit on its way, which I knew would take some days, by filing it to a uniform tapering roundness and sanding with 150- and 320-grit paper before micro-meshing from 1500-4000.

After that I gave the entire surface of the bit below the bulge the first of four thick coats of black Super Glue. Aware of the risk, I then stripped the old finish with as short as possible of an Everclear soak.

Leaving the bowl and shank for about 10 minutes in the alcohol and time enough to dry, I reamed and sanded the chamber to the smoothness of a chamois cloth and retorted the pipe using the bit from my own Peterson’s System Standard. Starting with super fine 0000 steel wool, then micromesh every step from 1500-4000, the wood and steel band had a nice natural sheen.

Without stain, using the natural rich color of the briar, I prepared the bowl and shank for the coming test to see if the bit worked out, the likelihood of which I had doubts, by buffing it with white Tripoli, White Diamond and two coats of carnauba, using the plain cloth buffer between each, of course.

The following days seemed to drag with each successive layer of black Super Glue and the long drying time followed by sanding with 200-grit paper and micro-meshing up the scale each time. But in the end, the result was worth the time and effort, considerable and somewhat unnerving as they were.

CONCLUSION
Again, this battle was far more about trying to recover an available bit, so that it would fit and lock in the shank, rather than any problems I faced with the bowl and shank. As the bit was when I received the Pete System Standard with which it came, well, the bit was the tip of the iceberg with that future project. In fact, my friend and mentor, Chuck, recommended that I send it to someone he knows in Denver – not so much because the task was beyond my skills but that it was what he would do if he needed a new Peterson’s bent system pipe stem with the right measurements as well as a replacement band of the appropriate type. I was fortunate with the WDC in that it called for a bit designed after the Pete System variety.

Of course I would have preferred to place a perfect, like-new bit in this great WDC Wellington, but the personal reward came in finding out that I could take what I had and make it work.

I think I’ll do the same with the estate Peterson’s Standard System that gave its bit for this pipe, after I’ve received the new parts in the mail.