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I Got the Kaywoodie-Delta Blues

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Guest Blog by Robert M. Boughton
Member, International Society of Codgers
Member, North American Society of Pipe Collectors
http://www.naspc.org
http://www.roadrunnerpipesnm.biz (Coming Soon)
http://about.me/boughtonrobert
Photos © the Author

The Delta blues is a low-down, dirty shame blues. It’s a sad, big wide sound, something to make you think of people who are dead or the women who left you.
― David “Honeyboy” Edwards (1915-2011), U.S. Delta blues guitarist and singer

INTRODUCTION
I’ve been sitting on these two nice metal pipes, different brands but modeled after the original of their kind, designed by Frederick Kirsten, a U.S. professor of electrical engineering at the University of Washington who was transferred to the aeronautics department and promptly changed the course of aviation history with the creation of the Kirsten Wind Tunnel for subsonic aerodynamic testing. He also upended the tobacco pipe industry and generally rocked the world of pipe enjoyers with his 1936 invention of a sleek aluminum radiator frame with interchangeable bowls. The patented revolution in a box was more or less a way to quit cigarettes by exercising his boundless creativity. He puffed cigars as well.

Maybe I’m just not as daring as the good professor. Whenever I find myself on the edge of pipe restoration territory I haven’t charted, I hesitate. I don’t panic or freeze in terror. I just pause to survey the terrain and get my bearings; to triangulate my coordinates, find my footing, and then one day, as if on an impulse but really because I’m good and ready, I take the next leap, with some faith.

And so it was last night that I looked at the Kaywoodie Smooth Billiard and Duncan Delta Rusticated Brandy with a dental lip – again – and without thinking grabbed them. The next thing I knew, I was looking around for the implements of cleaning and restoring I might need for the combined tasks and remembered another aluminum pipe I fixed up once, an Aristocob, and how I used a solution of white vinegar and baking soda to soak the metal. Although I had bought enough of each for a lifetime when I did the Aristocob, I discovered they were lost in my latest necessarily hasty move.Delta1 The nearest Walmart would close in about a half-hour, at midnight. All of Sam Walton’s children here used to stay up round the clock, but now there are less than a handful that do, and only one within any kind of reasonable distance. They had too many problems with thievery and other shenanigans, you see, mostly through the dock doors, if you follow me. I armed myself against the natives, threw on a coat, petted my cats as they were curious about the sudden hullabaloo and hurried out the door. I was back before the witching hour.

As part of the map checking I did in comforting if only perceived preparation for these restorations, I noted that the Duncan Delta, of the English metal genre, as it were, came with a non-removable bit, as did the two Falcons in my personal collection. At this point I made that greatest of mistakes: I assumed there were no exceptions to the rule.Delta2

Delta3 To be fair to myself, I showed the Kaywoodie and Duncan Delta to my friend and mentor, Chuck Richards, who is usually infallible, and asked how the bits come off for cleaning. In hindsight and an extended spirit of fairness, I’m not sure he looked all that closely at them.

“They don’t,” he said, with a certain amused grin he has. “You just have to work through them.” Or something to that effect.Delta4 Taking a seat on the couch with the supplies I would need to proceed, I had no idea what I was in for. I can’t wait to show Chuck the mind-boggling discovery I tripped over, figuratively speaking – about halfway through the restorations. To those in the audience who know the astonishing secret of a certain rare Kaywoodie metal pipe made from 1955-1959, with this particular surprise only included during the first year or so of that period, Shhhh! Don’t spoil the revelation for others when it comes, in good time.

RESTORATIONS
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Delta13 I had prepared an empty macaroni salad tub, by cleaning it with scalding water and dish soap, for the vinegar-baking soda soak of the aluminum pipe bodies. It was the widest container I had but also deeper than it needed to be. Into the tub I measured about a tablespoon of baking soda, then added the vinegar and watched it fizz madly until the powder dissolved. I placed the two parts in the mix and added more vinegar until they were almost covered. Considering the possible effects on the bits, I spontaneously chose the bolder path and pushed down a little on each one until they were submerged. The bubble action was really something to see – much more active of an interaction than an OxiClean bath – but I had other things to do.Delta14 The bowls needed cleaning in the worst way, the bases in particular. The moisture from tobacco creates steam, and Kirsten’s system, which is used in metal pipes still today, traps and cools the steam in the stem. Much of the resulting very sticky, cloying gunk ends up on the bottoms of the bowls and can be cleaned in seconds by anyone who enjoys these pipes. But as Steve put it perfectly in one of his blogs on a particularly messy Generation 1 Kirsten A, I’ll just quote him: “The cleaning in seconds must not have been something that the previous owner of this pipe ever read or understood.” https://rebornpipes.com/tag/kirsten-pipes/

Taking also from this great blog the idea that metal pipes are, for the most part, sturdy things that can outlive generations of a single family of pipe enjoyers, I launched a three-pronged assault on the bottoms of the bowls alone. First I swabbed them and the rest of the bowls’ exteriors with cotton gun cleaning squares soaked with purified water; then the same with Everclear swabs, and next superfine steel wool on the bases and rims. The Delta base, being metal and somewhat pocked with corrosion, needed a little more work with sandpaper before another round of steel wool.Delta16

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Delta19 An odd trick of sight makes the rusticated Duncan bowl, which indeed has a wider outer diameter than the smooth Kaywoodie (about 5” compared to 4-3/8), appear as if it would need a bigger reamer to clean out most of the excess cake. But the Duncan only took a 19mm fixed reamer while the Kaywoodie held a 21mm.Delta20 I smoothed the chambers with 320-grit paper followed by 200, followed by long and careful consideration of the next step. While I started restoring pipes with the habit of stripping the old finish completely, I have taken to avoiding that step for the most part on different levels of thinking, primarily two. One, I never know for sure what I’ll find beneath the finish that might have been better left uncovered, and two, I have become more purist in my approach, liking the idea of imitating the original.

Nevertheless, I concluded I just didn’t care for the light brown shade of the Kaywoodie or the dark brown of the Duncan. As the former was of U.S. origin and the latter of British make, I reasoned, that would make them cousins, as some folks on either side of the Pond refer to each other. But I wanted them to be more like brothers. Therefore, “Off with their stains!” I heard a voice cry in my head, and dunked both bottoms up into an Everclear bath, careful to leave the bases above the alcohol level.Delta21 While the 190-proof alcohol changed from clear to something else, I removed the frames from their long vinegar-baking soda soak, rinsed them thoroughly and began to “work through” the Duncan frame with pipe cleaners dipped in more Everclear, still shocked, as always, at the filth that came out. Seriously, how hard is it to run a cleaner through your pipe now and then? Are restorers the only people who do it? Deep breath; exhale. I suppose that’s a rant better left for my upcoming Encyclopedia of Pipe Trips. Still, seven bristly cleaners through the frame later, and three swabs soaked with alcohol to clean out most of the mess in the round bowl connector, not to mention having to use my wire cleaner to dig out the muck in the grooves of said connector, I thought I was finished with that part.Delta22 But now, looking at the photo above, I see it needs a little more work. I’m going to soak the connector in Everclear and scrub it some more. Give me a few minutes to make it shine better, and I’ll be right back with another picture.Delta23 There. That was easy, and I for one feel better. Plus the picture tells the whole story!

Anyway, enough time had passed to take the bowls out of the Everclear and scrub them cleaner and dry inside-out with more cotton swabs.Delta24 I used the steel wool again on both, lightly on the Kaywoodie to make it shine before heightening the effect with a micromesh progression, and vigorously to take the finish of the rusticated Duncan down still more until it was actually reddish, for which I had hoped.Delta25 Re-staining both with Lincoln Marine Cordovan (Burgundy) boot stain, I flamed them with my Bic and set them aside.Delta26 Now, at last, I near the dramatic moment I know you have all been waiting for! Is that the faint fade-in of a drum roll I hear, or an auditory hallucination? Due to my slight deviation from following the restorations of each pipe part by part – starting when I cleaned the Duncan frame and instead of moving on to the Kaywoodie, continued to the bowls – I did not learn the wonderful nature of the Kaywoodie until I attempted to work through it with bristly cleaners as I had the Duncan…

…and the whole thing came apart in my lap! There were the bit that wasn’t supposed to come off and some bizarre, vile, noxious looking thingamabob that looked like a wire brush. I picked it up with distaste and tossed the whole dark, stained mess in the leftover Everclear from stripping the bowls. I knew that would clean it up somewhat, and it did. With the brush out of the Kaywoodie frame, by the way, the metal was quite easy to clean. That should have been a clue, but my first thought was that someone had stuck the brush inside the frame as a makeshift filter. (It is truly scary how close and yet so far from the truth I can be sometimes in my denser moments.)Delta27 At least I had the sense to recognize that the resulting hole in the frame was gaping wide, and turned to pipephil.eu for help, which I found as I almost always do. It was the second metal “filter” pipe in the Kaywoodie models A-K section, the Filter Plus, made from 1955-1959. A convenient link to Smoking Metal led me to the rest of the story. http://www.smokingmetal.co.uk/pipe.php?page=133

As it turns out, the brush is not a fluke, of course, but an original Kaywoodie nylon brush filter that was only included with the pipe during the first year or so of its four-year run. The filter brush has 5,000 fibers. Now, I want y’all to think on that fer a spell. Finding a pipe with one at all, much less intact, is a miracle. It’s no wonder Bill Feuerbach, president of S.M. Frank & Co. Inc., owner of Kaywoodie, is quoted at the link above as saying of the Filter Plus, “It is one of the most indestructible and durable pipes I have ever run across.”

Check out the advertisement below from the first year the Filter Plus was made. Considering how easy it was to clean the frame of the pipe itself, despite (or because of) the dirty condition of the filter brush, it’s a shame they stopped making them. As the ad shows, the pipe cost $4, or $35.42 in today’s money. http://www.usinflationcalculator.com/. Replacement or additional bowls were $1.50 ($13.28), and two-packs of the filter brushes were 35 cents ($3.10).Delta28 Getting close to the finish line always makes my blood start to race! I buffed the two bowls with 4000 and 6000 micromesh.Delta29 Then there was the Kaywoodie bit, which was looking a little rough.Delta30 I sanded it with 200- and 320-grit paper before working my way up the micromesh trail, and moved on to putting a little Halcyon II wax on the Duncan. During a few of the 15 minutes or so it set in, I took the Kaywoodie Filter Plus billiard bowl and the bit (which indeed is removable) into my office. I buffed the bit with red and white Tripoli, then White Diamond, using the clean wheel between each; then the bowl with white Tripoli, White Diamond and a good coat of carnauba, again using the clean wheel in between.

Really only ten minutes more passed, at most, as I sat back on my couch, screwing the Kaywoodie bowl in and out of the frame threads and wiping it down, over and over, because it seemed like the minute hand on the clock was stuck there to spite me! Maybe that’s because I kept eyeballing it. But the time did pass, and I carried the Duncan bowl into the office for a quick spin on the clean wheel only. That was my reward for being so patient and all.Delta31

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Delta33 CONCLUSION
Well. Now that it’s all said and done, all I really have to add is that this pair of restorations was just plain fun. And full of surprises. And I learned a few new things I never imagined, too, and can’t wait to show Chuck!

ADDITIONAL SOURCE
https://www.reddit.com/r/PipeTobacco/comments/3a5hf9/info_on_falcon_pipe_markings/ Info on FD18 stamp

Pipe Tripping

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Guest Trip by Robert M. Boughton
Member, International Society of Codgers
Member, North American Society of Pipe Collectors
http://www.naspc.org
http://roadrunnerpipes.biz (Coming Soon!)
http://about.me/boughtonrobert

‘Curiouser and curiouser!’ cried Alice (she was so much surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English); ‘now I’m opening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-bye, feet!’ (for when she looked down at her feet, they seemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off). ‘Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings, for you now, dears? I’m sure I shan’t be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you: you must manage the best way you can; –but I must be kind to them,’ thought Alice, ‘or perhaps they won’t walk the way I want to go! Let me see: I’ll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas.’ — From “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” Ch. 2 (1865), by Charles Lutwidge Dodgson under the pseudonym Lewis Carroll [1832-1898], English mathematician, noted photographer, essayist, poet and novelist

FOREWORD
Pipe1The origination of tobacco in the Americas and Australia is not as common knowledge as, say, that Columbus didn’t actually discover America, but then, there are stranger facts associated with the leafy plant’s history. Certain forms of tobacco were – and likely still are – used in the spiritual practices of various native populations to produce reactions that, by newer and more close-minded cultures, are called hallucinogenic. While there is no evidence to support the idea, and I am not suggesting a serious connection, Lewis Carroll (as the brilliant author will always be remembered) could have been under the influence of tobacco hallucinogens when he wrote the above masterpiece and its sequel.

To be fair and clear, however, Carroll’s unique composition style was the result of the Universal Impetus Theory (UIT) for all great literary innovators: having a gift as an ingenious raconteur able to choose and order his words in a precise, inimitable form, and the good fortune of living in the right time. Carroll also had an unparalleled knack for the creation and blending of words. Of course, the fact that he was a good friend of the British lexicologist Henry George Liddell, after whose daughter the timeless Carroll classic was named – and at whose insistence he committed his oral tales to paper, leading to its publication – no doubt played a part in the use of combined and nonce-words (those created for the moment, or nonsensical) and complex sentence structure by the mathematician turned writer. Coining the word galumph, for example, which means “to bound or move clumsily or noisily” (OED), Carroll blended gallop and triumphant. His works still thrill children and adults alike.

Pipe2Consider this. Without Carroll, we would not have fantastic, imaginative and endearing verbs, adjectives and nouns such as galumph as well as chortle, frabjous, mimsy, vorpal, snark and, last but not least, jabberwocky. The colloquial term snarky, for irritable or short-tempered, was adapted by Edith Nesbit, in her 1906 novel “Railway Children,” from the name of a variety of disconcerting creatures introduced to the world in Carroll’s poem, “The Hunting of the Snark.” As a hopeful point of interest, my spellchecker recognized chortle, galumph and jabberwocky, so accepted in the English lexicon they have grown. And as I added the rest to my Word dictionary, should I ever have occasion to use them again, they will appear without the annoying red, squiggly underlines. What’s more, thanks to the periodic transmission of these additions to Microsoft, where they will undergo due consideration by vorpal, slithy folk whose job it is to determine their worthiness, perhaps someday the perspiration-coated toilers over such heady decisions will make it possible for Carroll’s now-real words never to trouble other users of the magical expressions.

Now, lately I’ve been thinking about pipes and tobacco in a different frame of mind. Those who know me best seem to agree that my arguably Byzantine cognitive processes can be scary or even stupefying, if not downright dangerous, depending on the attention level of the person listening to or reading my discourses. Nevertheless, these commentaries often made off-the-cuff and on diverse topics, when joining a conversation, tend to come together with certain cogency, the suddenness of which is a bit like the epiphanic ending of a Faulkner novel.

At any rate, my musings of late, at least in my own mind, have produced some unusual notions, some of which have even made me laugh out loud. That’s LOL, for those young enough to have been raised in the Cyber Age and have forgotten what the three letters even abbreviate. These ponderings, reflections or reveries, or whatever else anyone might choose to label them, up to and including absurdities and/or deliriums, grew curiouser and curiouser the further I allowed them to metastasize within my psyche, and have now reached the point where I am compelled to share them, for better or worse.

RANDOM PIPE TRIPS TO CONSIDER
In the beginning, as far as pipe tobacco goes, there was a peculiar plant of the genus Nicotiana, from the nightshade family, called N. tabacum. The simple fact that our revered tobacco derives from Deadly Nightshade – or belladonna , the black berries of which are frightful in their toxicity – should be enough to give pause to all of us who, with regularity, take such special pains to pack our pipes just so with the stuff, so that it might burn all the longer and thoroughly. But of course this knowledge, even if acquired by some readers who just now digested the previous sentence, will have no such effect.

PIPE TRIP #1
Let’s start this silly exercise with an image, stemming from the relationship, however distant, of tobacco to Deadly Nightshade, and which appeals to my admittedly perverse, at times, sense of humor. Conceive, if you can, how many hapless, hungry and heedless berry-pickers perished from eating the wild belladonna back in the day when people didn’t know better than to pluck such frabjous-looking things without care and pop them into their mouths; or, if the victim of eating the fruit of the somewhat drab green and weed-like flora were spared death and merely rendered howling mad, attempt to visualize the resulting hallucinations that are so vivid the sufferer has no grasp of reality whatsoever. Whichever outcome presents, it is just because of the berries appearing so plump and pretty and sweet, and impulsive human nature.

Then the kicker: one day, someone came along and experienced the brainstorm to toss the berries aside and turn the unattractive green leafs into something that could much more safely be ingested by somehow cultivating, processing and at last chopping up into suitable pieces for placing in a crude bowl with a similar stem (perhaps in the botanical sense) for the purpose of igniting and inhaling them.Pipe3The worst part of this opening cogitation is the rare but continuing incidences of accidental poisoning from these lovely though heartless elements of nature. Take, for example, the case of a very large American (naturally). He measures 6’ 3” in height and 220 pounds in width. Wandering through the wilds of Germany late this very year, he spies the shiny, luscious appearing fruit on a plant he mistakes for elder berries. He gobbles 20-30 of them despite their semi-sweetness with bitterness from the seeds, and not feeling quite himself, promptly decides to take a nap right there in the woods. His sleep is frequently interrupted by a nagging need to urinate, which is difficult because nothing seems to want to come out except small, forced amounts of clear liquid with a strange blue tint which the tourist has just enough sense left to be unsure if it might not be a hallucination.

After giving up the nap idea, his mouth becomes dry and his throat sore. Then his vision goes blurry, and he decides it’s time to see his doctor, who happens to notice the patient’s pupils are dilated to the max and unresponsive to any safe and sane stimuli. The physician thinks it best for the man to be taken to the hospital. During the ensuing drive, the hallucinations commence. A single hedgehog appears as thousands, and deer are kangaroos. The poor fellow arrives at the hospital a mere four to five hours after scarfing down so many of the marvelous berries, and all the hospital staff can do is observe him – intensely – for several days that seem like an eternity to the man.

The situation rapidly escalates to seeming insanity filled with hideous, terrifying visions and other misperceptions of reality, like a singularly bad LSD trip, prompting a transfer to the psych unit. This is just the beginning of the trip down the rabbit hole, but at last he does begin to get better. As soon as he is able to comprehend the words, he is told how lucky he is to be so large, as anyone smaller would surely have died. Recovering even now, the man still is not his old self again.

You see, this is a true story, and not in the sense of the often misleading tags at the beginnings of movies. Heaven knows I didn’t make it up! I strongly suggest reading the full account at http://www.thepoisongarden.co.uk/blog2/blog281115.htm for a jolly good first-hand account of the ordeal.

PIPE TRIP #2
The interior of the bowl of a pipe, where we cram or methodically place the tobacco, is called the chamber, yet one never seems to hear a pipe smoker refer to settling down in his easy chair to enjoy a good chamber of whatever blend has been chosen for the occasion to contemplate life. Could this habit derive from the alternate definition of chamber as a room, as in a chamber of horrors? Or might it be a subconscious aversion to a comparison of the pipe’s chamber to the part of a gun that renders the weapon armed or not? I mean, think of it! What merry piper would want to sit in a dreadful chamber or put a chambered gun in his mouth? Just food for thought, nothing more.

PIPE TRIP #3
The bit is almost universally referred to as the stem. What in the name of all that’s holy is the problem with calling the thing by its proper name? Honestly, I want to know when and where this convention began, and who started the confusion! Yes, I want nothing less than the time, location and name of the guilty party.

Heaven help us if this ruddy awful vacillation stems (pun intended) from some sorry fellow’s fear of comparing the bit of his pipe to the past tense form of bite, all for the day when he was a wee little tyke and a dog bit him, which seminal event has bitten (past participle) his worldview forever.

Then again, maybe the dither is about Man’s eternal fear of karmic payback, in this case for the long, shameful practice of abusing others of God’s finer creations, such as horses, in place of his own back-breaking labor, by placing metal bits in the sad creatures’ mouths and then whipping them onward to finish tilling the fields we humans might just have had to work a bit harder to accomplish ourselves.

I ask, what’s the point of the evasion in the first place? After all, our worldwide band of brothers and sisters, in pursuit of the pleasures and comforts of a nice, relaxing smoke, seem to have no qualms referring to the often sharp but excellent bite of a bit of a strong mixture of a VaPer or other coarser, non-aromatic blend that can become an acquired taste and lead, at worst, to a case of Tobacco Acquisition Disorder (T.A.D.).

PIPE TRIP #4
While that last note is fresh in the mind, I’ll leap at the opportunity to address the use of the word disorder in T.A.D. and its mates, Pipe Acquisition Disorder (P.A.D.) and Accessory Acquisition Disorder (AAD). Who on Earth dreamed up these ostensible maladies? Surely nobody accredited within the medical community! My guess is some lone pipe smoker with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD), a genuine and serious and hardly uncommon psychological irregularity that can easily lead to an overspending problem, started the whole thing, and others jumped on the old bandwagon and added the others. I can just see all of them waking up with cold sweats in the middle of the night who-knows-when with the realization that, once again, they’d gone and spent their entire grocery budgets along with half the rent on one of the three categories of pipe expenditures described above.

What’s more, I’ll bet each and every one of them reached for his ever-handy Merck Manual to self-diagnose himself so he could tell his local candy doctor just what pill he needed to overcome the dread “disorder.” My gosh, the measures people will take to get a new drug! Why, it’s scary even to contemplate. I thank the stars I’m not that bad off, you know I do! I mean, sure, I’ve been late with the rent or cable bundle bill, or paying for my cell phone – maybe, on rare occasions, all three – but I swear I do not have any kind of disorder! Well, other than Attention Deficit Disorder (A.D.D.) and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), not to mention chronic migraines and – oh, yes – agoraphobia. But those trifles are all under strict control, and you may take my word on that to the bank!

PIPE TRIP #5
Last but not least is the odd practice of the average piper, who will speak in calm, even tones of smoking his pipes – with utter disregard for all of the expression’s negative connotations. After all, where there is smoke, there is fire. Picture yourself in any of Dante Allighieri’s infernal nine circles of Hell on Earth leading, with fervent thirst, for ultimate eternal salvation. Do we really want to go there? Let’s not. Dante already did the great favor of doing so for us! Just say no, as Nancy Reagan did to drugs. Instead, join me in the somewhat troublesome practice, I admit, of enjoying a pipe. I picked up this routine after reading an excellent essay last year concerning positive methods of writing and speaking of the multi-faceted pleasures associated with tobacco pipes, by a member of the North American Society of Pipe Collectors in its magazine (they insist on calling it a newsletter ), “The Pipe Collector.”

Seriously, if I can do it, you can, even if in our hearts we are thinking of Lady Mary Wroth’s 1621 controversial and groundbreaking literary work, “The Countess of Montgomery’s Urania,” and one line from it: “Those loose and wicked enjoyings which we coveted.”

AFTERWORD
This little exercise in writing is at best an essay, and at worst a work of fiction, lest anyone who failed to grasp my attempts at satire walk away from the experience with the notion that I might in any way have been serious.

I welcome, more than usual, any responses with contributions of other examples of pipe trips (or, for that matter, alternative critical thoughts), with the hope of someday compiling an Encyclopedia of Pipe Trips.

My Courtship of a Comoy’s Pebble Grain Panel Brandy

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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.biz (Coming soon)
http://about.me/boughtonrobert
Photos © the Author

For there are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion,
That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble
Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret,
Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together.
― From “Priscilla” in The Courtship of Miles Standish (1858), by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882), U.S. poet and author

INTRODUCTION
I suppose I should consider myself fortunate to have had many such moments in life as Longfellow described, and can only hope to be blessed with frequent more, yet when each occurs, the awareness never fails to strike like a suffering pleasure. Call me a sentimentalist, or a romanticist as were the poets who influenced Longfellow, or make of it what you will.

Several years ago, when I first began buying up numerous fine examples of restored pipes by my friend and mentor, Chuck Richards, I fell in love with the beautiful Comoy’s Pebble Grain Panel featured in this exercise in refurbishing. As I might as well admit at this point, my reaction to the coloring and fine pebbles adorning the panels and the unusual shapeliness of the pipe itself was as the great American poet described. Many other works of art created for the enjoyment of pipe tobacco, some of which I have had the pleasure of acquiring and quite a few more remaining on my wish list, affected my sensibilities (in the philosophical sense) in a similar manner.

Still, the persistence of my attraction to this singular pipe has never lessened. Perhaps this reaction was a result of the fact that, in a moment of largess, I promised the special pipe to a friend who prefers cigars but was interested in taking up the fairer form of smoking – and on frequent occasions since then, I have been able to appreciate its allure, albeit in the hands of another man.

With that chemistry in mind, I have on a few occasions, with permission from my friend of course, again held the full-figured darling in my own appreciative embrace to ensure that she has been given the care and respect deserved. I am happy to report that the lovely creature has received excellent if frequent attention.

That said, and recognizing that when I first cleaned the Comoy’s a few years back for my friend, Mike Brasel, I knew even less about restoration and refurbishing than I do now, I knew I could make the lovely pipe better than when I gave it away. If anyone detects a touch of regret in those last words, it is only because… well, it’s the truth! There. I got that confession out of the way. I also had taken no photos of the pebble grain before I turned it over to the care of Mike, and concluded that one easy way to correct that mistake was to get it back in my hands long enough to give the pipe a little needed cleaning. Machiavellian? Somewhat. Sneaky? Definitely. Regrets? None.

My primary solace for the loss of the pebble grain is two-fold: other than getting to see it on a regular basis, I can observe its regular upkeep. I knew Mike was in the good habit of running bristly cleaners through it but had no idea he must do so after every smoke until I at last was able to convince Mike to entrust me with the Comoy’s a few days ago. He actually paid me for a sweet, vintage Kaywoodie Signet bent smooth billiard I restored about a year ago (my first experience cleaning a pipe properly with a retort). I believe it dates to the 1960s if not a little earlier. Mike therefore had a substitute to use in the other pipe’s absence.

The reason I chose the Comoy’s for Mike in the first place was his comment that he had been unable to find a big, thick, sturdy enough pipe that would never overheat at a price he could afford. I knew the pebble grain would be perfect for his needs and fit his personality at the same time. But based on his standards for appreciating the thick-skinned Comoy’s, I was surprised and more than a little concerned when he picked the Kaywoodie from my restores available for sale. Nevertheless, while enjoying his first bowl of McClellands 2015 Christmas Cheer in his new Signet, Mike told me it smokes great and is easier to control without holding. The photo below was snapped just as he was about to remove it from his mouth.

Mike trying out his Kaywoodie the first time

Mike trying out his Kaywoodie the first time

Mike’s new pipe

Mike’s new pipe


REFURBISH
Comoys3

Comoys4

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Comoys6

Comoys7

Comoys8

Comoys9 AN ASIDE
I see Mike at our local tobacconist almost every time I’m there, and for the most part he smokes the cigars he still loves. On occasion, I’ll even buy one and light it up myself. It’s true, I enjoy a good candela on special occasions, in particular when I can get my hands on a genuine Havana, which is a treat I have savored only five times: twice on trips to visit my mother when she lived in Cozumel, Mexico; once with another onto which I slipped a Nicaraguan band and smuggled back to the States (although the Customs agents at the border picked it right out from the little humidor box I handed them, which otherwise had legal varieties, and smiled at each other before letting me get away with my attempt at subterfuge); again with a gift from a former co-worker in grocery store deli merchandising, this one being, I was certain, a fake – until I held it and noted the unique paleness and skin-like suppleness of the green wrapper, and the last that I bought from a friend in England who was a true gentleman to mail to me along with three more I purchased for Mike and a couple of other cigar aficionados I know. All of the Cubans I’ve smoked required hours to finish and left me with an almost illicitly pleasant, light-headed giddiness.

BACK TO THE REFURBISH
And so I was somewhat amazed to see from tell-tale signs on the Comoy’s that it had been used far more often than I suspected. The rim, of course, was the first hint, blackened as it was. Then there were the slight dents on both sides of the top of the shank, visible in the third photo above, and some minor scratches on the rest of the wood. However, the most revealing symptoms of frequent use were the general grime on the outer briar and the lip end of the bit. I also discovered, without even removing the bit from the shank, that the thin brass band that had been connected to the bit had come loose.Comoys10

Comoys11

Comoys12 That was a repair I never had to ponder before. Tossing the bit into an OxiClean solution for a nice long soak, I decided to tackle the rim first. I was able to remove the majority of the charring safely with superfine steel wool before shifting to micromesh, using 1800, 2400 and 3200. The rim as shown in the last shot below, I knew, was not finished, but more about that later, in its order.Comoys13

Comoys14

Comoys15 Removing the bit from the OxiClean wash, I rinsed it and with haste, while it was still wet, started micro-meshing, from 1500-12000. There was no need for sandpaper, other than the narrow edge around the tenon where the thin brass band still needed to be replaced. To eliminate the residue of the original adhesive, I made fast work of it with 150-grit paper followed by 320, then micro-meshed all the way through my pack of pads. Not having to sand any of the regular surface of the bit was such an extremely rare event that I was truly struck by Mike’s high degree of care for the Comoy’s. Here is the band before I cleaned it up easily with my steel wool, and after I reattached it with a small amount of Super Glue.Comoys16

Comoys17 Less than a minute’s more work with the steel wool made the tenon opening like new.

I considered the bowl and shank and how to clean them. Six small, thin cotton squares, used two-ply and wetted with purified water, took off much of the dirt with serious scrubbing both vertically and horizontally to get around the pebbles as thoroughly as possible, but that was not enough. With the wood wet, I returned to the three micromesh pads and made more progress, but the task called for something else. After serious consideration, I opted to go all-out with a couple more two-plies using Everclear, again rubbing both directions. At last I found the exact lighter shade I sought.

At this point, I finished the rim, using 320-grit paper with two of the gentlest swipes possible, one around the top and the other covering the rounded inside where it borders with the beginning of the actual chamber. I finished that step with the same micromesh progression as before.

While I still had the 320-grit paper and micromesh pads out, I saw no reason not to tackle the two dings in the shank and the sundry scratches. Again, most of these blemishes were mended with the micromesh. Almost all of the very slight imperfections remaining came off with light, focused application of the 320-grit followed by – you probably guessed – the same three micromesh pads. With an uncommon sense of caution, given that this pipe already belonged to my friend Mike – someone I had reason to suspect I never want to see really mad – I settled for the results I had achieved, except for a quick turn or two of 150-grit paper followed by 320-grit on some excess cake buildup in the chamber, and to clean out the loose soot from the sanding, a wipe with another cotton cloth piece wet with purified water.Comoys18

Comoys19

Comoys20

Comoys21

Comoys22

Comoys23 I only needed a few seconds to consider a retort and dismiss the notion, realizing it would remove too much of the cake that I had promised Mike I would not ruin. But I did dip a bristly cleaner in Everclear and ran it through the shank, turning it briskly as I did so, and saw it came out filthy. After using a dry cleaner that brought out more grime, I repeated the process, still finding some unnecessary old smoke, tobacco and other accreted matter. The third cleaner soaked with Everclear was almost white.

I left the shank as it then was and proceeded to the bit’s air hole, at which point I was amazed to find that one alcohol-soaked cleaner came back with minimal blackness. One more dry cleaner paved the way for another dipped in Everclear, which was clean, ending that step.

The hard parts of the job complete, the time came to open my jar of Halcyon II wax and dip a finger in for a dab of the stuff. The single dab was enough to coat the bowl and shank until they shone with a wet brightness and set it aside for about 15 minutes while it soaked into the smooth rim, bottom of the bowl and shank, and every crevice of the pebbled area.

When I could stand the wait no longer, I carried the two pieces of the pipe into the spare bedroom of my new apartment that I will use as an office/shop when it is furnished. Of course, I had already set up my buffers on their sturdy stand and had only to plug them in for the first time in that setting. I buffed the bit with red Tripoli, white Tripoli and White Diamond, using the clean cloth wheel after each, and wiped it down with a big soft cotton cloth. Setting it aside and taking a deep breath, exhaling slowly, I stuck my left index finger in the chamber and, with complete calm and a firm grip on the precious briar, buffed the Halcyon II on the clean wheel. Rubbing it down with the cotton cloth, I concluded a final run with the carnauba wheel and then the clean buffer was in order.

Studying every angle of the briar while I rubbed it with the cloth, I was a tad disappointed that the waxing and buffing process had made it almost as dark as it started. I had wanted to finish with a lighter shade of wood and a high sheen of wax, but decided against another coat of Halcyon II.Comoys24

Comoys25

Comoys26

Comoys27

Comoys28

Comoys29

Comoys30 CONCLUSION
A few words about why the first three photos of the finished Comoy’s Pebble Grain have a different background: when I went to the tobacconist to see if Mike was there, he wasn’t, and I sat down to enjoy a bowl while I took the pipe out for what I thought would be a final quick exam. I was horrified to see what appeared to be bad blemishes on the right side of the bit and shank, and on the top and bottom of the bit. Fortunately, I had my cotton cloth with me and discovered that the problems were only smudges of excess wax. And so I wrapped the rag around the entire pipe and gently turned it round and round for five minutes or so, while I puffed away at one of the tobacco samples on hand.

When I at last stopped rubbing the pipe, I handled the pipe as I would if I were checking out a new purchase, and found no more smudges. Relieved, I wiped it quickly one last time before taking the pictures of the first three angles again.

Knowing I couldn’t take it home with me, I put it back in the leather pouch I included for Mike, so that he could carry it with him with added protection, and left the Comoy’s of which I remain so fond with Chuck at the counter.Comoys31 Cheers, then, old gal.

An Admitted Relative Beginner’s Utterly Subjective Review of Pipes

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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

CRITIC: n. A person who boasts himself hard to please because nobody tries to please him. ― From “The Devil’s Dictionary” (compiled 1881-1906), by Ambrose Bierce (1842-1913), U.S. printer’s devil, Union soldier [private-first lieutenant], Civil War hero, Federal Treasury agent and other low-pay money transport jobs, newspaper-magazine columnist, short story writer, fabulist, satirist, heavy drinker, brawler, daredevil

OPENING REMARKS
In a word, Ambrose Bierce was a gun-toting card, in the sense of a character, one-of-a-kind, clever or audacious; or, as one might say nowadays, a sociopath. I suspect Bierce would have approved of the latter term, and he is one cultural/historical figure I would like to meet if I could somehow arrange an interview – although, given his mercurial proclivities, I doubt I would want the rendezvous to occur in the region of the Hereafter where he might very well find himself. Besides, Bierce almost certainly would consider me too daring (“one of the most conspicuous qualities of a man in security,” meaning safety) for his tastes, wherever he is now.

Neither Bierce’s definition of critic, nor the long-standing common misconception that to criticize necessarily implies a negative bent, applies to this humble attempt to categorize my own personal favorites from among some of the pipe brands I have tried and collected. Call this a critique, then, to clarify my well-intended endeavor to review, based on my experiences, limited lists of brands in general and individual pipes.

I will be the first to admit the present list is somewhat meager, in particular considering my impossible dream of someday acquiring every pipe suggested to me by a wildly out of control case of Pipe Acquisition Disorder. In fact, I am already certain I will, maybe sooner than later, look back on this patently subjective exercise with the shiver of self-censure usually reserved for old drafts of literary attempts.

Then again, I’ve never been one to retreat from a challenge, even when I’m the one to throw down the gauntlet. Therefore, do not be surprised to find your own choices way out of order, so to speak, if not missing altogether. There are countless brands and styles I want to try, many of which are difficult to find outside of the high three-digit or even into the four and five figure price range. To those in that rarefied category of collecting, I can only say, more power to you, and may you enjoy your prizes for many years to come. I will provide more on a few of these hopeful future acquisitions later.

Which brings me to my next point: the origins of some of the pipes I have appreciated most, and indeed have come to cherish more as time passes, have proved to be untraceable, despite my concerted and ongoing efforts. A few – dare I say it? – can only be categorized as no-names. In other words (as I often find myself counseling clear newcomers to the thrilling world of pipe enjoyment, online at my own restored pipe sales business or even at my local tobacconist when opportunity knocks), the price tag is irrelevant.

STANDARDS OF REVIEW
My simple standards of review, by necessity, will rely on the following qualities.

• Is the pipe well-engineered? This refers not only to the alignment of the bit’s smoke channel, through the shank’s mortise and draught hole and ending flush with the bottom of the chamber; it includes construction elements such as materials used, bowl thickness, design and various factors effecting the ability to enjoy a good, thorough smoke without overheating, and the attendant tobacco performance issues of that problem.
• Does the pipe reflect my own sense of identity? Only a few times since I first smoked a pipe in 1989, when I was a non-traditional undergrad at New Mexico State University, have I been told by a fellow local club member that a particular pipe “looks good on me.” Now, there’s an interesting misnomer! I try not to end up wearing a pipe, though I have dropped more than a few with red-hot ashes in my lap and even scorched a shirt or two when a loose bit ran amok. One of these appreciated comments, as I recall, concerned a BBB Special Make 1982 Christmas Pipe, and another referred to a Peterson’s Sherlock Holmes Baskerville. Based on those two, I have to assume that a sturdier bent briar pipe looks good on me. But the fact is that most of the pipes I go back to over and over are straight, but I have to say the above complimented members of my growing collection are among my favorites, which vary in shape and from briar to meerschaum and other materials.
• Is the pipe comfortable in my mouth and hand?

I think that about covers that, although in no vital order.

FAVORITES BY BRAND – IN A SORT OF ORDER
Again, I feel a need to qualify this list as being based on the sheer numbers and relatively consistent qualities of the products made by these crafters. There are, to be sure, exceptions. Each brand is followed by its country or countries of origin and/or various manufacturing, and the year or approximation of establishment.

1. SAVINELLI (IT, 1876): Call it luck or what you may, but as Will Rogers suggested, I have never met a pipe created by this legendary maker that I didn’t like. That is to say, every Savinelli I ever smoked performed with excellence in engineering and taste.

2. PETERSON (IE, 1865): First Kapp Brothers, then Kapp & Peterson and finally its present incarnation, Peterson pipes by any name are almost tied with the second largest part of my collection, the other being meerschaums that I can’t include as a brand but would if there were any way I could rationalize doing so. I am quite fortunate to have chosen my Petersons well over the years from estate pipes restored by my good friend and mentor, Chuck Richards, as well as some used collector’s editions I bought from other restorer friends. Of course, there are also those I bought on eBay and cleaned up myself, and some choice new models pre-checked for perfect engineering by Chuck. The results have almost always been top-notch, despite the fact that each year when the time rolls around to examine all 120 or so pipes supplied to our tobacconist by its Peterson supplier for the annual Christmas sale, Chuck returns a surprising number. Some of these, he says, are defects in drilling; others are from the wear and tear of salesmen’s car trunks. Either way, the lesson I’ve learned is to check out pipes carefully whenever possible before paying.

3. KAUFMAN BROTHERS & BONDY (US, 1851): Creator of the Kaywoodie line in 1919 and Yello-Bole in 1932, KB&B has been an innovator of premier pipes for almost 165 years.

4. KAYWOODIE (US, 1919): From a 1930s Super Grain Lovat to some beautiful meerschaums, Kaywoodie has never disappointed me.

5. BUTZ-CHOQUIN (FR, 1858): While aware of fluctuations in quality throughout the history of BC, I have found none that isn’t an excellent example of everything a pipe should be, including a huge gourd calabash church with cork lining in the chamber and an exquisite meerschaum bowl insert. I concede that one is high-maintenance as far as cleaning is concerned.

6. BEN WADE (UK, 1800s, DK, c. 1989): What can I say? I just love Ben Wades, again choosing with care. My absolute favorites of these are a Town & Country Bent Dublin with a Barling Cross gold band accidentally placed on it in the factory, and a gorgeous Preben Holm Danish freehand made on the sly for Ben Wade.

7. STANWELL (DK, 1942): Whenever I look at these or find one in my rotation – the bamboo shank cherry wood, the Kyringe No. 1 beech wood Bulldog Commemorative or the Billiard #88 with tortoise shell ferrule, for example – I can’t imagine the collection I’ve cobbled together so far without them.

8. COMOY and CHAPUIS-COMOY (UK, 1825 and 1925, respectively): Say what you will about some of these pipes, I have yet to experience problems, not even with the splendid orange pebbled London made Panel I have often regretted gifting to a friend.

9. DUNHILL (UK, c. 1902-1907): Undoubtedly one of the greatest if at times inconsistent brands

10. GBD (UK, 1850): Named for three gentlemen who designed the original (Ganneval, Bondier and Donninger), GBD was begun by Chapuis-Comoy. This is a very popular brand, and from my dabbling with it I understand.

11. KARL ERIK (DK, 1965-1966): In my opinion, this is one of the most under-rated lines of mostly free-hands. Maybe now that he passed on, they will come to be admired more.

12. ROPP (FR, 1890): I happen to be an unabashed fan of the natural cherry wood line of Ropps (the thicker the bowl, the better – all of which smoke cool and are versatile with tobaccos. I also adore my old Eug. Ropp Signature that was one of my best restorations.

13. FALCON (metal – US, 1936, UK): I doubt I will meet much resistance with this brand, other perhaps than its placement on my list! Since Kenley Bugg invented this metal system pipe in the U.S. in 1936, it has sold tens of millions worldwide, not counting the spin-offs.

14. BEST BRITISH BRIAR (UK, 1847): Anything with three initials – BBB, LHS, KB&B – seem to fly off of my virtual sales shelves, and I can appreciate the reasons.

15. L&H STERN (US, 1911): Founded in NYC, this venerable pipe maker moved to a permanent Brooklyn factory in 1925 until it dissolved in 1960, and is still regarded as one of the best. I have to agree.

16. JOBEY (US, FR, DK, UK): This name may not be a smoker’s household word, but I’ve had good luck with them…and they sell well, too.

17. EHRLICH (US), 1868: Another lesser-known brand, Ehrlich makes great pipes with consistent quality. The company closed in its centennial year, 1968.

18. PARKER (UK, 1926): Dunhill seconds, these pipes may actually be more consistent than their famed creator.

19. RIMKUS PIPES (US, c. 2007): I know Victor Rimkus from my local pipe club in Albuquerque, New Mexico and have purchased four pipes from him (three of them early works and the fourth a commissioned double-chamber). Victor, being a perfectionist who constantly hones his innate talent crafting blocks of briar into works of art enhanced by his long experience as an engineer, discredits his earlier efforts at pipe making, but I can attest that even they are among the finest pipes I have ever smoked. He fashions everything, the wood and bits, by hand, employing tasteful additions including turquoise, bamboo and varied ferrule materials. The grain of his natural pipes is exquisite, and his finish work makes the final products stunning. Shapes include traditional, unique and variations on the two. One of Victor’s engineering standards allows for the ability to insert a cleaner with ease all of the way through the assembled pipe, from the hole in the lip of the bit and always ending up flush with the bottom of the chamber. The only reason I add Rimkus Pipes to the end of my favorites list is that they remain relatively unknown to the pipe world as a whole, although he is well-known at all of the major pipe shows and to discerning collectors of American pipes. But the fact remains they are among the very best. http://rimkuspipes.com/index.html. By the way, Victor’s son, Nathan, following his own path, also makes exquisite pipes. I’m still hoping he will craft a double-bowl pipe for me and presently have first right of refusal when he decides to take me up on the commission offer! http://www.nwrpipes.com/index.html.

20. Don Warren Pipes (US, ?): Another Albuquerque master and friend from our club, Don’s original website notes that his pipes – briar, cherry, morta, hickory, maple, pecan, oak and walnut – are designed in the Danish freehand tradition, but really, many of them transcend that description. Unfortunately, I only own one of Don’s works (which he calls a Fine Figured Maple Gilpin), and look forward to buying many more of his unique and finely-engineered works. Other Don Warren products include bowls for Kirsten metal pipes. For basic information, see his old site at http://dwpipes.com/index.html. He now sells at https://www.etsy.com/shop/DonWarrenPipes, http://stores.ebay.com/dwpipes/_i.html?_dmd=1&_sid=122905250&_sop=10 and http://donwarrenpipes.com/html/pipes_4_sale.html.

Oh, I can hear the uproar, grumbling and outright scoffing starting now. Look at all the missing giants! And what kind of order is this, in the name of all that’s holy! I can only ask by way of defense that the reader give me time. I’ll get there, and hopefully make updates as I progress! Also, after the top four, I found it very difficult to assign a number to most of these brands. Don’t get me wrong. I love and enjoy each and every one of the pipes I own, including my five Dunhills, four of which are especially prized if only for the sentimental value associated with the genuine old codger who gifted them to me. But mine do tend to smoke a bit hot.

SIDEBAR
Larry – as I will refer to my Dunhill benefactor due to his desire to keep professional details of his life separate from personal web information such as this – at age 91 chose, with great sadness but the better part of valor, to give up the pipe instead of the ghost just after his cardiologist threw a conniption fit when he found out my good friend had taken up his pipes again despite a genuine predisposition for heart disease. Larry (see https://rebornpipes.com/2014/09/16/ponderings-on-an-almost-lost-generation-of-pipe-smokers-with-a-restoration-thrown-in-robert-m-boughton/) experienced his first taste of the briar social elixir, as in “the quintessence or soul of a thing” [OED], when he was 18 and FDR was president. That’s a boggling idea for most of us to wrap our minds around, even those who know what FDR stands for.

I called Larry on Friday to see how he is doing, and he was as spry and full of good humor as ever. I told him I was getting constant questions about him and that everyone missed his warm personality and wonderful humor. He quipped, “You miss me for my wisdom!” and offered to drop by that night’s pipe meeting, as an emeritus (my word). Larry’s 92nd birthday was the next Monday, November 30, and I greatly admire his eventful, fascinating life so far. Sadly, we were the only two people there other than Candace, who was on duty, but we had a very pleasant chat with much humor. When Larry promised to return a week later, I knew I could count on him, and again look forward to the event.

I received the four lovely Dunhills, wrapped tightly in a plain brown paper bag, waiting for me at the tobacconist almost a year ago when I arrived for the regular weekly meeting and learned that Larry would no longer be able to attend. I procrastinated a serious attempt to date them until this writing, but never forgot the clear facial indications of shocked awe on those in my pipe club who know pipes far better than I, as they examined them when I passed the quartet around the large group. More telling was the general agreement that I should consider selling them! My eyes actually watered up at the mere notion of such a betrayal, not to mention the unending sense of guilt and loss I would experience. That is the despicable sort of habit I fell into before I began to recover from alcoholism coming up on 28 years ago.

At any rate, taking advantage of my private audience with Larry this Friday past, I asked if he had any idea how old they were. He told me three were from the 1970s, and one from the ’30s.

As was true with this blog, when I write I tend to make mental notes to return to parts that need additions. And so when I inserted the photos below with the models’ basic descriptions, I determined to date them no matter what it took. At last finding a reliable way to accomplish the task on my own, I used the two-digit year code usually found just to the right of the D in ENGLAND, or after the Patent Number. http://www.pipephil.eu/logos/en/dunhill/cledat-en1.html.

A Dunhill Inner Tube, 1912, Courtesy of Pipephil.eu

A Dunhill Inner Tube, 1912, Courtesy of Pipephil.eu

As it turned out, I tentatively guessed the pipe made in the 1930s but was flabbergasted by my full findings. I just emailed Larry my discovery.

Root Briar #433 – 1916

Root Briar #433 – 1916

Shell Briar #114 – 1917

Shell Briar #114 – 1917

Bruyere #4103 – 1925

Bruyere #4103 – 1925

Shell Briar Canadian #34 – 1934

Shell Briar Canadian #34 – 1934

As I already clarified, I value these Dunhills above almost all of my other pipes, and with more virtuous motivations than their extreme age and potential resale value. I would never consider parting with them because of how they came to me. Still, as they are my only experiences with the Dunhill brand and all seem to smoke on a notably hot side, I have to be practical and as unbiased as possible in my judgment – which perception a little voice in my ear whispers is most liable to change with more exercise of my P.A.D. Still, #9 isn’t shoddy!

INDIVIDUAL FAVORITES
For those who enjoyed my favorite brands list, the subjectivity of this part should come as a real treat. (That’s semi-facetious!) However, on the plus side is that a far greater number of pipes, brands, shapes and materials will be represented, and by the very nature of that variety, the potential for redeeming the very possible negative perception of my judgment will be decided. And so, for better or worse, here they are.

1. Cavicchi 4C Silver Band Freehand (IT)rob6
2. Castello Old Antiquari KKKK (IT)rob7
3. Sasieni Four-Dot Rustic (IT)rob8
4. Savinelli Autograph Grade 4 Rusticated Bottom (Restore) (IT)rob9
5. Savinelli deluxe Milano Panel #515KS (Restore) (IT)rob10
6. CANO A. OZGENER (CAO) Silver Band Lattice Meerschaum (US)rob11
7. Barling Special Make 1982 Christmas Pipe (UK)rob12
8. Butz-Choquin Meer Insert Gourd Calabash Church (FR)rob13
9. BC Regence Extra Curved Billiard (FR)rob14
10. Ben Wade Town & Country Dublin with Gold Barling Cross Band (UK)rob15
11. BW Preben Holm Danish Freehand (DK)rob16
12. Comoy’s Satin Matte (Restore) (UK)rob17
13. GBD Super Q Bent #9456 (UK)Rob18
14. Kaywoodie Vintage Small Meer Billiard (Restore) (US)rob19
15. Rusticated Red/Brown Meerschaumrob20
16. The Doodler (Restore) (US)rob21
17. No-Name Italian German Folk Wine Pipe (Restore) (IT)rob22
18. La Grande Bruyere Vintage Mini (CZ)
My first restore before:rob23
After:rob24
19. No-Name “The Beak” (Restore) (IT)rob25
20. Peterson Sherlock Holmes Baskerville (Restore) (IE)rob26
21. Stanwell Kyringe Beech Wood Bulldog #1 Commemorative (DK)rob27
22. V. Rimkus Double Chamber (US)rob28
23. Sjoborg Danish Panel (Restore) (DK)rob29
24. WDC Wellington Custom Deluxe Pot (Restore) (US)rob30
25. Lepeltier Glazed Ceramic (US)rob31
26. Jobey Rustic Apple (Restore) (US)rob32
27. Johs Semi-Rustic Danish Billiard (DK)rob33
28. Dr. Grabow WWII Era Birch Dublin (US)rob34
29. Kaywoodie Super Grain 1930s Lovat (Restore) (US)rob35
30. Ser Jacopo Maxima Delecta Fatta a Mano (IT)rob36
31. Stefano FX Bean Pot (IT)rob37
32. Royal Goedwagen Ceramic Billiard (Restore) (NE)rob38
33. Don Warren Fine Figured Maple Gilpin (US)rob39
34. Playboy African Meer (Restore) (UK?)rob40
35. Falcon, c. 1930s-1940s (US)rob41

WHEN I’M RICHER
These are a few of the more expensive pipes on my wish-list. The two Russian pipes shown had no price, but the styles and quality usually have four-digit tags.

1. Buddha Bamboo Shank Pipe – Doctor’s Pipes (RU)add1

2. Evgeniy Looshin Pipe (RU)add2

3. Dunhill Christmas Pipe 2015 Kit — $2,150Add3

CLOSING REMARKS
I could go on and on with photos of my favorite individual pipes, but I think I demonstrated that my tastes are at least eclectic if not fully satisfied. With hope, they never will be.

Reviving a Reinhard’s Natural Billiard

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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.

RESTORATIONRein1

Rein2

Rein3

Rein4 First, there was the typical carbon buildup in the chamber and the rim cleaning to confront.Rein5 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.Rein6

Rein7

Rein8 Almost done, I used the same wet micromesh progression that cleaned up the rim to smooth the exterior of the pipe.Rein9

Rein10

Rein11 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.Rein12

Rein13

Rein14 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

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
Rob1
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.Rob2It’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.Rob3

Rob4 Louis, I know you’re listening, and this one’s for you.

RESTORATION
Rob5

Rob6

Rob7

Rob8

Rob9 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.Rob10 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.Rob11 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.Rob12

Rob13

Rob14 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.Rob15

Rob16

Rob17 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.Rob18

Rob19

Rob20

Rob21 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.Rob22 That’s Rilke – somewhere.

And just one more photo of Louis, age 16, happy at home with his parents.Rob23

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

6 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

“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.Phil1 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.Phil2 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.

RESTORATIONPhil3

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Phil9

Phil10 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.Phil11 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.Phil12 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.Phil13

Phil14

Phil15

Phil16

Phil17 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.Phil18

Phil19 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.Phil20 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.Phil21

Phil22 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.Phil23

Phil24

Phil25

Phil26

Phil27

Phil28 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.Phil29 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.Phil30

Phil31

Phil32

Phil33

Phil34

Phil35 CONCLUSION
Phil is happy with the job I did – and the replacement cork that fit.

Now I’ve Seen Everything

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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

“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.Rob1 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.Rob2 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.Rob3 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!Rob4

Rob5 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.

http://www.popularmechanics.com/culture/movies/g985/23-most-memorable-james-bond-gadgets/?slide=1 23 Most Memorable Bond Gadgets – Popular Mechanics
http://www.ebaumsworld.com/pictures/view/81348090/ CIA pipe-gun
https://www.cia.gov/news-information/featured-story-archive/2007-featured-story-archive/cia-museum.html CIA Museum
http://www.everyonedoesit.com/online_headshop/puff-pops-lollipop-pipes.cfm# Puff Pop – Lollipop Pipes
http://www.pipetobacco.com/grabber.html Magnet pipes
http://www.thepipe.info/info/anatomy.html Anatomy of The Pipe
http://www.thepipe.info/history/index.html#Timeline The Pipe Timeline

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

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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

Boy: Do not try and bend the spoon. That’s impossible. Instead only try to realize the truth.
Neo: What truth?
Boy: There is no spoon.
Neo: There is no spoon?
Boy: Then you’ll see that it is not the spoon that bends, it is only yourself.
― From “The Matrix” (1999), starring Keanu Reeves, with Owan Witt as Spoon Boy

INTRODUCTION
Whatever some might think of me, I’m not so far off the deep end to space that when it comes to bending a pipe bit, there is, of course, the bit. The real truth behind this essay – how easy it is to accomplish the task, without tricks or special effects – bends the mind. I had dreaded and postponed the basic exercise in pipe restoration as something fearsome, once even passing the task to my mentor, Chuck Richards, when the rare opportunity to improve upon my first genuine renewal, of a Chinese Chicken Wing Wood churchwarden, presented itself a while back. Although I did the second makeover of the bowl and shank of that unusual specimen of wood and craftsmanship myself, using standard waxing techniques not available to me when I began learning this artful craft, and even polished the bit, I could just as well have bent the long piece of vulcanite had I known then that which I only just learned one morning this past weekend by perusing the web. More importantly, in so doing, I would have been done with the unpleasant feeling that comes with parting out work on a project.

However, the necessity of facing the dreaded deed finally presenting itself to me, and I at last concluding enough was enough with the shirking of responsibility, I resorted to browsing the Internet (“Read the instructions,” my dad would tell me) in search of a feasible method to achieve my goal without a high-powered torch. And where did I reach the end of my quest but here at Reborn Pipes, in a three-year-old blog by our host, which can be read at https://rebornpipes.com/2012/07/15/bending-vulcanite-stems/.

I should note that my surrender to the essential instruction in and practice of bending a pipe bit was not as easy as I make it seem above. Several weeks ago, at our Friday night pipe club get-together, a good friend and fellow restorer named Bob Kasenchak surprised me with the gift of a box of assorted pipes that needed various degrees of work, all leaning toward the critical side. There are 15 in all, including a Ropp Deluxe #809 natural cherry wood with a pronounced crack in the bottom of the bowl; an old Ehrlich Frankenstein billiard; a Kaywoodie Supergrain bulldog with a wicked Harry Potterish lightning crack in the bowl and the bit maybe incinerated; an interesting old Wellington Storm De Luxe sterling band pot with a bad gash on the rim, and a Trapwell Patented rusticated billiard. There is also something that appears to be a once fine, handsome Ehrlich sterling bulldog (at least judging from the style of the E on the bit) that will make a nice shop pipe someday, and which plays an important role in this narrative.

Most of these pipes have missing, broken or mangled stems, and only a few are free of fatal flaws, and Bob just doesn’t want to mess with them. Who can blame him? If I had Bob’s outrageously hectic schedule, I might not keep them, even for parts, either. But I don’t, and I’m a little touched when it comes to hording parts.

Then a funny thing happened on the way from the meeting to the shop, or my apartment. In fact, it occurred during the meeting, but it sounds better the other way. The clear jewel of the pipes Bob gave me, which I delayed mentioning, is a Comoy’s Christmas 1983 smooth bulldog.Comoy1

Comoy2 I already had my heart set on keeping the Comoy’s to add to my budding Christmas Pipe collection, but a fellow piper in my club, who has a keen eye for sharp pipes and has bought two meerschaums from me, took an immediate shine to the bulldog’s sleek contours and exceptional subtlety of the bit curve, and offered to buy it when I was finished. We still haven’t discussed a price. At a glance, the Christmas Pipe was a beauty right out of the “scrap” box. The reddish brown briar was very pleasant, the chamber appeared to be well-kept and Bob told me he had started to clean it, the rim was in perfect, shiny shape that I also attribute to Bob, and there was only one small scratch on a side of the triangular shank. Then there was the bit. How can I best describe it? The vulcanite below the lip, on the bottom, appeared to have been chomped by the steel-toothed “Jaws” character (Richard Kiel, 1939-2003) of the James Bond movie series fame.Comoy3 The reason I note a continued difficulty in regard to learning about bending a stem is my dual desire to become more proficient in repairing those that are damaged, of which this, no one would disagree, is a worthy challenge, and doing the job right. And so I set upon a course of action I will neither illustrate nor chronicle here except to say with all honesty the project was going, well – well – but it was just taking too frigging long. And yes, I admit, I somehow took a bad hole and made it worse. Due to the fact that I already had a buyer waiting, time was of the essence; I couldn’t afford to satisfy my own aesthetic sense of propriety in hoping to preserve the original bit when the buyer wasn’t concerned. Besides, I’m sure the right Comoy’s will happen along in good time.

RESTORATION Comoy4

Comoy5

Comoy6

Comoy7

Comoy8 As I mentioned before, Bob started the process of reaming the chamber. To my initial touch it felt smoother than almost any pipe I had ever started restoring. Still, there was some cake in it, and a few bumps, all of which came clean with minimal additional turns of a reamer and sanding with 150- and 320- grit paper. Not having to touch the rim was a rare treat, although I have to add I always enjoy removing the burns.Comoy9 I used micromesh on the wood from 1500-4000 and cleaned up the shank opening with super fine steel wool.Comoy10

Comoy11

Comoy12

Comoy13

Comoy14

Comoy15 By then I was ready for the retort. Six test tubes later, full of Everclear boiled up through a temporary saddle bit with the right sized push tenon – a personal record – I was finished.

I needed to find a replacement bit. Searching with a hot glow of intense zeal through the dozens of old pipes awaiting restorations, I began to think I would never find one that had a push-in tenon, was straight, the right length and with the appropriate bulldog triangle size (5/8″; the length was 2-7/8″). Suddenly, there it was: a Bertram Bulldog #50, with a double stamp, and no mark on the straight bit. I actually had imminent plans for that great pipe, but they could wait.Comoy16

Comoy17 The tenon was just a tad too big, so I took about a sixteenth of an inch off of it with 150-grit sandpaper and sanitized and cleared out the old grime in the air hole with bristly cleaners soaked in Everclear. I still need to invest in a tenon cutter, as will become apparent. Once the tenon fit and I thought it was “finished,” the bit pushed all the way into the shank, but was canted upward. I tried to adjust this by filing the flat edge of the bit around the tenon, and after considerable work, my efforts seemed to have paid off. I gave the bit an OxiClean wash, rinsed it and micro-meshed from 1500-4000.Comoy23

Comoy24 Following the instructions for the oven method of shaping in the blog mentioned earlier, I pre-heated gas stove to the low end of 200-220 degrees and assembled what I would need as suggested, except that all of it was improvised other than the oven: aluminum foil instead of a baking pan, a small jar of wood putty rather than a spice jar, two wash cloths in place of cooking mitts and of course the bit. As it turned out, I spaced that I had a few spices in my sparse cabinet, but the round putty glass did fine.Comoy20 Inserting a soft cleaner through the airway before heating to prevent collapse, I had the distinct sensation of butterflies in my stomach as I placed the foil and bit on the center rack of the hot even, closed the door and…waited. Five minutes. Not good enough. Another five. To my amazement, holding the bit carefully with the wash cloths at both ends over the rounded edge of the putty jar and pressing down with all the gentleness my rough hands could handle, I in fact saw the vulcanite bend! I’m here to tell you, I have never been so surprised and full of trepidation at the same time in my entire life!Comoy21 In a minute, the job was done, and I removed the cleaner and rinsed the bit with cold tap water.

And so, other than the facts that I had already blown it again by sanding the base of the tenon so far that the whole thing could snap at the least provocation, and upon closer inspection the bit did not, in fact, line up seamlessly with the shank, the entire exercise produced a wonderful looking bit (in and of itself) and was an excellent though time-intensive and frustrating lesson about the intricacies of replacing a bit – and one I’ll never forget.

As a good friend from junior high through high school used to say at such moments (or their school day equivalents), and often with a yawn, well, hell. Then again, he was always much less uptight than I. My true reaction was frustration verging on despair. But that’s where my mind like a steel trap always springs shut and saves me. And my skull is so thick it can take running headlong into a concrete utility post and being pistol-whipped. I’m not kidding. The first happened to me as a young boy fooling around during summer vacation, and the second seven years ago during an armed home invasion after I beat one of the three intruders unconscious with a club – and he had pretty well messed me up with my own baseball bat – and one of his buddies hit me from the side with the butt of his 9mm. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes through the stupid monster mask when I turned on him and he took a step back.

Once again, as is my habit, I digress. I was illustrating how my stubbornness and downright thick-headedness has often saved me. The way this process worked last Wednesday, while I sat and collected my wits at my tobacconist where Chuck gave me the bad news about the tenon, was by telling me to go online and order a replacement. I crossed the Internet from Albuquerque to Phoenix in an instant and found Pipe Makers Emporium. I have placed several orders there, but only once before for a vulcanite churchwarden stem that was $3.99 because I didn’t understand why smaller stems, such as the one I needed for the bulldog, were priced so much more – in this case, $17.50. Even when the package arrived swiftly yesterday and weighed a pound, according to my estimation and confirmation on the label, I still didn’t get it until I peeled open the envelope and found a pack of 20. Duh! The churchwardens are sold individually because they’re not needed as often. Sometimes the thickness of my head can get in the way.

Now, back to the Ehrlich sterling bulldog with the E on the bit that came with Bob’s generous gift. Remember that? I tried to make apparent how important it would become to this restoration, and it’s lucky I recalled it before the new bits came, both because I was eager to continue work on the Comoy’s and the uncut tenons on the 20 bits that came in the mail are about a half-inch wide. In this photo, I had already sanded the E off the bit and given it an OxiClean bath.Comoy22 By the way, when I showed Chuck my progress on the Christmas pipe with the re-worked Ehrlich stem as of yesterday, he said it was looking good. Then I let him have a gander at one of the new bits, and he gave me his best, widest grin.

“This is why you need to get yourself a cutter,” he said, turning serious and with emphasis on need.

“I know,” I replied. “My God! Look at that tenon! It would take me a month of sanding to get it down to fit this pipe!”

We both enjoyed a good laugh, and we needed one, for our separate reasons.

Here is the Ehrlich bit as it originally presented, minus the E, and after sanding and micro-meshing from 1500-4000.Comoy23

Comoy24 Thinking I was done with most of the restoration of the pipe – and at a glance it did look good – I buffed the stem on the wheels with red and white Tripoli, as usual. I had, after the first hour of this job, already buffed the wood with white Tripoli as well as White Diamond and carnauba.

But then I took the “final” photos and saw at once that the bit did not line up with the shank when the top lines of each were even, in particular gaps all around and misalignment of the bottom line of the triangle. Well, hell.Comoy25

Comoy26

Comoy27

Comoy28 And so I got into the kind of detail work I had never done with any pipe. I filed the edge of the bit where the tenon connects. I started a lengthy process of gently sanding away and re-micro-meshing areas of wood around the shank opening. As shown in the last photo above, the only part of the problem that could only be solved with serious sanding of the shank was along the top left line leading into the bit (as shown in this view). Then I used micromesh on the one heavily sanded area of the shank and bit all the way from 1500 to 12000.Comoy29

Comoy30

Comoy31 I stained the small area of the shank still a bit lighter than before with Lincoln Medium Brown and flamed it before micro-meshing with 4000 and 6000. At this point, after about three weeks of work on the pipe, the lines of the bit matched those of the shank, but there was still a gap between the two – and although it was in fact bigger, it was perfect in terms of uniformity. I broke out the file one more time and with the utmost care took a layer off the edge of the bit around the tenon.

At last, a nice, flush match. I touched up the waxing with another coat of carnauba.Comoy32

Comoy33

Comoy34

Comoy35

Comoy36

Comoy37

Comoy38

Comoy39 CONCLUSION
Well…first of all, I can report, without doubt, that I have never been happier to be done with a restoration. This one was as full of a restore as I have ever had occasion to do, and I am full of it (not in the sense that I think I did it perfectly, because if anything, it taught me how much more I really do have to learn, and the equipment and supplies needed). But I do find nowadays that many times when I ask one of my trusted guides a question, it is to confirm that which I already more or less suspect, as in an email I sent late last night to Steve about a saddle bit with two holes in the lip that I wished I could somehow remove the space between them to make the draw hole a typical slit opening and therefore easier to clean for whomever buys the pipe I chose for it. I had already bent the tenon to fit the mortise using the oven method described in this blog, and so knew two cleaners were required to fill the airway before heating, and that something must be up with that, but Steve promptly replied that the design is meant to be a twin-bore “bite-proof” bit. Then I recalled Chuck once telling me something along the same lines. And when I showed Chuck the Comoy’s Christmas 1983 bulldog with the initial Bertram’s bit I wasted on it, I knew in my heart that the analysis he would have for me, though unpleasant, was necessary to confirm.

This essay, therefore, was not meant so much to be the usual restoration or refurbish piece as it was, rather, a horror story of the calamities that can befall anyone who engages in the art of taking a damaged pipe and making it better with the myriad processes that might present themselves toward that end. I am, perhaps somewhat wickedly, always pleased to hear the anecdotes of masters such as Steve and Chuck, and countless contributors to this forum, who have shared some of their own truly Gothic tales of the grotesque in their encounters with real Frankenstein pipes. By good fortune, my account herein was only one of a bowl and shank in excellent shape that merely needed a single appendage added, with a relative minimum of minor surgery to realize it.

Now I can hardly contain my excitement at being able to attack all the bodiless heads and headless bodies, to use a metaphor, that have waited patiently (I guess that’s personification) for my late but kind attention.

Rejuvenating an American Bentley Apple

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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

“I don’t want to be pretty. I want to be better. I want to be perfect.”
― Kimber Henry (Kelly Carlson), in “Nip/Tuck,” Season 1, Ep. 1

INTRODUCTION
A nip and tuck is a minor plastic surgery procedure. “Nip/Tuck” (FX channel, 2003-2010) is a racy drama/dark comedy about the realities and sometimes horrors of the cosmetic surgery profession, with some truly grisly moments. Although this restoration involved only normal and accepted methods of pipe fixing, some of them resulted in drastic improvements of the U.S. Bentley apple that needed a full makeover. And so I flashed back on the bawdy TV series.

I bought the pipe on eBay for $6 when I tracked down its nomenclature that identified it as a Kaywoodie second. The seller, who is more into oddball collectibles than tobacco pipes and therefore knows nothing about the latter, had sold me a genuine white briar Kaywoodie 12B bulldog for $10.00, but then had the unfortunate duty to inform me he lost it somewhere in the clutter of his home. He promptly refunded my payment and assured me that both he and his wife would continue searching for the misplaced bulldog and forward it to me free of charge when it was located.

Why I chose to give this fellow a second chance is anyone’s guess, but it paid off. Both the Bentley and the full Kaywoodie white bulldog arrived soon after in the same package. Grateful for my business and true to his word, the seller charged me only for the Bentley. It just goes to show there are good folks everywhere, even some in Ohio who don’t enjoy or collect smoking pipes. Appreciating the excellent fortune I had in acquiring these two pipes for the normal shipping fee of one, I nevertheless suggested that the good gentleman in the Midwest begin checking the pipes he stumbled upon now and then at http://www.pipephil.eu/logos/en/index-en.html, or at least a browser search, before choosing such low prices. However, his response indicated he hadn’t a clue what I meant. Sadly, I had to let the urge to be helpful go, and look forward to taking advantage of his generosity more and more in the future.
When I opened the box in my car outside of my Post Office and saw the white briar bulldog first, I smiled as I turned it in my hands and concluded a little work would make it whole and vital once more.Bentley1 Then my attention turned to the Bentley, and I laughed hard enough to draw attention from the occupants of the car next to mine. The chamber was so full of built-up cake, in such a uniform circle leaving only a virtual pinpoint of space to load tobacco, that I ignored the other Postal customers and continued guffawing. So amused and excited was I by the challenge of restoring the Bentley, I had to resist the impulse to get out of my car and show it to the complete strangers next to me.

RESTORATIONBentley2

Bentley3

Bentley4

Bentley5 This one was going to take some work, to be sure. The chamber – well, I needed to think about how even to start that. The rim, I knew, would be no problem. The bit was slightly off its mark when tightened. The old polish and stain was worn away in areas, in particular the sides. And of course, there were scratches everywhere. All in all, I was exhilarated.

Having decided to bore my way through the huge blockade of years of determined and, I must admit, evenly-executed accretion of chamber char in increments, I chose a 17mm fixed reamer and went at it. With just enough room at the top to insert the reamer – I was even grateful the single user of the pipe had somewhat obsessively filled it to the same exact point about an eighth of an inch below the rim – I slowly cranked away, emptying the carbon dust and checking the progress as I moved deeper. I used to document the height of the pile of carbon with each restoration, but I gave up on that long ago. Suffice it to say there would have been a small hill of it in this case. Just getting to the bottom took about a half-hour. Here are pictures of the halfway point and the first strike of gold at the bottom.Bentley6 I gave the bit, which was in pretty good shape, an OxiClean wash, for the most part to help clean out what had to be an ugly mess of ignored old saliva and tobacco juice.Bentley7 While the bath was doing its magic, I sanded off all of the old wax and stain using 500-grit paper and took off the rim char with super fine steel wool.Bentley8

Bentley9

Bentley10 Removing the bit from the wash, I rinsed it and tried micromesh from 1500-4000, but there was still a small area on both sides of the lip end that needed more attention with 320-grit paper, then another progression of the micromesh.Bentley11

Bentley12 I worked on the briar with a micromesh progression from 1500-4000, as usual, and it did the trick for most of the outer area. I also used 200-grit paper followed by 320 and 500 on the chamber to smooth it out.Bentley13

Bentley14

Bentley15 Clearly, the sides and rim still had small scratches, and so I used 800 micromesh to remove those blemishes before working my way up the scale again.

The stem was off just a tad. I heated the tenon with my Bic, threw a small rag over it and used clamped the pliers down. I had to use all of my might to make it budge, but it was straight. Below are the before and after shots, which are barely different.Bentley16 After a pre-scrub of the shank with wire cleaners dipped in Everclear, which removed quite a bit of nasty old gunk, I retorted the pipe. Then I chose, after careful consideration of whether or not to let it go with the natural finish, to darken the wood just a little using Lincoln Medium Brown stain, which is lighter than the regular brown, and flamed it.Bentley17 A gentle rub with 4000 micromesh took off the char, and I rubbed it with a soft cotton cloth.Bentley18

Bentley19

Bentley20 Time for the buffer wheels, I applied red and white Tripoli to the stem, using the clean wheel after each. I did the same to the wood, adding White Diamond and carnauba.Bentley21

Bentley22

Bentley23 And this time I remembered not to over-do the sanding on the nomenclature.

CONCLUSION
Some say pride is a sin, but I am happy with the results. After all of that work, I’d love to keep this beautiful, elegant Bentley apple. But I’m going to have to sell her. Oh, well. My P.A.D. is so bad, I’m sure I’ll find something else to keep – like the Kaywoodie 12B bulldog.