In this photo the solid wood underlayment has shrunk under the veneer of the skirt of this Federal era fold over game table telegraphing the damage to the surface.

The next time you visit a genuine antique furniture shop, pay particular attention to the concept of wood shrinkage. When a tree is felled it contains at least as much water as it does solids—50 percent or more—and weighs more at that moment than it will ever weigh again. As the tree loses moisture over time it also loses dimension; e.g. it gets smaller.

When a tree is cut it is then dimensioned into large pieces of lumber to dry out or cure evenly so that it doesn’t warp or split. This is a time-consuming process in its natural state. Lumber from a walnut tree can take 20 years or more to cure stacked in open air curing barns, but that hardly ever happens anymore. Virtually all lumber used today is kiln dried; force dried in ovens that can turn the curing time from years to weeks or even days. But even then the wood is not totally dry. Some residual moisture content is desirable for workability concerns, usually around seven percent for cabinet making.

Seasoned, or cured, wood is extremely stable and, if reasonably protected and finished in some manner, will remain intact and in place for many years. But even seasoned, finished wood is susceptible to the vagaries of the atmosphere and this is where we are awarded a valuable clue to the possible age of a piece of antique furniture.

This “crack” in the drawer bottom is caused by the wood shrinking across the grain. That means the bottom panel is improperly secured in the drawer, probably due to over enthusiastic restoration.

Any piece of wood, sooner or later will shrink, and not just shrink but shrink in a predictable pattern and direction. Think of a single board with any set of dimension: length, width and thickness. Over time that board will shrink in two dimensions, width and, to a lesser degree, thickness. It will not shrink in its length. It shrinks across the grain pattern; width and thickness, not with the pattern, length. Knowing this little fact can often help distinguish a genuine period piece from a reproduction made of old wood.

So, where is this shrinkage evident in a piece of furniture? Almost every place you look closely enough. One of the more common places is in the drawer bottoms of older pieces made before plywood became the order of the day in the late 19th century. Examine the bottom of a mid-19th century American drawer, which is most likely made of poplar. If the bottom is made of two pieces of wood, there probably is an almost imperceptible space between the two boards. If the bottom is a single plank, look at where the bottom is fitted into the slot in the drawer front. This joint is usually not nailed together so that the bottom doesn’t split as it shrinks. Instead, the front edge tends to drop out of the slot when the drawer is fully loaded because there is less of the drawer bottom in the slot due to shrinkage. The fix is to remove the nails from the rear joint, slide the bottom panel forward and re-nail the rear (hopefully using the original nails). The drawer bottom shrinkage is even more visible in English pieces of the same age or older because most bottom panels there are made of very thin, brittle oak, which shows more of tendency to crack than does the more resilient poplar.

The grain in the top of this Federal work table runs from front. As it shrinks across the grain making it narrower it makes the attached side leaf stand out since it has no more clearance from the side of the cabinet.

Another place to look for shrinkage is in solid round tops, such as frequently seen in 18th century tea tables. Rest assured that the top was in fact perfectly round when it was made, but a quick measurement today will almost always reveal an oval shape, the result of shrinkage across the grain in the top. Another obvious place for shrinkage is in the breadboard ends of table tops and drop front desk lids. These are the boards installed at a 90 degree angle to the main top or deck to keep the surface from warping. But at that angle it also shrinks in a different direction. The “breadboard” will always be longer than the main surface is wide because it does not shrink lengthwise while the main deck shrinks across its width.

Other places to see shrinkage are at the tops and bottoms of solid side panels on older case goods, the miter joints in cabinet doors and, interestingly enough, in the bulb or vase turnings of table pedestals. Even turned pieces shrink across the grain and you verify this again by some careful measurements with a set of calipers. If the piece you are examining is truly old, the round turns will not be round at all but will be oval, just like the round top of the tea table, because of shrinkage across the grain.

So how does all this help us identify the reproduction (or fake, if you will) that is made of old wood that has all the right oxidation, color and patina? The piece is made of old wood that has already had several hundred years of shrinkage in it before it was cut to make the “new” old piece. It will not demonstrate any of the shrinkage in the joints or panels where it should because it, like most good jeans today, is already “preshrunk.”

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Fred Taylor is a antique furniture Worthologist who specializes in American furniture from the Late Classicism period (1830-1850).

Send your comments, questions and pictures to me at PO Box 215, Crystal River, FL 34423 or info@furnituredetective.com.

Visit Fred’s website at www.furnituredetective.com. His book “How To Be A Furniture Detective” is now available for $18.95 plus $3 shipping. Send check or money order for $21.95 to Fred Taylor, PO Box 215, Crystal River, FL 34423.

Fred and Gail Taylor’s DVD, “Identification of Older & Antique Furniture,” ($17 + $3 S&H) and a bound compilation of the first 60 columns of “Common Sense Antiques,” by Fred Taylor ($25 + $3 S&H) are also available at the same address. For more information call 800-387-6377, fax 352-563-2916, or e-mail info@furnituredetective.com.

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When trying to clean a country farm table, if simple soap and warm water doesn’t work, don’t despair, there are other options.

I received a letter from a reader, asking about a country farm table with a particular problem:

“We found it at an outdoor antiques show last fall. It sat in our garage until this spring, when we finally were able to use our new room. We didn’t cover the table because the garage is clean. Plus, we thought we’d be in the room sooner than we were. Anyway, the tabletop is so sticky with something; we really don’t even want it in our house! I didn’t notice that when we bought it. But, I didn’t check carefully because the table was the right size, and we loved it. Now, I don’t know what to do to make it usable. The top is pine, three boards wide, and doesn’t seem to have a finish on it. It’s a great color with wonderful patina. So, I don’t want to refinish it. Can you make any suggestions about what we can do to make the surface fit to use?”

This sounds like a nice table with a typical problem. Without seeing it, I would guess the top has years of wax, spilled food, and any number of other elements, which could become sticky. I’m fairly sure it didn’t happen while the table was being stored in your garage. You are right about not refinishing it. There is no need to be that drastic. Also, you’d ruin a lot of its charm if you refinished the top.

What you need to do is clean it. From your description, I doubt that simple warm water and soap will work. But have you tried that? When cleaning something like this tabletop, always begin with the simplest, least aggressive method. So, start with the easiest. Try washing the surface with dish detergent in very warm water, using a kitchen sponge: Scrub the wood with this soapy water. Then, rinse the surface with cool, clear water and wipe it dry. If you’re lucky, this will work, but don’t expect it to!

The next step is to try cleaning the top using vinegar. Pour some cheap, white vinegar into a plastic container. Then dip in a sponge and scrub the tabletop. Try cleaning one board at a time, going from one end to the other. Next, rinse with clear, warm water. After rinsing, wipe the surface dry. If that doesn’t do the job, go on to the next, more drastic method: cleaning with household ammonia.

When using ammonia, work outdoors or in an open area with good cross ventilation. I’m not sure inhaling this stuff is good for you. But, regardless of that, it’s very unpleasant. I use ammonia a great deal. It shouldn’t damage your pine top. However, to be on the cautious side, first test an area on the underside: Pour some ammonia into a plastic container. Then, with a pad of steel wool, rub the test area.

Rinse with cool water and wipe it dry. Allow the surface to completely dry before deciding whether or not to use ammonia on the top. It should be all right. But, it’s always better to check first to know you aren’t going to discolor the wood. Clean as you would with vinegar, one board at a time. Then, rinse with clear, cool water and wife dry.

The problem with the top probably is a combination of things. Along with the stuff I already mentioned, sitting in the garage possibly helped cause some of the stickiness. However, that doesn’t matter. What’s important is getting the surface usable and keeping it that way. You didn’t mention the base. I assume it isn’t suffering from the same problem. If it is, try cleaning it the same way, beginning with the least aggressive method.

If you’re able to clean the top with soapy water or vinegar, do the following: once the top is clean and thoroughly dry, use steel wool to lightly rub with the grain of the wood. Be especially careful that you don’t run into splinters. It’s easy to pick them up with steel wool. If you are rubbing vigorously and hit a splinter, it could do some real damage to your finger or hand. Be particularly careful where the boards join. Always check for loose wood, which could become a damaging splinter, before you start rubbing.

The reason for rubbing with steel wool is to take care of any raised wood grain, which the washing may have caused. Once the surface is smooth, apply a coat of good paste wax. If the top is fairly light in color, use white, or clear, wax. If the wood is dark and has lots of patina, use a darker or tart-colored wax. Apply it with a lint-free cloth. Then, buff the surface with a brush like one you would use on shoes. Once this has been done buff with a rag such as an old bath towel, rubbing with the wood grain. Again, be careful of splinters.

If you had to use ammonia, scrub the wood with white vinegar afterward. This will help wash away any ammonia residue. If all of this liquid washing has caused the grain of the wood to rise a great deal, you may have to sand the top. Water doesn’t always make grain rise, especially on old, well-worn surfaces like farm tabletops. However, after all of the scrubbing, if the wood feels like it has sand or grit on it, sand it with a fine sandpaper. I would use 120 grit. Then, depending upon how the surface feels, you either can use steel wool or proceed right to the wax. If it’s smooth after the sanding, skip the steel wool.

Once the top has been waxed, you shouldn’t have any more sticky problems. All you will need to do to care for the surface is wipe it after every meal with a damp, not wet, cloth. If something is spilled, wipe it up right away. Depending upon how hard you are on the top, you will need to wax the surface only once a year. I would do it each spring or early summer, before the arrival of higher humidity.

If you are watchful about spills and protect the surface from hot containers right out of the oven or off the grill, there is no need to coat the tabletop with anything other than wax. After all, it isn’t a Chippendale banquet table! Enjoy the simplicity of this country piece!

— by Lew Larason

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An example of George Hunzinger's (1835-1898) "Lollypop Chair."

The design and patent number of a Hunzinger chair.

This rocking chair is an example made by the factory of Hunzinger was born in Germany in 1835 to a family that had been cabinetmakers since the 17th century. He emigrated to New York at the age of 20, already trained as a furniture maker; one of many German cabinetmakers, including the Herter Brothers, who came to the United States to flee the political and economic turmoil in Germany after 1848.

Hunzinger and others used innovative techniques to make their furniture pieces, and their work came to be known as “Patent Furniture,” after the fact the mechanical fittings and designs were patented to keep competitors from using them on their own pieces. Hunzinger was one of first to utilize the very latest technology for woodworking and was awarded 21 patents between 1860 and 1898 for the various mechanisms used in the design and manufacturing of his furniture. Much of the machinery he used to construct his pieces was also built to his designs. His work was highly popular at the time and was widely copied by other furniture makers during the last quarter of the 19th century.

His name later became a generic term for similar furniture made by his competitors as “Hunzinger style.” Being such a stickler for patenting his designs, Hunzinger made his pieces quite easy for us to identify today as much of the metal fittings and the chairs themselves are stamped with his name and patent dates.

Mike Wilcox, of Wilcox & Hall Appraisers, is a Worthologist who specializes in Art Nouveau and the Arts and Craft movement.

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The William & Mary figured maple butterfly table with block vase and ring turned legs that had been so elusive.

A few years ago, Steve Fletcher—the lead auctioneer of Skinner Auction Gallery in Boston—had just accepted a glass of water and stepped down from the podium to take a break. Karen Keane, the president and CEO of the company, was now behind the auctioneer’s mike. “Good!” I said to myself. Keane, like Fletcher, is a regular on the long-running PBS hit, “The Antique Roadshow.” She’s charismatic, charming, skilled at auctioneering, but she’s not Steve Fletcher.

Steve is the star. Like many an auctioneer, the butt of many of Fletcher’s jokes is himself. Earlier in the sale a totally stripped and refinished Nantucket Fan-back Windsor Armchair, estimated in the catalog to go for between $3,000-$5,000, sold for an amazing $25,000! I was one of the under-bidders. Who did Fletcher blame about the low estimate? Himself. “Shows what I know!” he said, bearing a slightly befuddled smile and naive twinkle in his eye. Auctioneers who appear too smart can’t be outsmarted.

He started the bidding off at a low $1,000 and edged up in $500 levels. “… thousand we have, now fifteen-hundred, now TWO-THOUSAND DOLLARS!” he called out.

The Windsor—having nothing left but polyurethane for surface but magnificent in form—was lot number 6 in the sale. It was an item most attendees would appreciate but not totally understand. At $1,500 dollars, every other hand in the room was up in the air. People had been instantly acclimated to bidding. At $4,000 only a few hands remained. By the time the chair had reached $8,000 the audience was in kind of a hushed mode—wide eyed and excited—just as the auctioneer intended. Passing $12,000, my hand was the only one left in the raised position in a room packed with 300 well-dressed Bostonian preppie types. Then the phone bids came in.

In the “good old days” (now I am sounding old), people in the audience basically decided what things were worth at an auction. Occasionally a phone bidder or two would be on the line. Today, large auction houses like Skinner now have nearly 20 phone lines.

Then, the computer started bidding. That’s right, the computer. Skinner is now hooked up with the Wal-Mart of the antiques business, eBay. On-line geeks and mega-collectors from places like San Francisco were bidding against me never having inspected, let alone seen, the piece they were bidding on, except for a photo.

“$13,000!” Fletcher called out. When the spindly appearing, stripped-to-the-bone armchair sold for $25,000, every retail bidder in the audience was now sitting on the edge of their seats, anticipating the next item in the sale. The innocent-appearing man on stage had accomplished his goal.

Anyhow, let us return to the auction with Ms. Keane now on the stage. Lot number 184, an incredible looking William & Mary period (1685-1725) daybed with ball feet and a banister back fainting couch-like head rest had just fetched a ridiculously low $4,000. An 18th-century highboy with minor imperfections had brought only $5,000. The retail bidders in the audience were off-stride. Dealers were chatting in the back and many had left the room all together, gone to the restrooms or to fetch a cup of coffee. It was only 11:30 in the morning and most, like me, were driving and working all weekend.

“Lot number 186,” Keane said. “A William & Mary figured maple butterfly table with block vase and ring turned legs and a circular drop leaf top. Would anyone give me fifteen-thousand to start it?” No hands went up. The room’s atmosphere had hit a lull period. When the auction house’s low estimate was not immediately reached, the audience had gained a slight psychological edge. My hand went up at $10,000 and I held my breath in excitement. “We got a shot at this one, babe!” I whispered to my wife.

A golden tiger crow orchid

Butterfly tables are to antiques as golden tiger crow orchids are to flowers. For early American furniture and folk art collectors, the tiny little drop leave table with “splayed” outreaching frieze and legs and box stretchers to strengthen the base are akin to photographing a jet black Mitchell’s Satyr Northeastern Indiana butterfly if you are a butterfly collector. It’s a gem.

The day before we had driven up to inspect this table for a client. It was petite, honey colored and wonderfully worn on the stretchers. Like most of the furniture in the sale, and a large majority of antique furniture in general, it had been stripped of its multiple paint and shellac surfaces, refinished and coated with a semi-gloss sealant. That’s what people did years ago. Fortunately though, some traces of old black paint and red wash remained. Traces of that showed up in the pores of the wood and in the crevices in the top and base of the table, reinforcing the integrity of top to bottom.

The top was loose enough to be “pulled” from the base. That I did with permission in inspection. A clear outline of reduced oxidation and patinization showed itself exactly where top meets bottom—just as it should be. I also liked the fact that the table had been looked at by a top auction firm with strict standards of integrity. And that the table once had casters. Worn caster holes on the bottoms of the feet are not usually introduced by professional fakers.

Desirable form, beautiful appearance, good integrity and a mellow old refinished surface—I suggested to my client $25,000 would be a reasonable price for the piece. Having had me on the lookout for one going on 20 years now, they excitedly said, “Go for it!” Kenny and Sherry saw the beautiful pictures of the table on-line. Ugh!

I won the table for my clients at $13,000. The only unlucky thing for my clients is my 10-percent commission, a few bucks for restoration and a whopping 17.5-percent “buyer’s premium” that many auction houses now attach to the final hammer price. Still, now my friends have their elusive and value-appreciating butterfly. The net has finally landed its prize.

— by Wayne Mattox
Antique Talk

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This locomotive-shaped iron, owned by a WorthPoint member who used WorthPoint’s consignment service to place it in auction, sold for $15,000 at auction, well above the estimated $10,000.

When WorthPoint member Marilyn Detwiler decided to use WorthPoint’s Ask a Worthologist service to value and then help her sell a locomotive-shaped iron, she hoped it would be a money train. After the auction, Marilyn is extremely happy with the results.

The E.B. Cosby Flat Iron, one of only two other similar examples have been documented, was put on the block at the Simmons & Company Auctioneers’ event held on August 5 and 6, at the Cleveland Marriott Airport Hotel, Cleveland, Ohio. At the time, the estimated sales price for the very rare figural iron was set at $10,000 or more.

With much anticipation Marilyn’s iron went up for bid on Aug. 6. They bidding got hot and heavy, with the high-bidder winning his prize with a bid of $15,000.

Ion Chirescu, a design engineer and investor from Romania, was the winning bidder, and he said he is in the process of creating a museum to house the collection of irons and trivets. He has been actively acquiring items for the museum over the past few years, and the E.B. Cosby Flat Iron will certainly be one of the museum’s centerpieces. His plans are for the museum, to be opened in Bucharest, to open its doors in 2012.

Chirescu, a Pressing Iron & Trivet Collectors of America (PICTA) member, has invited the members to visit his museum when it opens.

Prior to the sale, there is little to nothing is known about the maker of this piece, E.B. Cosby. It is possible that this unique figural iron was a presentation piece, or perhaps it was an example of the maker’s design and production capability.

With the additional weight of the alcohol fuel required to heat it, this locomotive-shaped steam iron would weigh in at a more than 10 pounds, and would have taken a woman with biceps like Popeye’s to use it. With almost pristine original paint and pin striping, it is apparent that it was hardly used, if ever.

Marilyn, who found the iron while out shopping with her mother years ago, now has an empty space on the hearth of her fireplace where this amazing iron took center stage for years. That empty spot is just waiting for Marilyn’s next Great Find.

Congratulations and good luck, Marilyn.

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This pine and Rosewood-veneer clock with a painted glass door is a typical New Haven Clock Company cottage clock.

The New Haven Clock Company was one of the most prolific of the early American New England clock companies. Some indication of the range and scope of their production is that auction listings over the years indicate more than 300 different models were produced , including shelf clocks, clocks with china cases, figural clocks and even longcase clocks. The example above is what most people think of when describing a New Haven cottage clock. The late 19th-century piece constructed of pine and faced with a Rosewood veneer and painted glass door. Values for them vary considerably as they were made for virtually every income range, and the values today depend mainly on the complexity of the design of the case work.

Incorporated Feb. 7, 1853, the New Haven Clock Company was formed by clockmaker Hiram Camp and others to supply clock movements to the Jerome Manufacturing Company, then the largest clock-making operation in the world. Three years later, the Jerome firm went bankrupt and in April of 1856 the New Haven Clock Company raised an additional $20,000 and purchased the Jerome operation.

By 1860, the firm employed 300 men and 15 women and was producing about 170,000 clocks a year. In 1866, the old Jerome factory was destroyed by fire, but a new brick factory was soon built. Its working force had increased to 460 men, 52 women and 88 children by 1880, and nearly half a million dollars worth of clocks were produced that year. Non jeweled pocket watches were added to the line that year and were offered until the 1950s.

By the 1950s the company’s glory days were long behind it and in 1956 it was reorganized under the Bankruptcy Act, but to no avail. By 1960 the operation ceased and the clock manufacturing facilities were sold on March 22 24, 1960 at public auction and by private negotiation.

Mike Wilcox, of Wilcox & Hall Appraisers, is a Worthologist who specializes in Art Nouveau and the Arts and Craft movement.

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This assortment of 20th-century casters present more problems than solutions for most homeowners.

One of the mysteries of the universe to me is “Why do so many 20th century pieces of furniture have wheels or casters on them?” A clue of sorts can be found in the generic name of many early 20th century items, those that are known as “Colonial Revival.” These pieces are modern replays of generally 18th-century North American furniture originals, which in their own right often owe their existence to earlier European styles, but that’s another story.

In the 18th century, carpet and other floor coverings were in much less general use than in the 20th century, and as such, floor care did not consist of carpet sweeping so much as the mopping of wooden or stone floors. Brass casters and forks or porcelain wheels served as lifts to keep the furniture off the floors during mopping so if the piece did get wet, it was the brass wheels and not the wood that had to deal with the moisture. The small wheels also were useful in moving heavier pieces small distances around the floor for cleaning purposes. But that was then and things are different now.

Carpeting and area rugs have been in general use for most of this century so the floor thing is no longer a valid reason for wheels. The truth is, I think, wheels just became a stylistic item with no real function other than to emulate earlier period styles. Then Art Deco added wheels in some cases as purely style innovations, for they were not emulating anybody!

The problem with these stylistic devices is that they often become a problem in their own right. Sooner or later, if a piece has wheels on it, someone is going to try to roll it across the carpet in order to clean around or behind it and then the problem starts. The 1-inch diameter wheels common on most 20th century pieces are really not built for speed. In fact, they are hardly built at all, and a close examination of the wheels and their support structure will reveal very lightweight materials and less than rugged manufacturing specs. The legs in which these casters are installed are very often painfully slender and frequently made of poplar, which tends to weaken over time as it dries out. This combination of design and structure often results in cracked or broken legs when the piece is rolled. In addition to leg wear-and-tear, the case structure of these pieces can take a beating as they are twisted and turned by the uneven rolling process.

After only a few trips around the room, cases need to be repaired because drawers no longer fit and doors don’t work due the torque applied to the main body. The long-term results of casters in beds is even more apparent. The stems of the casters are built to swivel in a metal sleeve in the wood, and the wheel itself is mounted on a fork in such a way as to be off center of the stem so that the effect of the wheel is to never provide a stable foundation for the leg. When a bed sits on four unstable foundations it will tend to move slightly with each nocturnal twist and eventually the side rails begin to fit not as snugly as they should and the joints in the bed frame itself begin to work loose. And each little loosening makes every other joint a little looser.

So what is the solution? If the piece is a 20th century piece, get rid of the wheels. Just take ’em off. Their absence will not detract from the value of the piece unless it is a very rare collector’s item and will in the long term aid in the preservation of the piece. This of course does not apply to Victorian furniture or to almost all other 19th- or 18th-century pieces. The only other time you need to be concerned about removing the wheels is on a table where height is very important. A 20th century dining table always has a height of 29 1/2 to 30 ½ inches, without exception. This is also standard writing surface height and a variation of even an inch or two is very noticeable. Such a height variation however is not critical to a chest of drawers, vanity, bed or china cabinet.

The wheels themselves are generally easily removable, either by just pulling them out of their sleeves or by using a screw driver to pry them out. But that still leaves metal sleeves in the legs to rust on your carpet or scratch your tile or wood floors. Removing the sleeves is not quite as easy a removing the wheels, especially if they have rusted in place a little.

The simple way to removal is to drive a wide bladed screw driver into the sleeve (be careful not to get carried away and split the leg) and turn the screw driver using a wrench or vice-grips. The sleeve should break loose inside and start to spin. As it spins retract the screw driver and the sleeve will come with it. If that fails, use an electric drill with a 3/8-inch bit to slowly start the sleeve moving and it should come out. If all else fails just drill it out! After the sleeve is out glue a 3/8-inch dowel in the hole, trim it flush with the leg and install a nylon tip in the end of the dowel. No more rust and no more roll. Now the temptation to “grocery cart” a nice piece of furniture has been removed and it will be much happier in the long run.

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Fred Taylor is a Worthologist who specializes in American furniture from the Late Classicism period (1830-1850).

Visit Fred’s website at www.furnituredetective.com. His book “How To Be A Furniture Detective” is now available for $18.95 plus $3 shipping. Send check or money order for $21.95 to Fred Taylor, PO Box 215, Crystal River, FL 34423.

Fred and Gail Taylor’s DVD, “Identification of Older & Antique Furniture,” ($17 + $3 S&H) and a bound compilation of the first 60 columns of “Common Sense Antiques,” by Fred Taylor ($25 + $3 S&H) are also available at the same address. For more information call 800-387-6377, fax 352-563-2916, or e-mail info@furnituredetective.com.

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Ideally, there are several important pieces of information that a truly enlightening tag should carry, but that is seldom the case. Those tidbits of information should include the form of the piece, the style, the wood, the age, any embellishments or unusual features, attribution (the maker or manufacturer) if known, and of course, the price.

Form: This seems self explanatory, but the real names of objects can enhance their value and add to the buyer’s overall knowledge. There is a difference between a vanity, a dresser and a chest with a mirror, and they are important. A canterbury is a much nicer name than “old magazine rack,” and a nice Arts and Crafts piece should be called a “settle” instead of a couch. Form does count.

Style: In some cases, the style is not important or indeterminate, but that is not often the case. Correct identification of the style can help verify the age or origin of a piece and may even help support the price. Mislabeling of styles is commonplace, and the most common error is the use of the term “Victorian.” Victorian is used to refer to the era between 1837 and 1901 when Victoria reigned as Queen of England. It was an age, not a style. There were a myriad of styles, most of them “revivals,” during the Victorian era and they were all different. You can get style points for correct identification.

Wood: This is perhaps the most difficult category for most people, dealers and buyers alike. It really can be difficult to tell old brown mahogany from walnut or old air-dried red walnut from mahogany. How many people can actually tell the difference between oak, elm and ash? Many people think all light woods are pine and all red woods are cherry. Actually, there are only about seven basic woods and their sub-families commonly used in furniture. They are walnut, mahogany, cherry, oak, maple, pine and the close-grain fillers like gum, poplar and birch. Correct wood identification can often verify the authenticity of a period piece.

The tag says “Solid mahogany chest…” Open up the first drawer and take a look at the joinery. The fact that the drawer is veneered is indicated by the light colored line at the rear of the dovetail. That is the fifth layer of veneer in the lumber plywood drawer front.

Age: This is a key piece of information and goes directly to the heart of what is an antique and what is just old furniture. Since very few pieces actually have dates on them (there are a few), dating to a specific year is almost impossible and most people settle for a range of years or a “period.” Use of the word “circa,” meaning about, covers up a lot of uncertainty but is perfectly acceptable in narrowing down the possibilities to just a few years. Its use is preferable to a strictly arbitrary date without substantial supporting evidence.

The tag says “Early 1800’s Eastlake...” Unlikely. Charles Locke Eastlake was an English architect whose book, “Hints on Household Taste,” was published in 1865 and his style was not popular until the 1870s.

The tag says “200-year-old, hand-carved Renaissance Revival bed...” Renaissance Revival was mid-19th century. It has another 50 years to go before it could be 200 years old, and most RR furniture was factory made, not hand carved.

Embellishments: Items that might be missed altogether or need to have special attention drawn to them fall in this category. Hidden document drawers or concealed spaces are common embellishments. Signatures, date stamps, patent dates and foundry emblems are all examples of embellishments or special features. So are working locks with original keys, original hardware and original old glass.

The tag says “Hand-carved oak headboard...” The tiny nails in the “carvings” attest to the fact that they are applied molding.

Attribution: It is impossible to attribute most older and antique furniture to a specific person or company, but some pieces are marked, and if they are, that should be noted. Even later manufacturers’ labels are important. A Kittinger mahogany chair is certainly more interesting than just a chair, and a Berkey & Gay emblem can double the selling price of an early 20th-century bedroom set. Even proper regional or geographical attributions such as “Appalachian” or “Grand Rapids” can add interest and value to a piece.

Price: Naturally, an informative tag should carry the price of the piece. Sometimes it is written in code so that you have to ask the proprietor, thus initiating a conversation about the piece, but my guess is that this strategy quells as many sales as it makes. If a piece is fairly marked and the price is adequately supported by the evidence of all the preceding information, then the owner’s asking price should be clearly displayed on the tag.

These are the major things that should be on an informative furniture tag. Just a few facts can turn “tagging”—going antiquing just to read the labels—into a hobby all by itself. Enjoy.

Fred Taylor is a Worthologist who specializes in American furniture from the Late Classicism period (1830-1850).

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Visit Fred’s website at www.furnituredetective.com. His book “How To Be A Furniture Detective” is now available for $18.95 plus $3 shipping. Send check or money order for $21.95 to Fred Taylor, PO Box 215, Crystal River, FL 34423.

Fred and Gail Taylor’s DVD, “Identification of Older & Antique Furniture,” ($17 + $3 S&H) and a bound compilation of the first 60 columns of “Common Sense Antiques,” by Fred Taylor ($25 + $3 S&H) are also available at the same address.

For more information call 800-387-6377, fax 352-563-2916, or e-mail info@furnituredetective.com.

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An example of a pierced “Paul Revere” lantern. This one is made of copper.

When we see lanterns used as decorative objects, it’s hard to imagine that they were once among the only sources for lighting.

As such, they were made to be hung, carried, placed on a table or applied to a wall. Each was designed for a specific use inside and out. Most also had one panel that could be opened to change the candle or add oil. Since the 1920s there have been serious collectors. However, the good news is that many of these collections have been scattered over the years. Not everybody fancies lanterns. These days many, from the vast variety of styles made, come to market or are discovered in basements and attics. So many different types were made that there is hope for beginning collectors…if they know what to look for.

In America lanterns weren’t in general use until the 1820s.

Some of those early lanterns used candles, while others were lit with small oil lamps. This type had glass windows. In England, the windows were thinly scraped horn; a rarity in the Colonies. It is the pierced, conical shape, tin lantern—known as the “Paul Revere” lantern—that has become most familiar and popular with collectors.

One of the reasons is that there were so many different, pierced designs. Pierced styles were also made in sheet brass and copper. There were also carved wood frames. Some were quite elegant with graduated tiers of piercing patterns. The more intricate the pierced pattern the more decorative the effect when lit; almost lacy.

By the end of the 18th century wealthy Americans wanted more and better. Highly decorative lanterns were imported from England and France to hang around their houses. Work was put into etching designs into brass and bronze frames. The glass also took the form of unusual shaped globes, or was cut, etched and colored. Few have survived with the original glass. The earliest used candles, but by the 1840s whale oil was used.

An example of a pierced-tin lantern.

A detailed photograph of the pierced-tin lantern’s door

The lantern collecting field isn’t limited to house lanterns.

There are the ever-popular carriage lanterns from Victorian times, as well as railroad and ship lanterns.

Dayton Mfg. Co. Railraod Conductor's Lantern

Dietz Little Wizard Red Globe Barn Lantern

Vintage Dietz Street Work Lantern

Huge Ship's Anchor Lantern w/ Fresnel Lens

CLUES: Because of their charm, the pierced tin lantern has been reproduced since the 1920s and offered as such in mail order catalogs. Sorry to say, even in the ’20s, unscrupulous dealers were aging them artificially. Be suspicious of a rusted tin lanterns Also, offered in catalogs are carriage lanterns. Museum gift shops have also reproduced lanterns in their collections.

Some of the most beautiful examples of colored and etched used in the mid-19th century lanterns were made in America as well as Europe. Always examine them carefully for a maker’s name, such as the “New England Glass Co.”

—by Anne Gilbert

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An original Gustave Stickley recliner. The seats have been recovered; originally they would have been dark brown/black.

We are often asked about “Mission Style” furniture, people see a piece of Mission furniture by well known makers such as Stickley, Limbert or Roycroft on one of the many Roadshow-type television series and wonder what makes them so valuable and their own nameless pieces worth one-tenth the price. The answer is a combination of these usual responses: These pieces by famous makers; they are all hand made; they are of a limited production; and they are of very good quality.” All of which are not entirely true.

While pieces by the above mentioned giants of the style are of good quality, they were in most cases neither rare nor entirely made by hand. What sells these pieces is the fact that the companies that produced them are well documented, providing a provenance to a maker, and the auction market loves nothing more than an iron-clad provenance to fame. The sad fact is that there are many fine pieces out there in the Mission Style built by local cabinet makers, students and craftsmen working from plans in Gustave Stickley’s “Craftsman” magazine1 that duplicated his factory pieces, but will never be deemed “as good” or as valuable as one with a Stickley brand on it.

Stickley’s “Craftsman” magazine was not the only publication offering Mission Furniture designs. During the heyday of the style (1900-1916), Mission furniture plans were available from a wide range of sources; even text books for industrial arts courses in public and high schools contained measured drawings for case pieces such as desks, book cases and coat racks in this style. Several of the text books in our collection from the period 1901-1912 all show pieces using identical construction methods as the big name makers, such as through tenons, quarter sawn veneers and fumed finishes.

These pieces are every bit as well-made as the best of the Stickley originals, in some cases better, but they are orphans without a name, at least for now.

The good news in all this is that with every rise in value for the originals made by the Stickleys, Roycroft, Greene & Greene, and Limberts of this world, the principle of “a rising tide lifts all boats” comes into play. These pieces by lesser or unknown makers will appreciate as well and start to gain the respect they deserve, which is how it should be. After all, the only difference between a Stickley piece and one made by an industrial arts student in 1912 is often just the name tag.
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1 The “Craftsman” magazine first appeared in 1901 and was published until 1916.

Mike Wilcox, of Wilcox & Hall Appraisers, is a Worthologist who specializes in Art Nouveau and the Arts and Craft movement.

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