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The reason that he chose woodwork was that he grew up in it. In Iowa south of Des Moines, his father, William T.

Motherhead—as Irish as they come, whose own father back in the old sod, James, wore the traditional red side whiskers that necklaced around the chin—was known widely as a carpenter-contractor. Living on the farm that he owned, he often had working for him up to twenty carpenters. His crew built many a settlement in that area. So at the time he was a barefoot boy young Charlie learned how to handle carpenter tools—hand saw, plane, square, brace and bit. In adulthood, his three brothers—Gus, Clinton and Lawrence—turned to carpentry and contracting, and although Charlie became a railroad man, be could never get woodworking out of his blood.

IN LOOKING back, Motherhead reflects that his most outstanding experience was in the guise of a 12-year-old Edison. On the farm his father raised acres of white navy beans. In the fall it was the duty of the children—especially Charlie, his younger brother, Lawrence, and his only sister, 7-year-old Dorothy—to dump sacks of the dried beans onto a canvas and shell them by flailing with a stick. Then, with a person at each end of the canvas, they would toss them into the air. The wind would blow off the chaff and leave the beans.

Charlie had no objection to the latter, for that was fun. He did protest, however, at the tedious and backbreaking task of beating them with a stick—day after day. Noting how giant wheat threshing machines worked, he decided to construct something on the same order, but smaller, for beans.

Into a wooden roller he drove four or five rows of nails and snipped off their heads. With a board the same length to fit under it he did the same, but so spaced them that they would not hit the rotating cylinder nails. He installed this at the front end of a wooden box and just back of it a paddle-like wooden fan. To the cylinder he attached a v-grooved wooden wheel and a few feet away mounted a six-inch wide iron corn planter wheel. The belt consisted of a rope. When Lawrence—and at her insistence, little Dorothy—turned the corn planter wheel around, Charlie would drop handfuls of beans in between the rows of nail-teeth, which would cut them up and shove them in the path of the paddle-fan. Connected to work with the operation, this would beat them up and push them back, to drop into the box-bin.

WHEN HE launched his woodworking hobby seventeen years ago, however, Motherhead had no labor-saving device in mind. Rather it was to be for recreation—during the times he would "layover" between trains. Should he make things people would buy, all the better.

In the spring of 1948, he cut down a pear tree in his yard and sawed it up into blocks. That evening to his wife, Carry, he commented, "I wonder what I could make out of those pear tree blocks."

Looking around their house, filled with tables he had constructed through the years, and, moreover, recollecting the numerous ones he had sold, she challenged, "Why not lay off of tables for a while. How about—oh, bowls!" she exclaimed, seeing a pearl necklace on a near-by table.

The sight of the pearls prompted her comment because she had in mind a small inch-in diameter bowl, just the thing to hold her jewelry. In addition to this, the bowls serve a variety of other purposes, depending upon their size and the desires of their owners. Fruit, nuts, coins, mementos of one kind or, another, or as ornamentation—this indicates their uses. Persons who relish exclusive craftsmanship—items not ordinarily found in gift shops—eagerly purchase them.

NO SOONER did Mrs. Motherhead utter "bowls" than out her husband went to his shop in his back yard and proceeded to fashion one, and he has been at it ever since. When any of his railroad buddies speak of "bowling," he wryly remarks that he does it whenever time will permit, right behind his house. When they look amazed and wonder how one of their fellows could maintain a bowling alley on his own premises, he hastens to explain that for him bowling is not a game, but making wooden bowls.

To do this, Motherhead points out that one must have the proper tools, all of which can be bought at a hardware store or chosen from a mail order catalogue. First is a wood lathe, a machine in which the wood is held and rotated while being shaped by a tool. It costs around $45, depending upon the size and make.

Next, he states, are the cutting tools—chisel-shared with wooden handles long enough to permit a healthy grip. Get a half a dozen or so of assorted sizes and kinds—an inch, half-round cutter, ¾, ½ and ¼-inch coping cutters, or, to give names to a few, smoother, shaper, gouger and creaser. These set him back from $1.25 to between $3 and $4 each. Thus they total up to between $10 and $15.

Following this comes the drill press, to put the finishing touches to the inside of the bowl, the cup. The one he has now, with attachments, cost him $135, although he admits that an earlier one—smaller and secondhand—required a check for only $20. For it, then, put the range from the smaller figure up to the higher one.

As to the rest of the equipment, he says, it includes a crosscut saw to cut the logs into size, or, if you are flushed with money, a band saw. Then you must have suitable paintbrushes, shellac, varnish, filler, wax and sandpaper.

"Oh, yes," he reminds, "don't forget the grindstones to sharpen your cutting tools. You can pick up a hand-turned one for ten or fifteen bucks." As an afterthought, he boasts, "Mine didn't cost me a red cent."

By the way of an explanation, in the summer of 1947 he visited the old homestead in Iowa. On his father's farm he discovered the identical grindstone on which he sharpened axes and other tools when a boy. He brought this back, mounted it, harnessed it with a motor and it does the job excellently.

Simple arithmetic shows that one could squeeze by with an investment in equipment of as little as $100, but, to insure good quality, Motherhead recommends that the estimated minimum be run up to $150. As for his tools, an inventory he took last Christmas revealed that on the present market they would cost him a total of $1,200. But one must consider that he didn't start out with bowls, but tables, and some of the gadgets are for that. Moreover, they are for manifold other purposes, including repair work about the house. Actually, $100 or $150 is the starting figure, and as he goes along one can—and will—augment, and supplant a portion of, his tools.

WITH THIS equipment, Motherhead says, one rolls up his sleeves and goes to work making a bowl. One can fashion them from logs of all kinds of trees—mahogany, walnut, pine, chestnut, oak, hickory, persimmon or whatever thrives in his area. His own most novel wood was that of the large root of a giant rosebush that he dug up on the side of his house. He shaped it into an exquisitely patterned nut bowl. When chopping down a tree, neighbors and friends notify him and in exchange for it—sawed on the premises for easy transportation in his touring car—he turns out a bowl for them and has the remainder of the timber for himself. At a nominal price, workable scraps can be obtained at lumberyards.

His own front and back yards disclose stumps of trees—casualties to his hobby. With the most beautiful lawn on his street, he nevertheless has become convinced—coerced by his bowl making, he concedes with a twinkle in his eyes—that the far-reaching roots of his alder, camphor and four or five other trees deprived the grass of needed humus and moisture. Recently he "killed" a 25-foot-tall camphor tree which when felled will be turned into scores of bowls. He particularly looks forward to this since for him camphor has proved the best wood.

Although his initial bowls were moulded out of green pear wood, he advises one to use only dry timber; otherwise there is a tendency for the bowl to crack and the uncured logs are difficult to work. He therefore saws them up into short lengths, coats their ends with paraffin to prevent checking and stores them—for up to a year. This does not mean, though, that one can't take up this hobby immediately. He can easily find already treated wood and later fall back on what he has put in storage.

AFTER THE wood has been selected, Motherhead saws off of it a section the height of his contemplated bowl. The circumference is limited by that of the wood itself.

Next, he determines the center of each end of the block. If it is square, he draws two diagonal lines with a rule and pencil. Where they intersect is the center. Should the wood be round, he uses a compass. Once the centers have been calculated, he takes his hammer and marks them by tapping a metal punch.

Now, he places one center up against the bit of the stationary left head of the lathe, which holds it and does the turning. He brings the movable right head with its steel cone up to the center of the other end and tightens by turning the hand wheel. He lightly hammers the wood up into the bit head and again tightens the right one.

Then he turns on the switch and the wood whirls around. With the wooden handle of his smoother held in his right hand, the steel part resting in his left, which in turn is braced on an adjustable metal support, he presses the blade against the whirling block and the chips fly. He manipulates the smoother from one end to the other until the block is the same its entire length.

With his shaper employed in the identical manner, he does what the name of the tool implies—shapes the outline of the bowl. Perhaps it will be goblet-like in appearance. As he progresses, he may be obliged to reach for a smaller shaper to hew out around the stem between the foot and the cup. Again, the bowl may be the same all the way up, with the bottom and top gracefully rounded.

With his gouger, he now does just that—gouges out the cup of the bowl. Here, too, gougers of several widths are brought into play, the narrowest to get into the corners. Motherhead warns that one must leave an inch-in-diameter center stalk so that the tightening header will have a surface to press against, the bit header still remaining against the center of the other end, now the bottom of the foot of the bowl.

At this point, it is shaped as the intended bowl. With it still between the headers, sandpaper its outside—beginning with a coarse grade and ending up with fine. As it whirls around, Motherhead simply does this by grasping the two ends of a half sheet of sandpaper and pressing it against it. For the inside, wrap the paper around a stick and maneuver it in and about.

TO EMBELLISH it, Motherhead customarily makes one or more grooves around the cup, as well as around the stem. As it rotates in the lathe, he brings into operation his creaser as he did the other cutting tools until the groove is at the desired depth.

For dark stuff and hardwood, Motherhead may coat with furniture wax. As for shellacking or varnishing, he does it as one would any piece of wood. Before he does so, however, he chisels out the center stalk required for the lathe. To sandpaper not only where this was, but the whole interior of the cup, he attaches his sander to his drill.

On the other hand, he merely waxes light-colored wood. He does this with it in the lathe. As a preparation, and prior to turning on the switch, he puts on it, with a cloth, filler—the same used on automobiles when painting them. This takes care of minute insect holes. If there are cracks, he mixes filler with putty and fills them. Switching on the electricity, by means of a rag he applies paraffin wax inside and out. To polish, he uses a piece of felt—in his case, from an old discarded hat—as he did the sandpaper. He completes by cutting out the stalk, smoothing the spot by hand with sandpaper and rubbing with wax and polishing.

FOR A two-inch-in-diameter cup bowl—the size of his first, which Mrs. Motherhead requested for her jewelry—he charges $1. He turns one out in forty-five minutes. For 3½-inch ones, he asks $2. His top price is $7, for his large redwood bowls.

He has had no difficulty in disposing of them. His sales have been partly by word of mouth. One railroad man's wife has bought three, a nut, fruit and cup bowl; another, two. Those who give him timber in exchange for a complimentary bowl proudly tell others of their prized novelty. This brings orders to him. Several hobby shops have requested his stock.

Other than this, he recommends the making of arrangements with the proprietors of nut shops, premium fruit stands and even jewelry stores to exhibit bowls in connection with their merchandise. Don't pay for this, for it helps mutually. Persons attracted by the display of bowls may, buy one. In addition, the potential customer has been lured inside and the owner has a chance to retail his own products. Fill some of the bowls with nuts, fruit or a strand of artificial pearls—whatever stock is involved—and thereby vividly picture how they would look in one's home. They could even be priced together.

For a window display, Motherhead urges one to show the stages of the making of a bowl—from the raw timber to the waxed one. This setup could also be in the windows of banks and other businesses. He reminds one to have his printed or painted name and address on a card conspicuously adjacent to the exhibit, prefaced by: "Made by—."

And of course, he sums up, there are the usual means of marketing craftware—from magazine advertising to door-to-door canvassing. Whether one needs to resort to these measures depends upon his output.