My earliest memory of woodworking dates back to when I was five or six years old, and my father was building a one-car garage in the back yard of our home in Helena, Montana. At that time Dad used only hand tools (it was in the early 1950s), as power tools of any type were still much too expensive. But I remember “helping” him, which at that point really just consisted of running to get an occasional tool for him, but I was so fascinated with the process that even as a small boy I would sit there all day, just to be able to help him in any way I could.

We lived in that house ten years, and over those years, my father, who had once made his living in construction, remodeled almost every part of it, so I had many occasions to help him, and as the years went by, it got to a point where I really could help him. And he began to instruct me in some of the ways in which I should go. One of the incidents I particularly remember is the time he was working with a wood plane and had to disassemble it to sharpen the iron (that’s what the blade is called—don’t ask me why!). I was no more than ten years old at the time, but I remember, as though it were yesterday, my fascination with the way that plane came apart and went back together again.

The other thing I particularly remember from the Helena days is watching Dad work with a bit and brace, which is one of the ways holes were bored before the invention of the electric drill. Because of the expense of an electric drill in the early 1950s—and probably because he’d learned on it when he was not much older than the small boy watching him—Dad continued to use a bit and brace for years. It’s a tool I could not use on a bet, but Dad was able to drill his holes right where he wanted and keep them straight, the top of the brace under his chin, and his strong right arm spinning the brace around, as the auger bit spun out a fine wood shaving.

By then Dad worked in a department store, where he worked until retirement, and the woodworking was something he did only when he needed something for the house. And the type of work he did was mostly carpentry, as this was his training and interest.

Years later our family was in Southern California, and I’ve been here now over 40 years. For a long time what I most wanted to do was write novels, and I pursued that while working a full-time job for many years. Novelist to woodworker was a metamorphism that took place over a period of years, mostly because there were things I wanted that I could not buy at any price because no one made them. But when Dad went to his reward, and I designed and made a bookcase in his memory in the summer of 1990, I graduated to artist, because that piece was born of passion. Dad never saw it in this world, but I thought of him throughout while I was making it, and I feel his presence in it to this day.

When I decided to go into business for myself, the fact that Dad was the first to show me how to shape wood and that I’m named after him made the company name an easy choice for several reasons.

My wife and I are movie buffs, and one of the things that always piqued my curiosity is the way names are listed on screenwriter credits. Sometimes it is Sam and Dave; other times it is Sam & Dave. Well, as it turns out, there’s a method to that madness. When they use an ampersand (&), it means that Sam & Dave collaborated on the screenplay. If the screenplay is written by Sam and Dave, it means that Dave wrote the first draft, and Sam wrote the second.

First there was Dad with his hand tools and carpentry; then I came along with power tools and cabinetmaking—a first draft and a second. But some things never change. The Old Man never cut a corner when he worked, nor will I. And I still use his hand planes.

Joseph Freenor