Ed Reaver
Emmitsburg's Master
Cabinet Maker
Michael Hillman On
a recent trip, a flight attendant asked if I
would like cream in my coffee. Now for those of
you who have never had the ‘pleasure’ of
airline coffee, it’s without a doubt the worst
coffee there is; axle grease added in large
quantity helps to hide the taste. So, needless
to say, I said "yes" to the cream. It
came as no surprise, however, when I was handed
a container of skim milk instead of cream. Now I’m
not a dairy expert, but unless there has been a
recent change in definitions, skim milk is not
cream. (I independently confirmed this with
Eugene Grimes and Joe Wivell, Jr.).
When I asked for the cream originally
offered, the flight attendant informed me that
only the first class passengers received cream.
"Then why did you offer me cream? Why
not ask if I want skim milk in my coffee?"
Obviously flustered by my completely logical
question, the flight attendant reacted and
retrieved some "real" cream for me.
Other passengers watching this exchange also
began to insist on real cream. The following
week, I received notice that my frequent flyer
status was being revoked.
Now Audrey originally thought that I did this
sort of thing just to embarrass her, but after
seven or maybe eight years of marriage she's
concluded that I'm simply neurotic. A fact I do
not deny, especially when it comes to my level
of expectations on the quality of products and
customer service (not to mention white board
fences). As a kid, I remember going down to the
local hardware store and being treated like
royalty when I asked for help, even though I was
only buying fifty cents worth of nails.
In today’s supermarket hardware stores
you're lucky to find help and when you do it’s
usually nothing but a nod in the general
direction you need to go. Not so very long ago,
if more than three people were in a check out
line you could be fairly sure a second register
would be speedily open. Today it is not unusual
to stand in a line ten-deep while store
employees stand idly by chatting about
God-knows-what.
Since moving from the city to Emmitsburg, I
have become increasingly aware of the different
levels of customer service and quality provided
by big-name chain stores compared to that
provided by our local merchants and
professionals. Sure, we can all run down to
"Tire Universe and Donut Shoppe" and
save two bucks on a tire. But how long will you
have to stand in line to get service when that
tire blows out ten months later? And will the
owner apologize to you and slap a new tire on
without giving you the third degree?
"Super Duper Pets Galore" will
surely give you a better deal on some of the
services the local vet provides . . . from nine
to five, but will anyone meet you with a smile
on a rainy night at 2:00 a.m. to look at your
sick cat or dog. Do they know your cat’s, or
for that matter, your, name without referring to
a file? Will they spend hours of there own time
searching university databases on the Internet
to figure out why your horse is not performing
at its peak ability?
Over the last eight years, I have become
acquainted and impressed with many local
businesses to the point that when I can purchase
a product or service locally, I do, even if
sometimes shopping locally means spending a few
extra dollars in the short run. Businesses like
Quality Tire, Zurgables,
The Ott House, The Main Street Deli, Allaway
Gardens—, to name just a few, are a pleasure
to deal with. Emmitsburg also has more than its
share of excellent tradesmen and professionals,
such as Kermit Glass, Earl May, Ed Reaver, Paul
Krietz, and Dr. Gary Kubala. All treat you with
respect and honesty, a trait that we often hear
is hard to find.
Take Ed Reaver, for example. Ed and his son
Brian operate 'Reaver's Woodworking' out at
their shop on Dry Bridge road. Born in Taneytown
to Sheridan and Helen Myers Reaver. . . on,
well, let’s just say on July 31st Ed will be
celebrating an anniversary of his 40 birthday.
Like most men, tiring of the good bachelor life,
Ed got respectable and married "the love of
his life," Helen Weevil. Settling in
Emmitsburg, they raised a happy brood of six
boys and three girls.
For the first thirty years, Ed worked as a
mechanist in various clothing factories but all
that time his heart and mind longed for the feel
of wood. Having built furniture for relatives
for years, in 1989 Ed started to produce
furniture for people outside the 'clan'. Over
the next six years he honed his skills and in
1995 Ed finally made the plunge and went into
cabinet making full time.
Just about this time, Audrey was renovating
our living room, which included obtaining a new
entertainment center. Why she wanted to replace
the cinder blocks and pine boards that had
served me well since my college days escaped me,
but since she had married me, I figured her
judgment wasn't all that bad. After several
unsuccessful attempts to purchase one, Audrey
opted to have one built. Always looking to save
a buck, I offered to build the center myself and
was rewarded with hysterical laughter.
"You build it? The man who blames a
certain country for his bent nails? Mr. ‘good
enough for government work?’" Needless to
say, Audrey opted not to use my budding
carpentry skills. So, while she hunted for a
builder, I headed off to see if Earl May would
teach me how to fix a transmission.
Our quest to find a builder was relatively
easy. Richard Broadband, our neighbor and a
professional woodworker specializing in those
multi-species cutting boards and Lazy Susans
that you can buy out of catalogs and at craft
stores, pointed us to Ed Reaver. As did everyone
else we contacted. Less then an hour after
receiving our call, Ed was sitting in our living
room, studying an advertisement depicting the
console Audrey wanted, and discussing
dimensions, stains, and wood types. When I
offered to help build it, Audrey politely showed
me the door, pointed to a section of the fence
that needed painting, and she and Ed went back
to discussing details of how the console would
be built.
In spite of Audrey’s trepidation, Ed
allowed me to watch him work. Unlike most shops
today, Ed's shop does not have a 'customers must
wait outside' sign. Throughout the building of
the console, Ed never hesitated to take time out
to give me a lesson on how to work a piece of
equipment or join a piece of wood. I'm sure my
never-ending string of questions about how or
why something was done, combined with Ed's
willingness to teach, significantly lengthened
the project. Ed even answered some of my more
obtuse questions, which often resulted in him
giving me a piece of wood and some nails and
telling me practice my nailing technique in some
far corner while he figured out an answer.
Every time I entered his shop, I found myself
admiring the console, as well as kitchen and
bathroom cabinets, bookcases, and other
household furniture that were coming to life
under his and his son's steady hands. Talk about
poetry in motion! Every piece of wood was
inspected for imperfections, straightness, grain
patterns and a host of other attributes. Every
angle was triple checked for squareness. (It is
worth noting that there isn't any other truly
‘square’ corner in our 100 years old
farmhouse!) Every piece was hand fitted before
final assembly to insure proper fit and
operation. Even Ed's application of the stain
was a royal production. He repeatedly checked
and rechecked his work as if he was creating a
18th century masterpiece.
Needless to say, when Ed and his son
delivered the console, Audrey was thrilled, for
it was exactly what she wished. Sure we could
have bought something cheaper out of a catalog,
but we wouldn't have gotten a piece of work that
always draws the admiration of guests, nor benefited
from the 'residuals' of buying local, like
gaining a new friend. Several times since the
completion of the console, I've found myself
stuck on some aspect of a woodworking project,
be it making a raised panel, installing molding,
or planning an extra large piece of wood. On
each occasion, Ed cheerfully, and without
charge, showed me how to perform the task. As a
result, my level of knowledge about woodworking
has increased immeasurably, (now I only miscue
one out of three boards!)
My experience with Ed is typical of my
experience with other Emmitsburg based
businesses and professionals. Ed, and others
whom I'll be writing about over the coming
months, has strengthened my belief that local
businesses are the lifeblood of a healthy
community and deserve our support. (Not to
mention the fact that each has provided me a
seemingly unending source of self-deprecating
topics for this column.)
So if you're in the market for some kitchen
cabinets (they'll be doing ours if Audrey ever
lets me remodel the kitchen), bookcases, or if
you would just like to watch true craftsmen at
work, give Ed and his son a call; you won't be
disappointed. And next time you get the urge to
run down to Frederick to save a buck, stop a
second and think. Is it really worth missing a
friendly smile and down home conversation? Which
for me usually goes something like "Hey
Mike, Audrey let you back in the house yet . .
."
Do you know of an individual
who helped shape Emmitsburg?
If so, send their story to us at: history@emmitsburg.net
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articles by Michael
Hillman
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