Makes Miniature Reproductions of Antiques

 Makes Miniature Reproductions of Antiques 

    VISITING George Cona’s shop in San Francisco is like traveling with Gulliver through the land of Lilliput. Time and space are eliminated by this craftsman’s wand as he fashions miniature models of antique furniture. In orderly rows above his workbench, hang diminutive planes and saws, and tiny little hammers that drive still tinier nails into bits of wood of matchlike thickness. With these tools Mr. Cona fashions tiny cabinets no higher than an orange. Every detail is finished with minute precision even to the lining of the drawers, for no cabinet-maker ever delved more intensively into furniture lore or applied his knowledge with closer attention to authenticity. As a boy in England, Mr. Cona studied period furniture and cultivated his talent for reproducing it. Later, in California when his health failed after many years in the ministry, he turned to cabinet making for a livelihood. There were fat years during which he became notable in San Francisco for antique furniture reproductions so clever that only an expert could tell the copy from the original. Then came 1929 and lean years. He was past three score and ten, yet his agile fingers still held their cleverness. When business languished he turned to his hobby—the modeling in miniature of Chippendale chairs, Duncan Phyfe tables and Heppelwhite sideboards. Of course, this does not mean doll furniture. These bits of furniture are real miniatures. To give a cash basis of differentiation—a Cona bedroom set sells for $5; a doll’s set of similar proportions for 25 cents. Former patrons straggling in with odd jobs noticed the exquisite little models and bought them. They sent friends who “wanted a set just like it.” Gradually a little furniture business filled the big furniture void. One day a woman with a pre-depression bank balance asked Mr. Cona if he could build a doll house to fit the furniture. The answer was yes, Mr. Cona having studied architecture along with antiques in England. He drew plans and built a house that clicked and brought more orders. Now he makes to order houses that, as he puts it, are “just a little better.” These range from a $10 cottage for a real estate firm to a $300 mansion for a wealthy client’s child. Just now he is working on a house complete with furniture that will bring $550. The house stands in his window and the furniture is being added piece by piece as finished. Every day interested observers pause before the shop window to ascertain the progress made. The five-room colonial house is white with green trimmings. It has parquetry floors of oak and mahogany and a delightful oak staircase, with banisters, that leads to the bath and bedrooms above. The rooms contain electric switches of postage stamp size and the chandeliers are fitted with tiny globes. The finely wrought window frames enclose real glass windows instead of the usual mica. The interest in miniature reproductions of antique furniture during the past few years has been largely stimulated by the exhibit of Mrs. Ward Thorne’s exquisite miniature rooms at the Chicago World’s Fair, and by the $500,000 doll house exhibited for charity by the moving picture actress, Colleen Moore. Another beautiful example of this work is the priceless collection of Helena Rubinstein, the well-known cosmetic manufacturer. Some of the tiny little furnishings of these rooms have been acquired by their owners during years of collecting little objects of glass, brass, wood, and bits of furniture. However, most of them have been made by modern craftsmen. Many a man with a workbench in his basement and a flair for design can turn out these tiny bits of furniture. Books and periodicals on furniture design will help him in getting the lines of the tiny pieces of furniture as authentic as the originals. 

A Rattling Good Income from Rattlers 

    CATHERINE C. REIDY , of Tucson, Arizona, became interested in snakes while homesteading twenty-three miles from the town where Mr. Reidy worked. She began studying the local wild life and vegetation as a pastime and became so interested that she started to write on nature subjects. This meant getting together more or less of a reference library, cameras and other equipment. Then the depression came along and slashed the family income rather badly. She wrote a few letters and found herself engaged to collect bugs for several biological supply houses. She also sold cactus and wild flower seed. It was while collecting notes on native foods of the Indians that she found the Indians not only use the meat of the rattlers for food, but they made ornamental necklaces from the bones. This aroused her curiosity and the next time she captured a rattler, she popped him into a kettle and the next day she had a business. The ornaments include costume jewelry, buttons, buckles, necklaces and bracelets. “The bones,” explains Mrs. Reidy, “resemble carved ivory, and achieve a startling whiteness after a lengthy cleansing and bleaching process. They are then matched carefully and strung in various ways, some naturally and some in combination with colored beads of many kinds and sizes.” The rattlers’ skins make lovely billfolds, bookmarks, cigarette cases, check-book holders, pocketbooks and even boots and jackets. During the Chicago World’s Fair, a tailored suit of rattlesnake skins made by Mrs. Reidy was displayed in the Arizona exhibit, and attracted a tremendous amount of attention. Business became so good, the Reidys moved back to town and fitted up a studio where their handicraft could be displayed more easily. She now has several hunters to secure the snakes and has put in a stock of meat. She has found that there is always a small demand for the skulls and fangs and the rattles. In addition to maintaining the studio, Mrs. Reidy exhibits her wares at tourist camps and dude ranches in the West. 

He Specialized in “Hamburgers” 

    A FEW years ago, Henry Fisher lost his job in a restaurant. He took fifty dollars from his small savings account, rented space in a Chicago Loop office building, and opened up a hamburger shop. In three months, Henry’s business became so profitable, he opened two more shops, which he now operates successfully. “The space secured for my first location was hardly big enough to turn around in,” he said. “I hoped to be able to get additional space later, add a regular line of restaurant food, and serve coffee, tea and milk. But I decided against this policy during my first week and specialized in hamburger sandwiches. These were a little larger than ordinary, and I sold them for a dime. People working in the building crowded around at noon, and it was at once apparent that they wanted quick service more than anything else. As news of my stand got around the building, I had considerable difficulty keeping up with the crowd’s demand during the noon hour. “My investment in equipment amounted to sixteen dollars. Rent for the six by-ten-foot space was thirty-three dollars a month. I did no advertising. I hadn’t figured on it, for I hadn’t planned on staying in that small space very long. As I was serving a better hamburger sandwich for a dime (one covered with relish in which a little mayonnaise dressing was mixed on a rye bun— sometimes known as ‘Vienna’ style), they sold themselves. On my first day, I took in twenty-four dollars. My expenses ran to fifteen. The second day was a little better and by the end of the week, I figured I was on my way. My wife, who was as excited over the success of this first stand as I was, urged me not to be satisfied with one location, but to open a second stand. However, we had difficulty finding a spot for it, since few office buildings had suitable space available and those having such space wanted too much for it. So we chose a small room on the second floor of an industrial building which was almost entirely devoted to the printing industry. One typesetting company employed a hundred and twenty men, and a printing company occupying two floors employed six hundred men and girls. Our success in this spot was immediate. The workers patronized us because we were convenient and gave them a satisfying sandwich for a dime, which was about all many wanted to pay for a lunch. Those who didn’t want to leave their shop or office, often asked someone to bring back a hamburger. Office and errand boys from the offices in the building take back as many as fifteen or twenty hamburgers for the girls and men in their office at one time. I could have sold coffee at our first location, but that would have meant a delay in service. People who want coffee generally want to sit down at a table and I didn’t have room for tables there. Those who bought the hamburgers didn’t seem to mind not having coffee. So I saved the rental on larger space and the cost of fixtures, and did just as big a business as if I had them. In the second shop, however, we sold coffee, because it seemed to be a custom for working men to send out a boy for enough coffee for eight or ten at one time. Our profits in this building were almost as large as in the first place. When I decided to open the third location, I chose a spot in another industrial building. Here rent was cheap, and there was a large and highly concentrated market for coffee and hamburgers.” Henry pointed out that he did not consider locations outside of the business or industrial districts as suitable for hamburger stands. His success, he declares, was due to offering a convenience to working people with limited time. If he can get 30 per cent of the workers in a building, he is able to keep one stand going in great shape, and have the evening for himself. His first equipment was one second-hand griddle, thirty by eighteen inches, for frying the hamburgers, a large tin box for his supply of “giant” rolls, and a large bottle of relish. A trick in making hamburgers especially delicious is to mix the meat with crumbled stale bread. No ice is required since the hamburgers come ready for the griddle on two daily deliveries from the local packing house warehouses. A stand of this kind may be opened with very little capital in any small space on the lower floors (not necessarily the lobby or street floor) of an industrial or office building. Potato chips bagged, small pies, and similar specialties might profitably be carried as side lines.