Simply the Best

As a full-time woodworker, I am always on the lookout for tools—not necessarily new ones, but vintage tools. I feel a connection to the craftsmen who came before me, those who held these tools in their hands. I can almost sense the sweat of their labor embedded in the wood, and now my own essence is intertwined with it. This creates a bond, a link in the chain of woodworking history.

One item I have long desired is a large tool chest. These chests served as the storage for a craftsman’s tools, whether in a workshop beside a bench or on a job site for the duration of a project. They are typically sizable, featuring a saw till, sliding trays, and the classic appearance of a dovetailed carcass. Authentic tool chests can be rare and quite costly, so I never allowed myself to get my hopes up when searching for one.

On a beautiful spring day, Dennis Laney and I attended the Ohio Tools Collector Association event. A few times a year, members gather to sell their old tools. It’s a small but friendly group, and I usually go to seek out tools to add to my collection. Even if I don’t find anything, I enjoy engaging in conversations and hearing fascinating stories.

As I wandered past one table, I spotted a large tool chest. I paused to examine it, and the owner informed me that the asking price was $125. It was dirty, rough, and worn—just the way I like it. She mentioned that the keys were original to the box and had come from a house in Sylvania, Ohio, not far from where I once lived. When I lifted the lid, she added that the tools inside were included in the price. But what truly sealed the deal for me was what I found next.

Inside the lid were some old photographs from the Victorian era. While they were intriguing, a couple of them had a slightly eerie quality. There was also a newspaper clipping about a hotel. The tools within the chest provided insight into the owner’s trade, suggesting he was a coach or carriage maker. Dennis pointed out that Toledo was once home to the Milburn Wagon Company, known for making early electric cars, but prior to that, they were the largest farm wagon manufacturer.

The final detail that caught my attention was the owner’s name, stamped multiple times on the box, on the tools, and even on the keys: J.H. Best.

Since then, I’ve done a bit of research. A fellow that I know, who is a part-time genealogist, managed to locate the death certificate of J.H. Best. His full name was John Henry Best, born in 1856 in Marietta, Ohio. He was listed as a carpenter and passed away in 1935 at the age of 78. His parents were from Germany, and his wife’s name was Margaret. However, I couldn’t find any connections to the other cards found in his tool chest, which included references to Victor Sewing Machines, Estey Organ Co., Bortree Manufacturing Co., and the Corrodi Hotel in Columbus, Ohio. All of these companies were established around 1870, with the hotel opening in 1872 and operating until 1936.

It seems that Dennis and I were mistaken about J.H. Best living in the Toledo area, but we were correct in our assumption that he was involved in the trades. I can’t help but ponder why he chose to preserve those photographs in his tool chest. Did he have a passion for sewing as a hobby, or perhaps he did some work for the company? And what about the hotel—was it a destination for his honeymoon, or a place where he had worked? Unfortunately, those questions may remain unanswered. Nevertheless, I take great pride and honor in keeping his tools and chest in my shop, where the spirit of woodworking continues to flourish.

Looking back now I remember immediately after purchasing the chest, a nearby man asked, “Why would you buy that chest when you could make a better one?” Dennis chuckled and replied, “He didn’t buy it for the chest; he bought it for the history of the man and his craft.”