Article as it appeared in the April, 1984 issue of Texas Highways.

Rockabye Your Baby in a Texas Rocking Chair
Photographs and Story by Howard Peacock

Consider the rocking chair.

Invented by Benjamin Franklin, the popular American furniture item quickly captured the fancy of Europeans, Asians, Africans, and other peoples around the world.

When the rocking chair came along, only about four or five generations of common folks had been allowed to sit in chairs at all. The history of chairs is one of aristocratic repose.  Only kings and dukes and other high-born personages deserved chairs, symbols of power and wealth through much of civilization. Slaves, peasants, and other working folks had to sit on stools, benches, storage chests, stumps, stones, or their own haunches.

Rumblings of human rights in the 17th Century opened the way for anybody to sit in a chair. At the same time, trade with the Far East boomed, and popular chair styles moved into curvilinear designs with caned seats and back panels.  Sore-jointed working people of that century added pads and upholstery to ease the creaks in their bones.

Ben Franklin may have struck upon the rocking chair while watching some patriot's child playing on a rocking horse. That toy had been around since the 1600s, but until Ben came along, nobody ever thought about putting those curved boards on the end of a chair's legs. He was famous for wild notions.

About 200 years later, the President of the U.S. suffered back pains so intense that his doctor prescribed that he change his mode of sitting. With the doctor's approving nod, John F. Kennedy settled on the old-fashioned rocker.

His choice didn't surprise most Texans, especially those who had grown up in the country. They knew from seat-of-the-britches experience the physical and spiritual benefits of rocking on the southeast gallery or beside a high-tongued snappin' fire.

Considerable credit for spreading this bodily boon belongs to an East Texan named Hugh Vaughn. In Woodville, he builds a big classic version he calls the Texas Rocker, now being enjoyed throughout the U.S. and even foreign lands. Governor Mark White keeps one in his office for high-powered decision-making, as do a number of legislators and VIPS in the state capital. Famed country singing star George "Possum" Jones arose from a "Special Edition" rocker to open his vast Music Park last fall.

Vaughn spends about half the year on the road taking orders for his rockers. He exhibits them as far north as Minnesota and New York state and as far west as Phoenix, marketing them to individuals and wholesalers. Noted for their breadth, sturdiness, and fine finish, the rockers come as singles and two-seaters, slatted or upholstered.

Upholstery, with plain or fancy fabric selected by the customer, is often crafted by Guy Lewis, who spits tacks in the old way. He spent his working years in Tennessee furniture plants before retiring to Woodville.

Now making about 20 rockers a week, most of them from logs of ash trees felled in the East Texas forest, Vaughn started his business seven years ago from less than scratch.

"We got good at making the rockers," he says, "But we didn't have any know-how in marketing them." The venture sagged, Vaughn and his wife, Jennie, stored the machinery and moved to Galveston where Vaughn had found a job as an accountant.

The house they rented in Galveston had a huge basement, "just going to waste." Jennie got an idea. They drove back to Woodville one weekend, took the machinery out of storage, and set it up in the basement of the Galveston house.

"In Woodville, our working area was about the size of a chicken pen," Vaughn grins. "That basement in Galveston was at least as big as three of four chicken pens."

They needed wiring for the machinery. Unable to afford an electrician, they went to Sears one night and for 50 cents bought a booklet entitled How to Wire Your Home. Studying it, they learned about red, black, and white wires, and meticulously electrified the basement for their machinery. On damp, chilly nights in November and December, it was slow going.

"By January, we were making rockers," Vaughn says. They brought timbers from Woodville on weekends. Hugh slid the boards through a basement window to Jennie, who stacked them. On week nights after Hugh had put in a day's work as an accountant, they sawed, planed, sanded, drilled, glued, assembled, and stained.

The Vaughns exhibited their chairs at the Houston Fat Stock Show and Rodeo, the Arts and Crafts Fair in Kerrville, the Folklife Festival in San Antonio, and the Renaissance Festival in Magnolia. They researched other shows and started applying to juries in the northeast and midwest for exhibition rights.

"We wanted to master the making of the best rocking chairs in America and to give them a personal touch," Vaughn remembers. "We also wanted to make a living from them." Exhibitions around the country became an important element in marketing rockers.

A rancher named Quinn from the Kerrville area became one of Vaughn's best customers at one slow show.

"He just walked up to the booth and examined our product and said, 'I'll take the best 12 you've got,'" Vaughn recalls. "Later, he came back and ordered two more for his neighbor. Still later, he returned and ordered four more for his ranch foreman's porch."

By the end of 1977, the Vaughns had paid off several thousand dollars of debt and saved enough to get started once more in Woodville. For lumber to build a shop, they felled trees around their home. They took the logs to a mill in Chester, about 10 miles west of Woodville, to be sawn into lumber.  They paid the mill operator in rocking chairs.

At the Texas Folklife Festival, which takes place at the Institute of Texas Cultures in San Antonio in August, Vaughn has a spot on the "Back 40", a tract reserved for traditional crafts in the Texas heritage.

"One day Claudia Ball came riding up in her golf cart while I had a pretty good crowd asking about our chairs," relates Vaughn. "She headed up the Festival for many years before retiring. The previous year, Claudia had bought four rockers for the country home.

"Claudia said she'd put those chairs in the bed of the pickup truck and struck out for the country. She's known as a spirited driver, and one of those chairs flew out of the back end while she was breezing along. She saw the chair bounce along the road and finally come to a stop near a ditch. I interrupted her right there and told her --and all those people listening--not to worry, that we'd be glad to fix it.

"'But there's nothing to fix!" she said, bless her heart. The only damage was a scratched-up post. She just wanted to let me know how sturdy the rockers were. When she roared off in her golf cart, I was writing up orders from the people who had listened to her story."

Sturdiness in the rockers comes from using big pieces of wood, glueing every joint with moisture-resistant glue, counter-sinking every joint, and using only kiln-dried dowels. Hickory makes good dowels, Vaughn says, but ash is better for posts and slats.

"It's hard, but it gives," Vaughn points out. "It doesn't break easily, as some hardwoods do. Remember that a rocking chair takes a lot of stress. It's got to give a bit."

Black walnut is a prized wood for Special Edition rockers, those made and engraved for personal gifts. It's expensive. It also takes longer to dry and season.

Building a batch of rockers begins with the selection of East Texas logs. Vaughn looks for logs that have bottoms two to three feet wide. He converts the logs into lumber on an 80-year-old sawmill he bought at a bankrupt sale in Tennessee in 1982.

Once the boards are cut out of the logs, they're sawed into parts. Each single rocker contains 36 parts; each double rocker, 41. All parts undergo three sandings on a sanding machine. They're then dipped in a trough filled with stain.

"Many people like a finish similar to Mediterranean teak," Vaughn says. "We achieve that look by applying a solution maple stain on the ash. Another popular finish is a dark glow, which we achieve with black walnut oil."

After drip-drying, the parts are carefully assembled. Two coats of sealer are applied. When the second coat has dried, Vaughn takes 150-grit sandpaper and hand-sands the surface slick. That prepares it for a final coat of polyurethane for an extremely durable finish.

"Special Edition" rockers started by chance at the inauguration of Governor White in January 1983. State Representative Gonzalo Barrientos asked Vaughn to distinguish the rocker to be given to the governor by burning the state seal on the headboard. Vaughn found an artisan, Haley Pipkin, who lives near the Neches River east of Woodville, skilled in that technique.

The seal on the Governor's chair looked so impressive that several legislators ordered similar Special Editions. That led to other designs. The rocker presented to a country singer George Jones bore a picture of his trademark, a 'possum.  A man from Chicago approached Vaughn at the Texas Folklife Festival to trade stories on the statewide fascination with the armadillo. He wound up ordering a rocker beautified by the likeness of that beast.

Special Editions add $75 to the cost of a rocker. From $150 for a basic single-seater, costs to $325 for a double-size creation either fashioned from black walnut or made from ash and fully upholstered.

Now averaging 1,200 rockers a year (up from 128 the first year in business), Vaughn expects to branch out into other products, like tables, cradles, and chopping blocks, when rocker production hits 1,500 a year.

"We've been a family business up to now," Vaughn point out. "The personal touch is important to us.  The best part of this business is getting to know our customers."

That's why he welcomes tourists to his plant and to exhibitions.

One customer remains particularly memorable to Vaughn.  For long minutes the man studied a Texas rocker on exhibition in Tyler.

"That looks like a bigger chair than mine," he finally told Vaughn.  "Just hold 'er right there.  I'll be back."

He drove 36 miles to his farm, where six Kennedy rockers graced the family porch. He loaded one on his pickup and drove back to the exhibition hall. Carrying the Kennedy rocker into Vaughn's display space, he set it down beside the Texas rocker. The latter, measuring four feet high, three feet deep, with a 19 x 20-inch seat, was obviously larger, heftier.

"Well, I'll be blanked," the man muttered. He walked to a phone and called his sister. "You always liked those Kennedy rockers on my porch," he told her. "Well, I'll sell you all six for a price you'll like." She bought all six, whereupon the man ordered 12 Texas rockers.

Walking away, he paused and retraced his steps. He surveyed the height and breadth of the exhibition chair once more and took hold of one of the thick posts.

"Don't you know," he speculated, "with his back problems, President Kennedy would have loved one of these big 'ol dudes from Texas."

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