The Secret Book – FineWoodworking

Synopsis: At age 13, Tom DeAngelis inherited a wooden “book” from his grandfather, an Italian immigrant and master cabinetmaker, whose hidden sliding mechanism revealed both craftsmanship and creativity. Years later, using his grandfather’s tools and techniques, DeAngelis re-created the book, blending traditional joinery with his own design refinements. The project became a tribute to his grandfather and a symbol of how handmade work can connect generations through skill, memory, and craft.

I was 13 when my 80-year-old grandfather, Americo DeAngelis, called me into the kitchen one afternoon. On the table sat a large wooden book. He picked it up, placed it in my hands and said, “I made this a long time ago. If you can open it, you can have it.”

I turned it over in my hands, searching for a hinge or seam, but the covers wouldn’t budge. Finally, he revealed the secret: With a four-step series of movements, the top slid open smoothly to reveal a hollow chamber. Even though I hadn’t figured it out myself, he handed it back to me and said, “It’s yours now.”

My grandfather, born in Buenos Aires but reared in Benevento, Italy, became an apprentice cabinetmaker at 16, and two years later traveled back to Buenos Aires to further his cabinetmaking skills with his uncle. He later immigrated to the United States in search of a better life, settling in Waterbury, Conn. There he worked as a cabinetmaker for the Scigliano Lumber Company, making moldings, windows, cabinets, and staircases until retiring at age 75 in 1967.

His real joy came from his home workshop, a four-car garage he built by hand despite never owning a car. His workshop—and his wooden book—sparked my own love of woodworking and shaped my early career as a carpenter and builder.

The tools from that shop—his bench, table saw, bandsaw, jointer, mortise press, chisels, and planes—passed from him to my dad and eventually to me. When I’m not at my day job, I’m in my own shop building furniture, helping friends with projects, or teaching family, friends, and neighbors how to make hand-cut dovetails.

Watching someone proudly hold up their first tight-fitting dovetail is one of the most rewarding moments I know. Whenever I enter my workshop, the smell of walnut, oak, and poplar brings back an emotional rush of feelings and memories from when I was a child with my dad and brother in my grandfather’s shop.

Two years ago I realized that the book, still sitting on my shelf, had quietly turned 105 years old. For all the time I’d admired it, I’d never tried to recreate it. With the skills, tools, and memories of my grandfather’s hands guiding me, I focused on creating a version that preserved his secret opening system while incorporating my own design ideas.

The final piece is composed of six precisely cut components that fit together without screws, nails, magnets, or hardware, just like my grandfather’s. I used quartersawn soft maple for the “pages,” wrapping the grain continuously around the corners to enhance the illusion of paper.

The joinery accommodates seasonal wood movement while maintaining the clean geometry required for the sliding motion. It provided a great opportunity to experiment with different species of wood, since, like books, each wood has its own tone and texture. The mechanism is simple but precise: (1) slide the front cover upward, (2) raise the heel of the cover slightly, (3) slide the cover back down, and (4) remove the cover. The finished wooden book sits naturally on a shelf with real books, yet it opens smoothly to reveal a hidden compartment for keepsakes or mementos.

This project became a lesson in refinement. I upgraded my setup with a thickness planer, a router table, and a set of aluminum setup blocks, and rediscovered the quiet precision of hand tools. I practiced zero-tolerance dimensioning, fine chisel work, and the discipline of sequencing every step. I even fell back in love with wood files—tools I’d once overlooked—for refining subtle transitions.

Re-creating my grandfather’s wooden book allowed me to honor his craftsmanship while leaving a piece of my own for the next generation. It isn’t just a keepsake box—it’s a bridge linking his world to mine and, I hope, to the world of anyone who finds meaning in the simple but enduring beauty of a handcrafted creation.

Tom DeAngelis works with wood in Clinton, Conn.