This article appeared in the Minneapolis 
StarTribune Newspaper
"Master Clockmaker works by the minute"

October 21,1994, by Chuck Haga

Ockenden passed the test and got the job - as an apprentice clockmaker.

He is 43 now, and for several years he's had his own place, Valley Clockworks, in Golden Valley. His machine shop contains precision tools so arcane, so specialized, that his naming of them comes with footnotes and sometimes a bit of Swiss history.

"The tool has to be an extension of your hand," he said, demonstrating with one that looks like a small pizza cutter. "This is a heating spatula for shellacking a roller jewel."

Roller jewel?

"That's a small jewel, smaller than the tip of a pin, that causes the balance wheel to roll smoothly across the fork of the escapement."

Escapement?
 
"The escapement is the final action in the running of the clock, releasing the stored energy in a controlled, measurable curve," he said. You can take his word for it. The American Clockmakers Institute inCincinnati recently certified Ockenden as a master clockmaker, a status the nonprofit institute confers on one or two people a year.

 The clock that commands much of Ockenden's attention these days arrived in the mail from China, packed in straw in a wooden box."It didn't handle the trip too well," he said. A collector found the 18th century clock in Shanghai. The case is elaborately carved ebony, the porcelain face decorated with dragons. The plates are hand-hammered brass, and every wheel, every pinion was cut by hand.

"Any clock this age is a challenge," Ockenden said. "The construction was fairly crude, plus you've had more than 200 years of opportunities for bad repairs. We get clocks that have been kept for centuries in rural areas, and the only person who ever did repairs on them was the village blacksmith - and all he used was hot iron and a hammer."

He gets work by word of mouth from collectors and museum curators, and his current to-do list includes clocks from California, Wyoming and Texas. He's also working on a Dutch clock that dates from the mid-1700s, sent by a monastery in South Dakota. It has beautifully turned pillars and a folk-art painted face, but parts have worn or broken.

"This will be here for who knows how long - a month or so if I can give it a few hours here, a few hours there."

 He does no watch work. "I've never developed any interest or expertise in watches," he said. "First of all, they're a hell of a lot smaller. And clock work is gritty; that could get into watches."  The most frustrating part of the work is trying to do it as a buiness, he said. About 85 percent of his revenue is in repairs (the rest is in sales), "so there is nonstop pressure to produce work. That can put me at odds with my other objective, which is to provide the very best craftsmanship."

Ockenden said he tinkered with clocks as a child growing up in Cleveland. "Much to the dismay of my parents, that included the practical destruction of a couple of treasured family pieces," he said. He spent a dozen or so years traveling the country, studying clocks and developing some other interests - including jazz guitar, which he plays in a local band.    He came to the Twin Cities in 1985, took over the small Golden Valley shop and started working toward certification as a master with the clockmakers association, which works to preserve the old skills. "There is concern about the disappearance of the trade," Ockenden said. "People aren't interested in taking the time to become competent at it."

To restore centuries-old clocks that come packed in straw, he learned early procedures in the tempering and blueing of steel. He found a description in an 18th century book for using soap and iron wire to harden steel evenly.

His machine shop is part salvage yard, part tool museum, with modern lathes and carbide wheels alongside tools of brass and steel that helped start the Industrial Revolution.  "My repair bill often is more than the clock is worth," Ockenden said. "But they can have great sentimental value. Sometimes people bring in a clock from their childhood home, and it's their only connection with that home.

"I never say it can't be done. I will advise people that I don't recommend the work be done. There are some clocks that were designed for one short life span. They weren't built to be repaired."

What does it take, besides a hand for tools, to be a master clockmaker? Patience, certainly?  "I always say patience is overrated," Ockenden said. "If you're skilled, you don't need as much patience.  "You need a strong logical thought process. You have to be able to see the connections between things, how pieces interact and affect each other. And perfectionism: I am constantly trying to make my work fail. . . . If I do, I go back and start over."

 He contemplated his inner springs for a moment, then smiled.  "I'd be very difficult for someone to employ," he said. "I'm kind of a tyrant - very demanding, and methodical perhaps to a fault."

His home is not stuffed with ticking, chiming timepieces; he has maybe five or six. "I've never really had a desire to collect clocks," he said. "The businessman in me says, 'It's always for sale.' And I am surrounded by them here."

Christiaan Huygens, a 17th century Dutch scientist who designed the firstclock accurately regulated by a pendulum, also made musical instruments, Ockenden said, and most people in the field today have an interest in music. His shop assistant, Daryl Carlson, is a cellist. "Clocks are musical," Ockenden said. "They play melodies, many of them, and they all are rhythmic. In the shop here, there are a million rhythms going at once. "It's very comforting to me."

Is he obsessed by time?

"Yeah, because I'm the busiest person I know," he said. "I'm working here six days a week, I have my own band and we rehearse once a week and perform a couple times. I have a family. So time to me is precious. I like to have control over it.

"I think most clockmakers wind up being grouchy old guys. You're always at odds with yourself - trying to do high-grade work in a retail environment. "Ultimately, what I'd love to do is have a museum job. I wouldn't have to worry about overhead, I'd get to work only on historically significant pieces . . . and I wouldn't have to work Saturdays anymore."