I'd made the mistake before--believed a plumber who gave me only three options for a faucet. Later I saw the millions we could have chosen, from golden Art Deco flutes to austere squares, swan necks, friendly Colonials, oil-rubbed bronze... Had my husband bribed the man to lie to me? Andrew was most certainly in collusion with the locksmith, because when we moved into our almost-100-year-old house and called him to fix the front door lock, he popped on a basic brass doorknob and double-lock without even asking.
Now, I open restorer's catalogs and sigh heavily. Few appointments for a house are more beautiful than old-fashioned door hinges and Empire--or Georgian or Victorian or Quartermain--backplates and knobs. A friend's hand is welcomed by dolphins, or a cornucopia, or whimsical shells, egg-and-dart or roping. A stranger realizes in a flash: Entrance to this home is not a casual privilege. Over the years, touch will warm and burnish the raised designs, and time will darken the crevices, and the patina will tell the story of hundreds of passages across the threshhold. Pewter, antique brass, nickel, bronze--all these finishes are softer than the glare of cheap new brass. The darkened bronze hinges and knobs scattered through the house are now at odds with a few of those bright brass intruders. Many of the old knobs are a gentle oval, easy on the hands; the new ones are round and uncompromising.
"Why did you let him?" I asked my husband, drawing the verb into a wail. He looked back blankly. "It's a nice solid lock, we'll be safe."
OK, safe's lower on Maslow's hierarchy of needs than aesthetics. But these days, you don't have to choose; they make nice solid locks that add a note of grace to your comings and goings--and if the materials and workmanship are of high quality, they don't look faux or contrived, either.
When designers talk about mixing modern and vintage, they don't mean door hardware. The old backplates are long, a conspiratorial nod to high ceilings and tall doors. The new ones are squat. I glared at them, stalked into the dining room, and unscrewed the pocket-door handles a previous idiot had painted with thick oil-base paint.
I took them to Theiss Plating (parent of Locks and Pulls on Manchester, where I should've gotten the door hardware) before anybody could stop me. Now stripped of the gunk and refinished, they look...right. And pulling the doors open is a pleasure.
Jeannette Cooperman, staff writer
