Pretty Rosalie Allen Likes Anvil Chorus
Better Than The Clatter of Pans in Kitchen

By Everett Anderson

Having business in that district, I was walking slowly up Brook Avenue when I saw a man faint. It was just as I crossed the entrance of a long, one-story building that I glanced in and saw him caught by one of his fellow workmen. And by stepping in to see if I could render any aid I chanced on the heroine of my story.

Upon proffering assistance, one of the three men present pointed to a partitioned off corner of the shop and said, "Ask Miss Allen to come out here."

I hurried up to the door of the walled-in office and opened it. Of course, I thought, what the workman really had meant to say was "Mister Allen." Hence, when I stepped into the small room and found a very attractive young woman I assumed her to be the stenographer and inquired for "Mister Allen."

With a charming smile the supposed stenographer arose from behind a lone desk and admonished in a liquid murmur, "You mean Miss Allen, don't you?"

"One of the workmen has fainted," said I, with undue abruptness.

The smile vanished but the charm remained with the competent young business woman who went unhurriedly into action. This smartly attired woman threaded her way among gray strips of iron and past tall machines. Beside the sick one, then she asked short quick, questions, scrutinized the man, and returned thoughtfully to the office, where she dialed a telephone number.

"It's the heat, more than likely," she explained. "This is pretty hard work for hot weather."

Cooly, efficiently, she went about calling the hospital, seeing to it that a room would be ready for the sick man when she got there, and that a doctor would make an immediate examination.

I voiced my thought. "You certainly are a rare secretary."

With a little smile, she said, "I'm the boss."

Femininity Flutters Amid Plowshares

The clue to the business was in a far corner where two anvils stood in front of round stove-live affairs with funnel-pipes suspended above. Near a table, holding "forms" against which the hot iron was hammered into shape, stood an oxygen tank. On the floor and on the walls were various wrought-iron objects, gates, railing, long iron rods. Heat, invisible, pervasive heat, ruled with heavy hand. There were all the appurtenances connected with the thoroughly masculine trade of smithing. But apparently nothing which might hold forth allure to the feminine mind.

The work is hot, rapid, hard and dirty--as evidenced by the dress of the workmen. The material itself, used both for the sword and the plowshare, was hard, heavy, unyielding. And a woman was boss!

"How do you come to have a business like this?" was the compulsory query.

The walls of the little office are painted green, the floor is of cement. A plain, flat-topped, mahogany desk and a revolving chair, and a small chair for a visitor make up all there is of furniture--unless a wastebasket of like color could be so listed. The remaining space is taken up with displaying the company's wares--large brass and iron locks H and HL nines, hand latches, mail boxes, brackets, lamps, weathervanes, and two scroll gates. These objects were on the walls, floor, and ornamental iron shelves. It was a sturdy but plain little room, and the 'boss' herself appeared out of place by being so entirely feminine.

Smiling, she introduced herself as Rosalie K. Allen. (She is, in private life, Mrs. H. Mason Wingfield, wife of a Richmond physician.) "What, exactly, do you want to know?"

"Frankly, I'm wondering how in the world you, a woman, came to head an iron works."

In Woman's Sphere of Home Decorating

"It is rather odd, isn't it. I suppose it can be explained by saying my business concerns the ornamental side of iron working and I've always been interested in interior decoration. My products are to adorn the home--and isn't that generally conceded to be the woman's special privilege? Anyway, I've always liked things made of metal and it became a hobby--I call this firm my hobby.' This circumstance may not seem so strange when you realize that blacksmiths are of that refined number who make beautiful objects. Look at that gate behind you, or the weathervane or lock there--the makers of those had to be able to draw, possess a good foundation in math, and have a technique acquired only through a long apprenticeship. They are real artists--even," she added, "to the point of being temperamental! Therefore, I'm not so inconceivable out of my element after all."

"But how did you happen to get in this sort of business to begin with?"

"It came about simply. For several years I was secretary and a sort of "right-hand man' for the original owner of the business until 1931 when he died. His family were not interested in operating it, so other 'anxious purchasers' appeared--so I took a wild notion of buying it myself."

"What beyond your natural determination and knowledge of the business led you to believe your venture would be a success.

"The restoration of Williamsburg. I had secured orders from there for copies of Colonial iron gates, railings, lanterns, and locks. Supplying these objects gave me work to do. I'm just a bit proud of the fact that it was my workmen who did most of the metal reproductions for Williamsburg.

"Then I also counted on a gradual rise of interest in ornamental wrought-iron because of that restoration. Fortunately, I saw aright, now we have clients throughout Virginia and in several other States."

"Do you contact your customers personally?

"Yes, but the transactions with those in other States I handle by correspondence. Running a home and a factory is a good day's work and covering Virginia gives me about 2,500 miles of driving a month."

"Aren't those who meet you for the first time surprised to find a woman operating an ironworks?"

Rosalie Allen smiled. "If they are astonished they quickly get over it. I think people have gotten used to the idea that women can get along in business and aren't really surprised at finding one attempting an unusual career."

"Was the business started here?" "Oh, no, we have only been here about three years. The plant was located in the North Side beyond the city limits when I first purchased it, but my business grew to such an extent that after the first year I found a larger, more modern building--in a central location. Due to municipal regulations about noise and smoke this was the closest as I could get to the shopping district?"

"By the way, are you a designer also?"

"Yes. Although I can not really draw, I can put my ideas on paper clearly enough for my draftsmen to make a sketch for a client. However, most of our work is confined to architects' drawings for gates, railings and furniture."

"In other words you do everything except the actual manufacturing? And, your husband, what does he say about all this? Most men do not like their wives to work."

"He does not look with great favor upon my hobby, but he realizes how much pleasure I get out of it and the pride I have in trying to make a success of a business I have more or less created."