Shep took the pictures above to illustrate some of the steps in building a box diorama in his book, How to Build Dioramas. The box is now inthe collection of Darryl Audette.

From Sheperd Paine: The Life and Work of a Master Military Modeler and Historian by Jim DeRogatis (Schiffer Books, 2008)

J.D. “The Meeting of the Admiralty Board” is another rare example of you using stock figures in one of your boxes. Is that because it was specifically done to illustrate the step-by-step process of doing a box in How to Build Dioramas?

S.P. Yes, it was done specifically for the diorama book. I wanted to encourage people to try box dioramas, but I couldn’t very well tell them, “Well, the first thing you do is scratchbuild all your figures.” At the time, Tim Richards of Phoenix had done these figures for a tavern scene in 54mm, and I had done the miniature ships for Valiant. They were waterline models, flat on the bottom, but I realized that I all I had to do was make the framing for the bottom of the hull, and I’d have a perfect miniature admiralty model. I was interested in modeling an elaborate room; I had some good drawings showing what the admiralty room looked like, and the figures seemed to fit perfectly.

J.D. I love the amount of detail in this room: the maps, the weathervane, the books, and the globes, which you made out of rubber balls. You must have had some fun.

S.P. It was an enjoyable project to do, and I was getting into resin casting at this point. I had worked in resin for a little while; what I was using was actually some stuff that was used for pattern making, called TUF-Fil. It came in a paste form, and the people at Monogram put me onto it, because they had been using it for their pattern work. I discovered that if I mixed it with clear casting resin, I could get something that would actually pour and cast. This was really a forerunner of the resins we have today. I’d love to have had today’s stuff back then! Things like the Victory would have weighed a tenth as much, because all the metal parts would have been cast in resin.

The furniture is mostly Phoenix stuff. They had a fairly extensive line, and I used their table, chairs, and secretary. The drinking glasses were made out of grain-of-wheat bulbs: I discovered that I could use an emery wheel in the Dremel tool to carefully cut the glass shell off the bulb. This provided the bowl of the glass, which could be glued into the figure’s hand. To simulate the wine, I filled the glasses with clear resin tinted red.

J.D. The box is lit entirely through the windows on the side?

S.P. For the most part, but I also had a general fill light in the center behind the reveal.

J.D. Did you have to work hard to position the figures so they could all be seen?

S.P. To some degree. I tried to get one angle where everybody is visible, but as soon as you move to one side or another, somebody gets lost.

J.D. Philip Stearns originally bought this one, right?

S.P. Yes, and as with most things involving Philip, there’s a long story behind it. Philip had an original Napoleonic Imperial Guard sapper’s axe, a very rare piece of militaria. The story of how he got it is typical of Philip. Years before, when Peter Blum was in the process of setting up the Soldier Shop in New York, he went on a militaria buying trip to France. Philip spoke fluent French, so Peter asked him to come along to help with the negotiating. They went to the flea market in Paris, accompanied by a French lady much smitten with Philip, who enjoyed her company immensely but had no amorous intentions. At any rate, they had heard about this sapper’s axe, and they went off to see the dealer who had it. Sure enough, there it was, hanging on the wall. They asked the dealer for the price, which was substantial. They looked politely at a bunch of other things, but they knew the axe was the reason they had come to Paris. So Peter said, “Philip, tell them we’ll buy the axe.” When Philip did so, the proprietor became very flustered: “I’m sorry, monsieur, it is already sold.” Astonished, Philip asked, “How can it be sold? You gave us a price when we came in, and no one else has come in since then!” Finally, the embarrassed proprietor admitted, “Monsieur, madame has bought the axe.” Philip turned around to see his lady friend beaming from ear to ear. She bought it as a gift for Philip, and Peter never quite forgave him!

When Philip got back to the States, he was, as usual, chronically short of money, so he made arrangements to sell the axe, but the buyer died before he could write the check. Shortly after that, I took the newly finished “Admiralty Board” down to the MFCA Show in Philadelphia, and Philip had already expressed an interested in it. He knew that because it had stock figures in it, it might be within his price range. Shortly after I put it on display, he nervously asked how much I wanted for it. I hadn’t decided yet—I hadn’t really even thought about it—but over drinks before dinner, I jokingly suggested, “You could always trade it for the axe.” He said, “That’s a deal!” And that’s how I got the sapper’s axe that’s in my living room.