In the coldest winter this country ever recorded, Morristown's hearths held the line — and the town has judged workmanship by that standard ever since. From pre-Revolutionary houses by the Green to the Victorians up the hill, we sweep, repoint and rebuild to headquarters spec, and the phone stands watch every hour of every day.
A garrison runs on its order book — every duty written, assigned and done, whatever the weather chooses. Ours holds eight standing orders, and the crew that answers the phone is the crew that executes them.
Every sweep runs the same drill, every time: floors covered, mouth sealed, rods worked in order, vacuum drawing throughout. Drill makes clean, and clean is the whole point.
The whole chimney called to account at no charge — every part that touches smoke or weather reviewed in order, with the verdict reported before we stand down. A camera joins the review when proof matters.
A stack that can't hold its position comes down with discipline — only as far as failure reaches — and goes back up plumb, bonded and crowned to stand against every winter the county can raise.
Mortar that has served out its enlistment gets relieved with honors: cut back to sound depth without wounding the brick, then replaced by a blend matched to the wall's age — lime-soft where the house demands it.
The army built huts before the snow came; a flue deserves the same forethought. A measured stainless cap with tight screening quarters it against rain, squirrels and the January the hills always send.
Water probes a chimney like a patient siege. We scout its approach through crown, cap seat, flashing and joint until the breach is located and confirmed — then close it and hold it closed.
Cracked clay and bare brick served their term; today's appliances require a commissioned line. Each flue receives one continuous stainless liner, sized to the duty it performs, fit for decades of service.
A firebox worn out by faithful service gets refit, not discharged: burned brick relaid in refractory mortar, the smoke chamber dressed for honest draw, inserts and stoves fitted level and true.
Sentries lit alarm fires so trouble was met early, on favorable terms. A chimney posts the same warnings — if the household reads them.
Nothing improvised, nothing skipped: the call, the muster, the terms, the work — executed in that order, every time.
Any hour of any day, the watch answers. Report what the chimney's been doing and claim the slot that suits your household.
The whole system called to account, free of charge, with the findings reported to your face in plain speech.
Each repair listed with its own figure, the urgent flagged ahead of the optional. Terms agreed are terms kept.
The work executed to headquarters standard, the grounds policed spotless, the craft warranted in writing.
When the first hard freeze rolls over the Green, the households already entered in our book light their fires like it's nothing — because for them it is. One call, at any hour you please, adds your chimney to the rolls.
(862) 260-8772Recent entries from the ledger — sweeps, crowns, caps and relieved joints from the Green to the hill towns.
Headquarters sits on Madison Ave; the trucks ride the rounds through town and the hill villages that ring it.
Beyond the picket line? Call (862) 260-8772 — the rounds ride farther than the roster shows.
No forms, no adjutants, no waiting on a reply. The voice on the line can size a flue from your report, frame honest terms, and enter the visit in the book — at noon or at three in the morning.
The smoke that lingered last night, the stain the March thaw left, the closing date advancing on your calendar — report it once and ring off knowing whether a truck rolls, when it arrives, and the honest range of the repair.
(862) 260-8772 Tap — the Watch AnswersHeld every hour of every day, the whole year
An army kept watch on this town; the habit stayed