From this small workshop in Newport, a quaint New England town made rich by colonial craftsmen, Jim Breakell's mail order business sells his designs in gold and silver. His pieces-from hand-wrought spoons and hollowware to fine jewelry and pendants-represent decades spent exploring his craft, and his company represents an autodidactic-and sometimes unwitting-journey into the world of business.

Shortly before he discovered silver¬smithing, Breakell discovered another gem: Newport. Drawn westward by the lure of a verdant counterculture, he left Hampden-Sydney in his senior year for California. His goal of making peace and not war was foiled when, in 1970, he was drafted. Before reporting to duty, he visited friends in Newport. From the seat of a borrowed motorcycle he spent his final days as a civilian navi¬gating the narrow streets of Newport, a town hugged by cliffs, colored by a pastiche of architectural styles, and pulsing with the bohemian energy of a young, hip artisan community. He left for boot camp knowing that this place would be his home.

Two years later, as the war wound down, he returned to Newport as Sgt. Breakell and took a job polishing silver at a small metal antique restoration shop. A former Volkswagen mechanic, he was immediately drawn to the forgotten tools of the silversmiths. Through trial and error he learned the craft and was soon a talented artificer of gold and silver. Breakell had found his calling.

Eager to pour his own aesthetic insights into his work, he and two area goldsmiths opened a shop in Bowen's Wharf. At the time, the Americas Cup was being run out of Bowen's, and Breakell found himself in the heart of an international party Mecca. He was making very little money, however, because he was still doing each piece one at a time. "I'd spend a week making something, put it in a case, and charge $150," he says. "I never made my cost."

Despite the lean times, Breakell doggedly continued hand-forging tankards, spoons, and other traditional pieces. Profitability changed when he began to design jewelry using the lost wax casting method, an ancient process that allows an original wax carving or sculpture to be accurately transmuted into metal. A rubber mold is made around the carving and injected with molten wax. The perfect wax replica that results is encased in plaster and heated until the wax melts away. The remaining hollow mold is injected with molten silver or gold using a vacuum. After it has cooled the mold is peeled away to reveal a piece of precious metal faithful to the details and subtleties of the original carving.

Jim Breakell forges a spoon at his tree-bole anvil.

In 1975 he opened his own base¬ment shop, where he transformed sheets of metal into spoons, hollow¬ware, jewelry, and a complete tea set. In 1980 he married Joan and acquired two stepchildren. Although his busi¬ness had grown significantly, he felt the time had come for a "real job." After a few years of independent work, he realized that there were virtually no employers who would hire him for what he wanted to do.

So he and Joan built a studio in their basement and read a book on running a mail order business. Their first ad, in the back of The New Yorker-for a handmade sterling silver belt buckle-now hangs framed on his studio wall. People asked to see more, so they started a catalogue. Breakell's trade was suddenly extended beyond tools and metal, into the world of computers, software, printing, and mailing.

"We certainly weren't born business people," says Breakell, "but that's what we had to do to keep doing what we loved." Just as he had tried to hammer his ideas into raw silver, he and Joan learned business through trial and error. One of the first lessons: the importance of inventory. "I really had to get over being disappointed about running out of stuff," he says. Once they adapted to demand, however, the business took off. Customers all over the country were order¬ing their jewelry, Rhode Island governors wore their neckpieces, and a little silver broccoli pin they sent to Barbara Bush made its way into the prestigious displays of the National Archives.

In 1993, however, misfortune struck. Breakell was diagnosed with PXE, a genetic disease that scars the retina. When his central vision began to hide the details of the jewelry he was making, he was forced to give up his craft. "That was tough," he says, "but things like this happen all the time. It's part of being a human."

In retrospect, Breakell views it in a positive light. "One of the reasons we are doing so well is that I'm running a busi¬ness and not working on the bench," he says. "And I'm lucky to have a lot of talent working for me."

Today J.H. Breakell & Company's nine employees produce Jim and Joan's designs. The company makes $1.5 million worth of jewelry, and their rapidly increasing catalogue circulation promises to push demand even higher. While most of their products are sold from the catalogue or off the website (www.breakell.com), customers can still browse at their store on Spring Street and watch the meticulous hand craftsmanship in progress through the windows of the workshop. And that's one thing Breakell says will not change.