The Collectors

I was never a big collector of things until we started talking about buying a house. I mean, I lived in an apartment. There wasn’t a whole lot of room to have a bunch of kitsch. Plus, you know, it’s more crap to dust…if one was inclined to do that sort of thing.

However, once we decided to buy a house, we started collecting. Dennis had been a beer can collector for many years. This must be a guy thing. My opinion is that empty cans should be immediately discarded. Having said that, I do have some cool vintage cans as decoration in the kitchen….ah, the allure of the 50 year old lard can!

I had decided before we even started looking at houses, that I wanted a yellow kitchen. So, I started collecting yellow enamelware. Lots of it…pots, pans, utensils, buckets, lunchboxes, just about anything with that buttermilky color. Most of it is in a box in the basement.

At another point, we started picking up green and white transferware. Plates, platters, covered casseroles. Most of it is in a box in the basement.

Somewhere along the line, I got interested in bone dishes…most of those, yep, in the basement.

There have been other transient interests – Vaccum coffee pots, Frankoma pottery, Roseville jardiniere planters, feedsack quilts and fabric, vintage thimbles, old Kodak folding cameras, etc., etc. We get really good at walking antique malls doing the ‘quick scan’, zeroing in on our objects of interest. We are power-antiquers. We are sprinters, not marathoners. Scan, scan, pick up, put back, scan.

We never purchase gobs of anything, just enough to wet our whistle and then we move on to something new.

Well, we’ve moved on to something new.

A Singer 99k (in a cabinet, but removed for cleaning), a Singer 221-1, and a Featherweight table.

I have a few of sewing machines: a Brother 2800 that I got a few years ago for Christmas, a Singer CE-200 that I got this year and a small little Janome that is extremely portable. I also have a 1980/1990-ish Singer 45…something or other. While they are nice and sew reasonably well, they are kind of blah.

My mother has a Singer. I remember her getting it when I was in grade school. It’s a real Singer; black, shiny and heavier than sin. My guess is that it’s a Model 66, although I don’t know for certain. That’s a sewing machine. A durable good. Not a big plastic milk carton that has mechanics inside.

I’ve often seen these old machines in the antique stores. Some beautiful, most in need of a little loving. Dusty, dirty, perhaps a little rusty. I’ve touched the cool metal and the warm oak of those treadle machines and thought, “If only I had enough coordination to use one of these babies.”

Well, for some reason, I had gotten it stuck in my craw to get a vintage Singer. I had done a little research and decided that the Singer 99 was the machine for me. It is a 3/4 size machine, portable but hefty. It got excellent reviews from those who know about such things. I did a quick search on eBay. They didn’t appear to be in the ‘rare’ category. That meant 1) I could probably find one and 2) I could probably afford one.

I set out to find one. Of course, when we went on an antiquing excursion to Amish country a few weeks ago, I was not looking for one. I believe we saw about a gazillion vintage machines in our travels. I would not be so lucky around home, I knew.

A lot of the antique stores in Northwest Ohio are closing. The market has turned and people are not looking for antiques. Regardless, we have some stores we frequent and there are a couple of good sized malls within an hours drive.

Saturday morning we set out. We both figured it was likely to be a long day. Our first stop was going to be to an indoor flea market. We’d been there once and found some old film which fit one of our old Kodak cameras. We need to spool to load/rewind newer film. It was a great find, and reasonably cheap.

Today, we did not get so lucky. The flea market parking lot was empty.

“I think they’re closed”, Dennis said.

“Can’t be, it’s 10 o’clock”, I replied.

“No, I don’t mean closed, I mean CLOSED.” He said.

“You think?”, I mumbled.
We inched the truck toward the front of the building. The usual closed sign was displayed (the market was only open on Friday, Saturday and Sunday), but right beside it was another sign.

Auction Result Pick-up

—————>

Oh crap! They are closed…for good.

I figured I would find 117 pristine machines for $2.50 each in there.

Onward.

We went down the road a little to another shop we frequent regularly. We had purchased a beautiful sideboard from them a while back at an affordable price. I had high hopes….

They didn’t last long. A couple of vintage machines, but nothing of interest and way over-priced for the condition.
We headed out. Dennis wanted to stop to pick up his new glasses. I felt that was unreasonable and rude when there was shopping to be done, but, I’m a giver….damnit!

After picking up the specs, we discussed our strategy. We’ll head over to the teeny, tiny little store about 2 miles up the road – where we’ve never had much luck – and then proceed to the string of shops about an hour or so from home.

We pulled into the lot of the teeny, tiny store. There were a couple of cars. The shop is a converted circa 1950s brick ranch. It has a lot of little nooks and crannies that compel you to take your time. So, we started scanning, slowly. In one of the front rooms, we found an older sewing machine cabinet. Of course, it had about 50 little glass geegaws that needed to be moved carefully. Of course, there was no place to put said geegaws, I swear we rearranged the entire booth. We cleared the top and opened the lid. The sleeping machine was a heavy, late 40s early 50s model that didn’t have much panache. We decided to move on (yes, we put all the geegaws back first). We went through about three more rooms and headed toward the back of the house. In the main pass-through to the back we stopped. Another sewing machine cabinet. Blocked by 2 chairs and an end table. With no space to move said blockage, Dennis picked up the chairs and carried them into another room. I opened the cabinet. A semi-shiny black sewing machine peeked up at me.

“Hi! I’m a Singer 99k! Buy Me!” Oh man! I’ve had this conversation before.
She was in pretty good shape. And she came with some attachments. We looked around for an electrical outlet to test it. We moved the cabinet within cord’s length and prepared to plug it in. I silently prayed we didn’t 1) trip the breakers of the house or 2) cause an electrical fire. I allowed Dennis to plug in the old cord, because, you know, I’m a giver. The lamp on the top of Singer lit brightly. This was promising. I turned the handwheel. Everything moved like it was supposed to. Everything sounded like it should. No grinding, no rubbing, no chunk-a-chunk-a-chunk.

Dennis pressed the foot pedal. Again, the needle slid up and down effortlessly, belt turned happily, the motor sang sweetly, nary a chunk-a-chunk-a-chunk to be heard. I happened to have a piece of fabric in my purse (I would have done great on Let’s Make a Deal when Monty Hall called out for someone who had a lemon in their bag), so I stuck it under the needle.

Dennis pressed the foot pedal. Forward…and reverse. Smooth!

Dennis: “Want it?”

Me: “Oh, yes.”

Dennis: …~
Me: …!
It then dawned on me to ask….

Me: “Oh. How much is it?”

The machine and cabinet were priced at $45.00. I knew we would be able to do better than that.

Dennis started to wander into another room as I gently stroked the Singer 99K.

“I’ll be right back, sweetie. Then Daddy and I will take you to your new home. You’ll like it,” I purred.

I started to poke my nose into another room where vintage kitchen gadgets were calling to me. I heard Dennis voice calling my name. He never calls my name. If we’re in a store and there’s something kind of cool, he’ll say, “Wow, look at this.” Then, I look. This time, he called my name. And it wasn’t an excited tone like “Hurry up, you’ve got to see this great whats-a-ma-jiggy”. It was oddly calm, kind of a “Well, you have a big bee on the top of your head you should know about, but I don’t want you to make too sudden of a movement” tone.

I turned and headed toward the voice. There, at the back of the room, sat the prettiest little thing I’ve seen in a long time. A beautiful, shiny Singer Featherweight on a cheapy red, aluminum TV tray with faux-gold legs. Dennis was crouched down in front of it. I think he was petting it.

I heard myself gasp. I felt myself being taken out of my body and levitating toward the Featherweight. At that point I noticed a man was standing to the left of the Featherweight, looking over his shoulder.

“How much?” I asked. He told me the price. It seemed cheap. Surely the machine did not work.

The man piped in “I was just looking at that” just when Dennis said “And that includes the table, case and everything.” The man let out a groan. He hadn’t seen the case sitting underneath the TV tray and he hadn’t seen the folding card table with the cut out specifically sized for the 221-1.

I think I cooed a little. And perhaps drooled a bit.

Again with the testing. Dennis moved the machine toward an outlet. We plugged in, turned on, pedaled and stitched. Zowie! She seemed fine.

I noticed the man kept circling. Never really close, but just close enough. It reminded me of the vultures one sees from time to time circling over a thicket. There’s something dying nearby. They aren’t there to to provide first aid, they’re waiting to scavenge.

Dennis knew, and I knew too, if we left that machine, the man would swoop in and grab it. Caw-caw!
I whispered to Dennis that I wanted to find the owner to see if we could make a deal.

“Don’t worry,” Dennis hissed “I’m not leaving this machine.” He’s so good.

I toddled off and found the owner. I brought her back with me. I showed her the 99k, the 221, et al. I asked her how much for everything.

She gave me a figure. I gulped, and tried to remain calm.

“I can do that,” I said. I looked at Dennis for his approval – which I got. I looked for the man, thinking he might be committing hari kiri at this point. He had left the area. I thought he might be waiting around the corner to ambush me. He was standing at the front of the store. As soon as he saw us toddle up with our booty, he and his female companion headed toward the door. I watched through the window as they pulled out of the driveway. I felt sure he was just out of view, with a crowbar in hand, but we paid and left in safety. In fact, I only watched the rear view mirrors for about a half hour to ensure we weren’t being followed.
I’ve known about Featherweights for several years. I know how much they can sell for – both online, in a store and in a private sale. I knew I’d never have one. We recently shopped in an Indiana antique mall where I saw at least four Featherweights, none of which were priced under $500.

I’d been watching Singer 99Ks on eBay. I knew the price range that I could expect.

I’ve also been watching the Featherweight tables. I never knew they existed until recently. I never dreamed the price they would fetch.

All in all, I got the whole package for almost half the price of the Featherweights in Indiana. Both machines are in good shape. Not pristine, but good working machines. Something you feel comfortable using. The table has been painted chocolate brown, probably because the veneer was chipped on the edge. At some point we’ll strip that off and maybe reveneer.

I have been cleaning and polishing, trying to get several years of gunk off the outside. Dennis is responsible for ensuring the inside is oiled and lubed.

I’ll report back when we start to sew.