Meeting Lenore

Ever since I started sewing with Featherweights, I have wanted one from one of my parents' birth years -- 1934 and 1942. Unfortunately, there's no way I'll ever have a 1942 Featherweight. The machines weren't made during World War II. So I had to keep my eyes out for a 1934. The problem is, the first "run" of Featherweights were assigned their serial numbers in November 1933 and probably completed in 1934, so the 1934 machines are among the earliest made, and I figured those would be hard to find, either because people want the "first run" machines, or because they're really old and might have broken down or been discarded. I did read a story on the Internet (which means it's true, of course) that someone found a Featherweight buried in a landfill!

In late August, while scouring the local Craigslist ads as always, I noticed that someone about an hour from my house was selling a Featherweight for $100. It had the blue-lined case from the very earliest Featherweights, and the bobbin tensioner mounted on the front of the machine rather than the top of the bed. The listing did not include a serial number, so I couldn't know for sure that it was a 1934 machine. Also, I already had three Featherweights, and those weren't being used enough, so did I really need to spend a chunk of my Sunday driving back and forth to look at a machine that might possibly be a 1934? Of course! What else did I have to do? Cook? Clean? Who cares about that when sewing machines are begging to be rescued?
I e-mailed the seller and got the following response:

The Vintage Sewing machine has not sold....
I am the treasurer for a women's non- profit group...  Our mission is to help women and children in need and the deaf and hard of hearing in our community.  One way we fund our mission is to set up and run estate sales for elderly and their families when downsizing or have passed. 
With that said we are constantly learning about the items we find.  We cannot get the sewing machine to work.  When we plug it in the light flickers but that is all.
I am responding to approx  25-30 other responders all with the same information.
Do you still want to come take a look?

Hmmm. The fact that the sewing machine didn't work didn't really bother me. I thought (foolishly, as it turns out) that it just had a thread jam or needed oil, and I could fix that lickety-split. But 25 to 30 other possible buyers? That sounded like a good chance that I'd drive up there and someone else would offer more money than me, and I'd lose most of a weekend afternoon. As it turns out, my fears were unfounded. I had decided against the trip, then woke up in the morning thinking it couldn't hurt to find out how many other people would be there, right? Well, there was one lady coming to see it. The seller said she could be available from 1-2:30 p.m. and that was it, so off I went with my 12-year-old along for what turned out to be a 90-minute drive thanks to randomly placed traffic jams on the freeway in the middle of nowhere.
We got there and after greeting the lady who had e-mailed me, I opened up the Featherweight case (missing its handle, and with a hole in the lid), removed the tray and pulled out a very... well-loved, shall we say? ... Featherweight with a serial number of AD55xxxx, which in my mind told me (incorrectly, as it turned out), 1934. The hand wheel wouldn't turn at all. There was clearly a thread jam because I couldn't get the bobbin case out of the machine, and the bed looked like someone had heaved little pebbles onto it. The decals were almost all gone in the front. Someone definitely used this machine a lot.
Who wants a beat-up, possibly nonfunctioning 81-year-old sewing machine? I do! I told the lady I'd wait at the nearby shopping area for the other buyer to show up and decide if she wanted the machine as well.
My daughter and I got something cold to drink, shopped at the farmer's market and waited. Finally, I got a text saying the other buyer never showed up and the machine was mine if I wanted it. Hooray! My daughter had her eye on a silver-plated teapot that she saw at the house and that reminded her of her Grandma Faye, who passed away in 2011, so we bought that, too.
While browsing at the farmer's market, I used my phone to double-check the date of the machine and realized it was actually from that first run, assigned its serial number in November 1933. Rats -- not a 1934 after all! But then I realized, those 10,000 machines were made between late 1933 and mid 1934, and since mine was toward the end of that run of 10,000 machines, the odds are that it was actually finished in 1934. Hooray after all!
I handed over the money, took the machine, and got back on the road.
And a week-long adventure had just begun... 

p.s. The organization that sold me the machine is Quota International. They do important work around the world -- check out the web site of the seller's chapter if you want to learn more about them: http://quotainternationalfortcollins.com

Yes, I name my Featherweights

Fay Bainter

For people who don't collect sewing machines, it might sound odd that I name them. In my defense, I'm not the only one! It's just too confusing when I have some with the same "birth year," so I gave them names.
I still feel a bit sheepish, though, when I refer to my machines by name. I do it because it eliminates confusion for me, and amuses my husband.

I don't name my Kenmores for some reason. Maybe it's because they have different model numbers. So one is the 17741, and the other is the 1500. Or the brown one and the light green one. Or the one in the guest room and the one in the living room.
But the Featherweights have names. My husband loves old movies, and he has the names of all sorts of Oscar winners (people and movies) in his head. So I went with Oscar winners for some of the names. They are:

Fay: She is a 1938 machine, named for the 1938 Oscar winner for best supporting actress, Fay Bainter. I bought her on the online Goodwill site for $101.50. The listing said the motor didn't turn. I took a chance, having wanted a scroll-face Featherweight for a while. She arrived and it took me about five minutes to diagnose and cure the problem -- a thread jam. She is my quietest-running Featherweight.

Luise Rainer

Luise: She is a 1936 machine, named for the Oscar winner for best actress, Luise Rainer. I bought her on eBay.
Dorothy: She is another 1938 machine, named for someone who owned her before me. I bought her on eBay. Inside the top of the case is an address label attached with yellowing tape, which lists the previous owner as Dorothy Dewar of Fort Mitchell, Ky.
But wait, didn't I say I had six sewing machines? Stay tuned for the story of #6, Lenore!

Welcome to my blog!

I have SMAD -- Sewing Machine Acquisition Disorder. Well, to be more specific, I have V-SMAD -- Vintage Sewing Machine Acquisition Disorder.

Others with this addiction will scoff at my claim that I'm one of them, since I own only (yes, only) six sewing machines. There are some among us whose collection (or herd, as it's sometimes called) numbers more than 20. I do actually sew with my machines, but I'm not a sewing addict. I spend a lot more time finding, reading about, tinkering with and occasionally selling machines (usually at a loss). I like the thrill of the chase, finding an unappreciated, neglected old Singer or Kenmore and fixing it up. (I can hear my husband laughing at the idea of chasing sewing machines.) Along with liking certain vintage sewing machines, I clearly love parenthetical phrases.

This is what my favorite Kenmore
looks like. It's a model 158.17741.
I heart this machine.

I don't know how this happened, honestly. Until about 2-3 years ago, I was the contented owner of two machines, which sat completely ignored, probably in my basement. Until my daughter came along, I pieced quilts on those machines. When she was about 10, I realized she was grown up enough that I had a little bit of time on my hands, It could be used for sewing (along with watching baseball and football games). It sort of spiraled from "I should really start sewing again" to "How did I end up with eight sewing machines?" The youngest

of them was 30 years old. I think only one of those is still in my house, my beloved, heavy, all-metal brown-and-beige Kenmore. It replaced the plastic Singer that my parents had bought me for graduation from college. That machine died within six months of regular use, which prompted the purchase of my oldie-but-goodie Kenmore. And that's why I only use old, all-metal machines.

I'll get to the "How did this happen?"  and "Where did those other seven machines go?" stories soon enough. But I'm going to start by telling the story of reviving a dirty, dusty, non-functioning 1933 Singer Featherweight. Her name is Lenore, and her story is coming bit-by-bit in the next few posts.

My 1933 Featherweight looks
a bit like this (photo from the good
ol' Internet) but mine was well
loved. Translation: Mine doesn't
look this good.

Welcome to my blog! I'd love to share your stories, too, so once I figure out this whole blog thing, I'll let you know how to send them.

Ms. Rhymes-With-Tequila, in Colorado