Saving Machine 101

The process became routine. I’d take a machine to the bench, do the research and the work to get it running, and then Sis would sit down and make it sew, but at this point, there were no more machines. I was finishing up the cabinets when she left for her two-week-long working vacation.  When it came to costuming, this is where she’d see most of her customers. 

She drove away shortly after 1pm on a Thursday, and as I checked emails there was a ‘curb alert’ (one of those ‘come get it today before the garbage truck gets it in the morning’ sort of posts). The photo showed a worn simple sewing table with an old black Singer, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t seen an ad like this before… but it was five minutes away. Out the window, storm clouds were visible. It was about to rain.

Twenty minutes later the table and machine stood in the garage. They were soaking wet. I went to identify the model except I couldn’t find the serial number. The electric motor looked completely different. Finally, underneath, there were a set of letters and numbers.

The simple desk was called the Singer model 40 Deluxe library table.  This was an early version since each leaf is the same width. The machine numbers identified a Singer 101 from 1929.  At least, that’s what they were once. The top didn’t close. One hinge was bent. A pivot pin had snapped. The veneer had stains. The leaf prop didn’t. Half of the knee control lever was missing along with the bobbin cover, and the balance wheel wouldn’t move. Evaluating it all, I thought about returning it to the curb.

In searching maintenance information I found a forum discussing another frozen 101.  Their solution was to add a washer under the balance wheel nut, and they were right. It allowed just enough leverage to move the mechanism back and fourth the tiniest bit. This would be the test. If it came loose, then it might be worth the bother. I sprayed the oiling points with Tri-flo that night and in the morning that tiny bit of movement doubled. Each time I walked by it, I’d stop and nudge the wheel. The next day it moved a little more, then that much again, and then finally a whole rotation. I retraced steps with machine oil (13 drops for the spider wick). It took four days before the wheel moved by hand without any complaint. 

There were wiring issues.

The worst of it was the run from the terminal to the ceramics of the knee controller. One wire lay bare across the other's contact post - a short, or fire, about to happen. I couldn't salvage any of them and made a new set, and since I was there, cleaned all the contacts in the controller. The four wires running from the terminal to the light and motor had a couple little spots that I covered in electrical tape temporarily. It would all have to be replaced if the machine would run. 

 

Up top, I stripped the needle bar of rust, printed out a threading diagram, found a fused power strip and a bobbin. If it wouldn’t run, or sew, there wasn’t a reason to go any further.  With everything connected I flipped the switch on the power strip and the garage lights stayed on… always a good sign. Then, with my insulated glove hand… I nudged the metal knee control and there was a buzz, but no movement. I turned it all off and went back to the hand wheel and tried it again, doing several rotations. It was a touch stiff, but felt better each time around. The second time I tried the knee control the machine responded, and before long it hummed along completely oblivious to its condition.  It was a nice sound and even in its slightly askew position, there wasn’t much vibration. After a few more ups and downs on the revs, it was time to turn it all off and find thread.

I followed the threading diagram and it made the initial loop when asked by hand and I swept the lower thread across the deck, arranged the test cloth, dropped the foot, eased the knee control and got nothing. It wouldn’t sew. It felt like it would. It acted as if it was going to, but somewhere something wasn’t right. I pulled the top thread, made some knots in a piece of it and ran it through the upper tension and then chased that with a piece of Emory cloth. I’d replaced the old needle and it was in the correct position, but not knowing any better I cleaned the old needle and put it back. Out of my sister’s playbook, I changed the top thread, but it still wouldn’t sew.

I stopped, sat there, starred at it… and something didn’t ‘look’ right. Back upstairs on the internet I retraced images of other 101 machines, and that’s when it hit me. There were too many holes in my bobbin (and have been educated since). Since Sis had a habit of buying up every odd catch of sewing items she came across, I rooted through a box on the shelf in the sewing room marked ‘other bobbins’ and found one that matched the online photographs. 

With new top thread, the old needle back in place, and the correct 66 type bobbin instead of a 15, I tried it all over again. Material in place, lower thread up, pressure foot down, I nudged the knee control and it tossed down a stitch! It wasn’t pretty. I needed to adjust top tension, but it was there. It would sew, and still, I was torn between elation and resignation. 

 

The list went like this: replace pivot pin, straighten leaf hinge, disassemble the leaf support rod mechanism, clean it, oil it, put it back in place. Remove the top tension assembly, clean and replace. Rewire the motor and light. Replace the bulb (old one lasted three minutes). Detail clean the machine, and then… there was the cabinet finish. 

I have to thank Nicholas Rain Noe’s Vintage Singer Sewing Machine blog and his detailed step by –photographed- step on How to Rewire a Singer 201 potted-motor, that gave me the education and materials list to apply to the Singer 101. 

There are obvious differences, but the basics are very similar. The flexible lead tube that routes the light wires around the internal shaft on the 101, is ingenious, but it’s not fun.  It took me two days to replace all the wiring, another to attend to the leaf prop, pivot pin, bent hinge… well almost bent hinge. It’s a lot less bent, but I really should find another one.

The hinge isn't the only thing I should find someday. After a week of the metal digging into my knee I went and made an extension for the controller. Sat there one night and just whittled it out of an old chair piece. It's a lot more comfortable, but maybe I'll sew up a little padded cover...

 

By the time I got to the cabinet I’d grown strangely fond of it. Sure the finish had worn in places, and there were nicks and stains. The worst were on the sewing surface around the hinges where over time the iron from the metal had seeped into the wood.  And yet… where would you ever find a cabinet where there were black stains around the hinges where over the years iron had seeped into the wood? 

The whole piece seemed to be telling a story, it’s autobiography. As if to say: This is where the sewing stool would always nick my leg… and so on and so forth. This was beyond patina. It was history. I couldn’t strip it. All I could do was try to preserve every flaw that was there.  I'm sure some won't like it, but for me, it's not a museum piece. It's something to be used and enjoyed, and I enjoy it this way. It doesn't need to be set near a window for a view, it's already built in.