The 1907 model 28

I can’t remember the original price, but after buying several items at another local sale one Friday, I returned the next day, purchased a few more and stopped to check the old machine. The lady watched as I carefully examined the bobbin case and then slowly turned the hand wheel three hundred and sixty degrees.

             

“If you want it, just take it.” she said. I looked up at her as if to question this, but she insisted. “One less thing for us to pack.”

I hadn’t planned on a treadle machine. Sis didn’t have one on the list, but I knew that the seller was trying to whittle things down for a move, and I tossed it in the trunk.

 

It’s not an unusual machine and I didn’t know the names of the different decals then. What I did know was that the hand wheel spun easier than most. I’m not sure if this was due to age, or being well maintained, or being a shuttle bobbin… or all three? The decals were decent, the mechs seemed flawless, and it didn’t take up a lot of room. 

Then I became aware that its story wasn’t going to be over until a treadle base came along since it was one of the early models that didn’t have the cast boss below the hand wheel to mount an electric motor.  No one had thought of electric motors on sewing machines in 1907. 

When I sat down to put this blog together and sorted through photos, I realized I didn’t have a picture of what a motor boss looked like - let alone a machine without one, and that didn’t seem very helpful. I went downstairs with the camera ready to find an example and pulled the 28 down off the shelf. As always, I stopped to make sure the machine was fed a few drops of oil. In my haste, I spilled some on the deck and as I wiped it up… the dull deck began to glow. 

This wasn’t the first time I’d watched a drop of errant oil suddenly give luster but it did make me wonder.  Having no idea what kind of machine paint Singer used back then, I’ve always suspected that it must have been oil based. So the machine oil droplet must be reacting in some way with the oil of the paint. I rubbed the drop out with a clean rag and the change was so significant that I forgot my purpose and began rubbing out the rest of it.  Having gone over this once nearly a year ago with warm soapy water… I was surprised how quickly the white rag was turning black, but the finish did look better.  I flipped the machine around and noticed how much better. I could see a distinct line from where I had passed the oily cloth, and where I hadn’t.  The other thing I noticed for the first time was the significant lack of decals on the back. I grabbed the camera and took a picture because I could ‘recognize’ the fact that I might have been in the middle of a before and after situation. Little did I know the extent.

I’d been fooling with a cabinet for a 50’s Kenmore earlier. The top had been trashed. Layers of newspaper had gotten wet and soaked into the finish. It was a mess, and I had sanded some, hoping to save the original veneer. Projects like the cabinet always give me pause because I know I could strip the entire thing and make it look new, but in doing so, it would lose all its character.  In my head it becomes a balancing act between functionality and patina, and that had still been on my mind as I rubbed down the 28. By now, the white rag I had been using had turned coal black. I stopped and looked a little closer. There was a shadow of a decal where there wasn’t one before.

Three hours and five once-white rags later… the 28 did not look like the machine I had sat down on the bench.  One of the cleaner rags smelled of new oil while the others had a scent of alcohol.  The clean oil rag I had started with had loosened a layer of grim that I did not know was there. I haven’t a clue where this machine head had been stored… but it was a dirty place and it had been there a very long time.

In those hours I found decals that weren't there before. I'd gently wipe the dirt down with denatured alcohol and as the crud loosened and lifted the paint underneath would haze so I’d hurry and go over the haze with the oily rag. This combination seemed to suit the paint. I suppose at this point I should say that I am not a professional, this is probably not a recommended process, one should probably wear personal protection equipment like gloves and work in a well ventilated area. I was worried enough about all that as I bumbled along thinking to myself it’s just a happy accident… and having the foreknowledge that I could still buy new decals and paint.

I became so stunned at the transformation I went over every surface. This led to pulling off the bobbin winder and once the surface under it had been cleaned, I was faced with having to clean the winder.  Paint was one thing, but the colors and patina of the winder metal was entirely different, and yet it had to be functional. Carefully, and beginning on the back surface, the dirt and crud came off with an old toothbrush and some alcohol. There was still discoloring to the metal underneath, but it appeared completely natural, so I flipped it over and continued. 

After a thorough, if not completely unexpected, cleaning. It’s as if they were two different machines, and I’m not finished yet. The needle bar assembly and top tension wheel will have to be taken apart and done as well.  All my trepidation about whether or not I should put a blog together seems to have silenced for a little while. 

And yet the purpose was to show the difference between having a motor boss, and not having one: