Singer 201-2 Number 4

Yesterday, I drove around nearly all day.  I enjoy driving, but not yesterday.

I visited some towns I haven't seen in decades and, not surprisingly, for good reason: in my part of the country, we have lumber towns -- one-industry mill towns that have seen their industry regulated out of competitiveness and/or the victims of changing economics.  These depressed, shabby burgs were at one time a series of feast-or-famine communities that provided some well-paying and many low-paying jobs (many of these lumber jobs are dangerous), a few supporting businesses and government services, usually a bad local school system, and seething social problems.  They now just have the supporting businesses that are barely hanging on, a few government services that are stretched (and many don't make a difference), bad schools, and seething social problems.  And the towns themselves make for a sad day of driving.  I saw the eventual hopelessness that a lack of foresight almost always produces: houses with grass growing from the gutters, what appear to be alcoholics roaming the streets, a great deal of peeling paint and broken pavement, broken and boarded windows, hand-painted 'For Sale' signs, and grinding poverty.  At least the marijuana trade appears to be booming, now that Washington State voters -- in their incredible wisdom -- made the industry legal with, it appears, no enforcement of any common sense regulations.  And what better communities for wealthier out-of-towners to set up shop than in towns used to drug and alcohol binges (spend it now because you won't have it tomorrow) and government assistance?  Le sigh.

I wish I had a lot of money -- a LOT.  I would like nothing better than to change the fortunes of a small town.

But it's not all terrible.  Towns like these sometimes provide incredible bargains on items of real value, items such as sewing machines.  I had won an auction for a knitting machine, a 1960s and '70s fad that is experiencing a bit of a resurgence.  The seller is a pawn shop that lists items on eBay.

I sometimes wonder about the circumstances under which an item becomes offered for sale.  Is it a family treasure, sold with great reluctance due to great financial hardship?  What kinds of things were lovingly made with it and how much pride did it give its owners, a thing of genuine purpose and value?  I decided long ago that if I worry about all those possibilities, I'll never acquire any used, vintage item that I like.  I agree with the idea that if a thing cannot be let go in a time of need, then that thing has become a master to its owner.  Yet in depressed towns like these, I feel like I'm a bit of a vulture, preying on a community that needs my money, a seller that would be able to get more than I'm paying were it not for geography, the immediacy of their situation, and some knowledge.

I bought 3 machines.  (I actually found about 20 but most were ready for the land fill.)  The most notable of these is a Singer 201-2 in good shape, in need of a thorough cleaning, wiring, and a pedal.  I found it in the pawn shop that sold me the knitting machine and it was sitting next to a 1990s plastic Brother.  The Singer was $10 and the Brother was $50.  Seeing the two machines and their prices, any lingering guilt was assuaged and I was on my way, Singer in my arms.

     
 I will be re-wiring and cleaning it up soon.  Stay tuned.