When I lived in New York, I was fortunate enough to run the first incarnation of Fabrikate (then a home furnishings business) but quickly discovered that the several home sewing machines that I had been using just couldn't support the amount of work I was doing with them. I knew several fabric shop owners had recommended a guy named Jimmy on 37th Street. I called him and went to his shop, which was located in a dingy basement. He was a sewing machine mechanic who specialized in vintage industrial sewing machines for all manner of people and companies. He would salvage sewing machines for fun from old sweatshops in New York and the surrounding area, then refurbish and resell them. I explained to him my needs and the problems that I was having with my home machines. He had several refurbished machines in the dark and dirty hallway in front of his tiny, overcrowded work room. Some were newer and much flashier Jukis, but being that my mom always used a Singer machine, I was drawn to an older, more beat-up cast iron Singer 241-12 machine. It was made in 1946, used in a sweatshop in New Jersey that I believe made jeans, and had a gold Singer logo on the front, which I loved. Jimmy said, and I quote, "That one's not pretty, but it's a workhorse." He turned on the machine with an extremely satisfying click of the huge square "ON" button, and the machine came alive with the most beautiful hum. Then, Jimmy proceeded to sew through seven pieces of leather without even the slightest problem. He told me he'd sell the machine to me for $400, including delivery to my second-floor apartment in Brooklyn.
That weekend, he arrived perfectly on time, and he and my husband carried it up to the apartment. Jimmy got it all set up for me, and asked if I needed any guidance using it at first. I think he sensed I was a bit intimidated. I suddenly blurted out, "Okay, I'm afraid of this thing!" Jimmy calmly looked at me with a twinkle in his eyes, and said "Kate, it's just a machine. Take your time and go slow." I lowered the presser foot with the knee pedal (now one of my favorite features), stepped on the gigantic foot pedal, and away we went. I was immediately in love. Gertie has been with me ever since 2006, through miles of curtains, slipcovers, other home furnishings and now, endless bags. She's my most prized possession and one of my best decisions ever.
Comments
Post a Comment