Inside Grandma's Sewing Machine Table, Part 1

This morning I brewed up a pot of the delicious Pecan Pie flavored coffee my son brought me, drank a couple of cups, and the next thing I knew I was down in the basement cleaning and going through things!  I don't know what was in that coffee...  After an hour or so of sorting through the usual boring things (clothes the kids had outgrown, half-finished craft items, piles of computer paraphernalia), I came upon Grandma's old Singer sewing machine that Grandpa gave me after her death in 1991.  It sits inside its beautiful wooden and wrought iron sewing table, tucked down in its little cubbyhole, with all kinds of stuff piled on top of it.  Today, I cleared it off and brought the machine up for a good cleaning, and proceeded to go through the sewing table drawers.  Some of the items inside belonged to my grandmother, and some I picked up at garage sales.  All neat stuff.

I don't remember Grandma using this machine - I think it was the 1950s when she got a new or newer Singer with a "gas pedal", the same machine I learned on.  I was 12 years old before she'd let me use electricity - until then, it was crank, crank, crank.  Naturally, she told me one of her little white lies about knowing a girl who sewed too fast with electricity, and ran the needle right through her fingernail and out the other side.  I believed it then and was horrified, and still think of it while sewing occasionally today.  But Grandma, if you're listening, I'm on to you now.  But I'm still scared.  And I never go fast.

By that time though, this machine was tucked away in her basement, with stuff piled on top of it, much like it's been at my house for the last 21 years.  I remember her mostly patching Grandpa's clothes and making blankets, not so much sewing clothes except for our Barbie dolls.

I checked the Singer website to see if I could find out when this machine was manufactured, and it was in 1920, which was a bit of a surprise.  I didn't think it was that old.

The first thing I found was tucked down on the bottom of the table - and old Climax sewing machine that I had picked up cheap at a garage sale many years ago.

The Climax Sewing Machine Company was a sub-company of New Home.  Singer bought out the company in the 1920s.  This machine has a motor added on to the back of it.

I will save what I found in the sewing table drawers for the next blog post or two.  A nice glimpse into the past, if I do say so myself.

I think I'm going to have another pot of that Pecan Pie flavored coffee tomorrow and see what else I can find...


Sources:
http://www.blurtit.com/q860236.html

Infusing a Passion for Ancestors in the Next Generation

"Tell me that story again, Grandma," my four year old granddaughter Alyssa pleaded.  "Which one?" "The one about the boy who fell in love with the pretty girl," she replied.  Oh yes, that would be the story of how my grandfather, Adolph, met my grandmother, Agnes, in Norway.

Agnes and Adolph

She loves the story about how this 14-year-old boy and his father, Andreas Larsen, went inland to grind their grain, and were caught in a bad storm.  They sought refuge at the farm of Justin Frendal, and it was then that Adolph first met Justin's beautiful daughter, Agnes, and could not get her off his mind.  Some time later, Adolph accompanied his father to the Frendal sawmill to cut timber, and caught Agnes' attention in return.  As was the custom at that time in Norway, Agnes was hired out to another family to help with the household work, and oddly enough (or maybe not so odd), she ended up in the household of Andreas Larsen, and the rest is history - family history.

Thanks to the remembrances of uncles, aunts, and distant family overseas, we are fortunate to know some of the personal stories and events that breathe life into the bare facts of this couples' existence.

Like most little girls, Alyssa loves the wonderful romantic element that is the core of the story, but without realizing it, she is learning something of Norwegian geography and customs.  After telling her this story several times, we looked at pictures of the fjords; we looked at maps showing where the Larsen farm was in relation to the Frendal farm and the sea that separated them; we learned what Agnes' life was like as a girl growing up in a different land.  She learned what the immigration experience was like as Adolph and Agnes left their families and homeland, and the simultaneous hope for the future and the sadness that Agnes would not see her family again.  She has seen pictures of the Oscar II, the huge ship that carried the young couple to the land we call home today.

But the best part for me was watching her eyes open wide when I told her that her Grandpa Wally, whom she knows well, was their little boy.  Suddenly the fairy tale prince and princess became quite real, and best of all, they became HERS.

In all this, we need to be careful to keep it truthful.  I have to admit, there was some disappointment when I discovered that my German ancestral grandfather Nicholas, did not meet his beautiful French bride Dorothea Francine, while fighting in a war in France.  Nicholas, in fact, had no military experience - he was a widower with two young boys, and "Dorothea Francine" was actually Franken Dorothea, a poor German woman with a little girl.  However, they had their own stories of adventure, determination and struggles with the German government, and building "something" from "nothing."  Looking at their lives and challenges in the context of what was happening in their personal lives, their country, and in the world, makes for an interesting story in itself.  There is no need to embellish the facts to make their story an interesting one.

Of course, not all family stories are going to appeal to all children, but hopefully the realization that Adolph and Agnes were Alyssa's people, and they have an interesting story, will lead her to wonder about her other ancestors as well - Martin Adams, the Revolutionary War Patriot who was a drummer just like her grandpa; Rebecca Lair, the poor widow with nothing who ended up being a landowner; John Adams, the gold miner in the California Gold Rush; Grandma Lisa, who experienced the Nazi invasion of Norway firsthand, among others.  Knowing that these were her people, and their blood flows through her veins will hopefully create a thirst in her for more.

Someone Else’s Treasure–the Autograph Book of Miss Helen Sundquist, Part 2

Dear Helen

Round as a ring with no end
and so is my love to you my friend.
Yours Truly
Gertie Cooley

Dear Helen

A handsome man is hard to find
And when you find one good and true
Marry him if he will you.
Katie Smyth
Toulon, Ill. Stark Co.

Friend Helen

Do all the good you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as every you can,
Be good to yourself
And remember me
When you can.
Your school mate.
Jeruah Cooley
Toulon, Ill.
Jan. 29, 1890

Friend Helen

What! write in your Album
For the learned to laugh at,
And the critics to spy,
No not I.
Emma Whittaker (Class of ‘88)

Yours with Kindly Regards. Plessie Johnson, Toulon, Ill. Class of ‘88 March 15, ‘88.
*
Remember me as a true friend. Edna V. Hassen, Seniors of the Three Eights 1888, Toulon, Ill. Mar. 14.
*
Remember me as another true friend. Ollie B. Harlisser.
*
Clara M. Myers. Toulon, Illinois. October 12, 1885.
*
Zaidee V. Hulsizer. Toulon, Illinois. March 14th, 1888.
*
Helen: Ever be faithful to your trust. J. H. Broomall.
*
Dear Helen – Remember your friend, Myrtle Ward. Feb. 17th, 1880.
*
Maggie Gemmell, Toulon, Ill. March 2, 1885.
*
Will Morrison

Dear Helen

May your life be like an Arithmetic:
Your joys added. Your cares subtracted.
Your blessings multiplied and your sorrows divided.
Your Friend,
Jennie Myers
Toulon, Ill.
Oct. 12, 1885

You ask for your Album a rhyme;
With pleasure I hear and obey;
Refusal were folly or crime
For who could to Helen say “nay?”
Susie M. Edwards
Toulon

Helen

Forget me not is all I ask
This simple boom of thee
Oh! may it prove an easy task
To some times think of me.
Your Friend
Alva Ban
March 18, 1887

Friend Helen

Weeks may pass and year may end
But you will find in me a friend.
Yours Lovingly
Emma Olson
Feb. 11, 1889

Helen:

If you love me as I love you
No knife can cut our love in two.
Yours Truly,
Mabel Stanley
Toulon, Ill.
Jan. 7th, 1885

Dear Helen

May the days of your life be as joyous as the birds in the trees.
Yours Truly,
Willie Sundquist
Toulon, Ill.
Feb. 17th, 1885

Dear Helen:

Bright be the springtime of thy youth, serene thy summer bloom.
And may thy heart like the shrine of youth know not the winters gloom.
Emma Miller
Toulon, Ill.
Jan. 7th, 1885.



Dear Helen

Lives of great men all remind us
we can make our lives sublime
and departing leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.
Ever Your Friend,
Ella M. Gelvin
West Jersey, Ill.
Jan. 28th, 1890

Dear Helen

I only ask one little spot where I can write Forget Me Not.
Yours Truly,
Alice Foulk
Toulon, Ill.

Friend Helen:

May your joys be many and sorrows few.
Is the wish of your Friend
Baye Nowlan
Toulon, Ill.
Feb. 14th, 1886.

Friend Helen

Away back hear wheare [sic] no one will look
I will write my name in your neat little book
Your Friend
John Follett
Toulon, Ill.
Feb. 10th, 1886

Someone Else’s Treasure–The Autograph Book of Miss Helen Sundquist–Part 1

Helen

When sitting in the twilight
Reflecting on the past
Remember you have one kind friend
Whose love will always last.

--Your Friend,
Madalia Johnson
Bishop Hill
Jan. 1st, 1885

The best wishes of your friend, Ida M. Johnson.  Bishop Hill.  Jan. 1st, 1885
*
Earnest Van Osdel
*
Friend Helen – Honor thy father and mother. Your Friend, Charlie S. Perry. March 2, ‘85 Toulon, Ills.
*
Helen [no excuse for me] Compliments of Adelle Trickle. Feb. 12, ‘88. Toulon, Ill.
*
Mrs. Herbert Smith.  Larimore, N. D.
*
Compliments of Theresa Volgamont.  Toulon.  School days 1888, March 5.

Dear Helen
When years and months have glided by
And on this page you cast your eye
Remember ‘twas a friend sincere
That left this kind remembrance here.
With best wishes for your future cheer!

Your Friend,
Mary Christy
2-25-1886

Dear Helen,
When far away and friends are few, think of me and I will you.
Yours Truly,
Lizzie Gemmell
Feb. 11, 1886

Dear Helen
Some boys are pleased with your Brilliant eyes
But ‘tis your worth and polished mind I prize.
Eva Edwards
Toulon, Ill.
Feb. 11, 1886

Dear Helen

In twining your wreath of friendship, please twist in a bud for me.
Best Wishes of Jennie Ryder
Toulon, Illinois
January 7th, 1885

May your life be as pure as these pages as unshadowed as these lines are.
The best wishes of Bessie W. Marsh
Toulon, Ill.
Jan. 7th, 1885

Dear Helen

Be true to your friends and you will never be friendless.
Katie Anderson
La Fayette, Ills.
Oct. 15, 1885

Dear Helen

So short our existence a glimpse at the most
Is all we can have of the few we hold dear
And oft ever joy is unheeded and lost
For the want of some fond heart to echo it near
Ah well may we hope when this life is oer
To meet in a world of more permanent bliss
For a smile or a grasp of a hand hastening on
Is all we can have of each other in this.

Maggie Brady
Toulon, Feb. 12, ‘89

Friend Helen

Look how we can sad or merrily
Interpretation will misquote your looks.
Harry Whittaker
Sunday School days of 1889

Friend Helen, Remember me.  Chas. Bacmeister, Toulon, Ill.
*
Eddie Henderson, Toulon, Ill.  Feb 10th 1886
*
Remember your school-mate.  Alice Berfield, Toulon, Stark Co, Ill.
*
Compliments of Flora Gelvin.  Mar. 6/’88.  Stringtown, Ill.
*
Lines to Helen.  Florence McClenahan
*
May your life be full of sunshine.  Yours Very Truly, Mardell Lyon
*
Helen, Ever your Friend, Minnie Trickle.  Feb. 12, ‘89
*
Compliments of Your Friend and Schoolmate, Esta Cole.  Toulon, Ill.

Friend Helen

Among the many who claim a kind remembrance
I too would add my name.
Your Friend
Flora Smith
Toulon, Ill.  Stark Co.
Feb. 14th, 1887

Helen

Tis sweet to court but O, how bitter to court a boy and then not get him.
Your Friend
Ada Walker
Toulon, Ill.
1885

Dear Helen

Remember me and my best wishes,
When your at home washing dishes.
Your Friend,
Effie Holmes
Toulon, Ill.
Jan. 31, 1890

Helen

Remember me when far far off
Where wood chucks lie with whooping cough.
Frank S. Price
Toulon, Ills.
Feb. 17, 1885

Helen

Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you.
Jimmy A.Nowlan
Toulon, Ill.
Feb. 17, 1885

Armour Packing Company

The old Armour packing plant had been situated on the top of the hill - or maybe the enormous building just seemed to be on a hill - just outside of town for as long as I could remember.  It was always somewhat of a mystery with the fence around it and seemingly limited access.  Once, as a young child, my dad took some visiting relatives on a tour through the plant, and we got to get a sneak peek inside of that huge, stinky, and slightly scary old building.  All I really remember was hearing my dad's description of how they would "stick" (electrocute) the hogs to send them to the fate for which they were born - our Easter ham, or breakfast bacon.  I was totally creeped out.

My family's association with Armour & Company began in the early 1950s, when my widowed grandfather left the farm to work at the plant - it put food on the table for his tribe of kids, but to economize, he lived in a box car near the plant during the week.  He eventually remarried and gave up the farm, but Armours was a part of his life for many more years, until his retirement.  Several of his sons took jobs at the plant as well.  

I doubt the work at the plant was easy.  As a matter of fact, I'm sure it was not.  I remember many times hearing the sounds of my mother cooking breakfast at 4 a.m., and hearing my dad wolf it down before heading out the door to work.  I recall his sore muscles, and his tales of working in the freezer, and other temporary assignments he'd get that he didn't particularly care for.  But it was a job, and a darned good one.

The packing plant seemed to be the one bastion of security in the town - the financial benefits it brought to the community ($8 million in the 1970s*) supported numerous other businesses, and could be counted on to pay many a mortgage, not to mention provide some luxuries to the families who depended on it.  Rumors of closings came and went, but the plant persevered.

Eventually, though, the inevitable happened.  The plant was sold to Swift Independent Packing Company in the 1980s, and then to Dakota Pork, and then - the doors closed.  The building was torn down, and an era ended.  Time marches on.  But the sight of that huge building at the top of the hill remains in my memory.

***********

* According to the book "Huron Revisited."

I Lied to Read True Story Magazine

"What are you doing in there?" Grandma hollered through the locked bathroom door.  "Nothing," I answered.  "Are you 'having trouble?' " Grandma asked.  "No!" I was quick to respond.  If Grandma even suspected you were 'having trouble' in the bathroom, there would be a spoonful of Green Drops waiting for you upon your exit, and that stuff was a punishment worse than any kind of bathroom trouble.

"I'm almost finished," I yelled back to her, as I turned a small piece of the corner of the page to mark my place, and stuffed the magazine quickly back in the linen closet.   A needless flush later, and trying to look as nonchalant as possible, I exited the bathroom and hoped Grandma wasn't standing there with a spoon and that bottle of nasty green liquid.

I was reading her True Stories.  She knew I was reading her True Stories.  I knew *she* knew I was reading her True Stories.   Such forbidden tales as "A Case of Cradle Robbing" or "My Runaway Wife" or "I Am the Other Woman" were about as close to excitement as it got in my small town life.  And to a young girl on the cusp of being a teenager, this glimpse into mysterious and exciting adult lives was too much to resist.

Grandma and I apparently were not alone in our enjoyment of this magazine and the exotic lifestyles and stories it featured.  According to Wikipedia, True Story came into existence in 1919, and in the next few years circulation soared, and the magazine lasted 92 years before the publisher finally pulled the plug.

One afternoon, to my dismay, the magazines were no longer in the linen closet in the bathroom.  I did a thorough search (more than once), but Grandma apparently found a better place to store them, at least temporarily.   Being unable to find their new hiding place was driving me crazy.  They did at some point make their way back into the bathroom closet, and my extended bathroom breaks resumed.  Did Grandma know I was reading her True Stories again?  Of course.  Couldn't hide anything from that woman.  But she never did move them again.

Lies Grandma Told

I was recently looking at some photos of my brother, sister and I as kids, with Grandma Lill's cockatiel, Charlie, sitting on our shoulders.  All of us had our heads cranked straight ahead, but were looking at him out of the corners of our eyes.  I realized that all of our pictures with Charlie were like that - because Grandma always told us if we looked right at him from close range, he'd peck our eyes out.  I don't know if that's true, or if she thought it was true, or if she didn't want to take a chance on it being true, but I'm still scared to look a bird in the eye at close range 40+ years later.

Are you happy, Grandma??

I started thinking about some of the things she told us as kids - "If you swear, rocks and dirt will come out of your mouth, but if you talk nicely, flowers and sweet things will come out of your mouth instead."  I wondered briefly what rocks and dirt would taste like, but then decided that a flower in my mouth probably would not taste much better, so I went into the bathroom, locked the door, and crawled up to the mirror above the sink, and very cautiously said the first bad word I could come up with.  Shortly thereafter, I started to wonder if Grandma was full of... well... baloney.

Being a woman small in stature, and having charge of the three of us all day while my mother worked and Grandpa was out at the farm, she needed an Equalizer - and I think she found one in her little white lies.  For a long time after the "Rocks and Dirt" story, we talked nicely.  When I discovered that her attic was filled with wonderful old things to play with (without permission) she told me the floor was bad in spots, and if I stepped in just the wrong spot, I'd fall in between the walls and even Grandpa would not be able to get me out.   I never went up in the attic again without her.

She told me about her classmate at school, who squeezed a pimple on Friday and was dead of blood poisoning by Monday.

She told me the man across the street was a policeman, and if I left the yard without permission, he'd see it, and he *could* arrest me if he had a mind to.  Not saying he would, but you never know.  He doesn't like it when kids leave the yard without permission.

But she was right regarding a lot of things in life, and despite the occasional bamboozling, she taught me a lot. "Don't always trust whoever you're doing business with, they may not have your best interest at heart."  "Never quit your job until you have another one lined up."
When someone is talking trash about you, "consider the source."
Don't brag up your boyfriend to your girlfriends.
And, "If you have leftovers, you know everyone at your table got enough to eat," followed quickly by "Grind up your leftovers and put them in the meatloaf."

Love ya lots, Grandma, and miss you every day.