35901 WCR 31, Eaton, Colorado 80615
Wouldn’t you think among all the collectors and collectibles
that one of the most important contraptions of modern times would
have been given its proper due?
The washing machine, especially the powered one, is almost
universally shunned by antique buyers and sellers. The WMCA
(Washing Machine Collectors of America) has yet to be founded,
since there aren’t enough collectors to properly fill the
office positions, and there is definitely no periodical that
proudly features restored washing machines in full color on both
its front and back covers.
Nonetheless, if you will allow me, I’d like to let you in on
the fun and fascination of the hobby of washing machine collecting.
About half the machines in our collection have come from within a
hundred mile radius of our home west of Eaton. The others, from as
far away as Maine, have been brought back via a trailer (with a
capacity of 15-18 machines) behind our camper. If you’ve ever
seen what you thought to be a traveling junk yard, that was us. The
18-wheelers have joked with us on their CB’s about our being
Gypsies. Three years ago, we even brought four machines back from a
visit with our son who lives in Australia. First time the customs
agents, with more than a few raised eyebrows, had ever seen washing
machines used as suitcases. Didn’t cost us an extra cent by
checking them onto the airplane that way. Each of our more than 300
machines has its own story, some more interesting than others, and
many that we fondly remember, just as the one to follow.
On our most recent hunting safari, all through Missouri, we ran
into Tom Coffey in his unique hardware store that houses his
extensive collection of clocks and kerosene lamps. It seems that
Tom, who celebrates his 86th birthday in February, was a Maytag
dealer and repairman, beginning over a half century ago. After an
hour’s chat with Tom and after hearing about his exploits as a
repairman (he just didn’t sit around like the guy on TV) and as
a one-man ‘Crabgrass’ band, he gifted me a machine. The
gift had two strings attached: 1) that I would buy a copy of his
recently recorded audio tape and, 2) that I cut down the unwanted
tree that had been growing up through the framework of the machine,
Fig. 1. In retrospect, I think Tom had been waiting for someone
like me, just to get that little chore done. After getting the
machine out, and the roots holding the base, Tom hiked us up to his
house where, in his ‘Fibber McGee’s’ shed, he had two
more machines. He agreed that I could buy these if I would unload
the mountain of stuff on top of them. While I was trying to develop
a hernia to get at the machines, Tom came with his Cajun accordion
and stool, and proceeded to serenade Barbara (my trusty washing
machine hunting companion, and wife of 40 years) and me with
renditions of his ‘Crabgrass’ music. After four or five
very lively tunes, Barbara helped me load some 400 pounds of rusty
washing machines. At a time like this, she wishes I could have
taken up collecting something smaller; I remind her there are some
in this world who collect big engines and even tractors. All loaded
and tied down, we told our new friend that we’d be back another
day and then took off to continue the hunt.
Like more than a few of the machines we have come onto, the
‘tree-bound’ one was missing most of its original wooden
tub, as well as most of the wringer. Except for a couple of cast
iron guards, all of the metal parts were still intact, although
completely rusted to an extreme state of rigor mortis.
(Fig. 2) In the era this machine was made (about 1910) there
were over 1000 manufacturers of washing machines, but just two
major makers of wringers. Consequently, because of their
interchange ability, finding wringer parts is relatively easy.
Finding substitute wooden tubs is also not too hard, since the many
different machine manufacturers apparently acquired tubs from just
a few coopers (barrel makers).
After using what seemed to be a quart of WD-40, a half-tank of
acetylene and more than a few choice words, all of the cast iron
pieces came apart and for once I didn’t break a single one. I
toss all of the parts, that are small enough, into my wood burning
shop stove to begin the cleaning process (watch out for babbitt or
wooden bearings). After the heat treatment, all that remains is a
little wire brushing and the occasional use of a small sand
blaster. The parts are then primed and spray painted. Many times
the choice of colors is left to my imagination since, for the most
part, there is no literature on these relics and 80 years of
rusting has left little clue of the original color.
The tub, made of cypress, found at a flea market in Kansas, is
likewise completely dismantled, washed, sanded and then oiled. From
the small bits of wood remaining from the original wringer, I could
surmise what the replacement should look like. The wringer I chose
for this project was originally part of a hand operated washing
stand. In 1910 there was little difference between wringers used on
powered machines and those on hand operated ones. The rubber
rollers cannot be economically replaced, so I just use a little
sandpaper to enhance their whiteness, and purposely leave them in a
somewhat erose and wrinkled condition-for the sake of character, of
course.
The pieces (Fig. 3) of Tom Coffey’s machine can now be
assembled, hopefully. For a typical powered machine, if there is
one, the complete restoration process usually takes about a week or
ten days, full time. During the dismantling process I generally
take three to four photographs to assist my failing memory on how
to put the thing together again. I don’t know which is more
frustrating-to have a part come up missing, or a part left over
when you think you are all done.
This machine, like many others, has very interesting casting and
gear work, e.g., the drive gearing for the wringer, Fig. 4. This
machine was originally electric powered, as was the case for the
majority of early powered machines. Machines powered by gasoline
engines, either stationary or on-board, generally were produced
later than the electric models, and in smaller quantities. For the
most part, only the rural people had to endure the pleasures of
keeping the ‘one-lunger’ alive until the wash was done, and
many of them were indeed happy when the REA came along. There are
other types of power too: we have a treadmill for ‘dog, sheep,
or goat’ that is belted to an otherwise hand operated machine.
We have also acquired two water powered machines. There seem to be
myriad hand and foot powered machines, each one apparently
purported to be better than its competitors’.
The machine acquired from the one-man-band in Missouri is now
complete, Fig. 5, except of course for the tree. We had as much fun
finding it as I had in doing the restoration. Even Barbara is
supposed to have fun when it comes time to dust the menagerie of
the restored relics. If you come to see our collection, you can
have fun too, and I’ll even let you listen to
‘Crabgrass’ music, as we did on the way back to
Colorado.
