Work horse
Apr. 7th, 2020 10:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
offcntrI thought I'd do a little research on my sewing machine this morning. I really don't know that much about it, except that it's a sturdy little beast, and it's been getting a workout this last week.
Turns out my machine has a history that's about equal parts chicanery and innovation.
The history of the Nelco involves World War II and a man named Leon Jolson. A Jew, he was interned in a concentration camp in Germany, but because of his mechanical skills, he had more freedom of movement than most, and was able to escape and return to his wife. After the war, they moved to New York, where he began as a broker of sewing machine parts, and eventually got a license to import European sewing machines to the US.
He started the Nelco brand while working for Elna and Necchi sewing machine companies, the former a Swiss maker, the latter Italian. Sometime in the late 50s or early 60s, Japanese products were beginning to be accepted in the American market. He contacted a Japanese manufacturer (history is vague on which one) to have them make sewing machines to import. They were substantially cheaper than the European models, and apparently incorporated some of their innovations (without permission). As a result, Jolson eventually lost his distribution rights to Elna and Necchi, but by then Nelco was booming.
My best guess is that my machine dates to the 1960s. I bought it well-used in 1977 for $25 from the group home where my mother worked, and took it off to college. It's patched multitudes of blue jeans, sewed shop aprons and clothing, shopping bags and bears and hats in the nearly forty years since then, and has only been in the shop twice, once for a cracked bobbin assembly, and again for general tuning and adjusting. It's heavy and sturdy, and the only thing I miss is a free-arm for sewing sleeves and cuffs. The nifty little look-alike box is not actually a sewing kit, but a photo slide carrier that belonged to Denise's dad. (She now stores bookbinding supplies in it.)
The best part about this morning's historical deep dive is the postscript. At the end of the article, there was a video showing a machine almost identical to mine (except it has the fancy automatic four-step buttonhole option). Featuring a sewing-machine aficionado familiar to me.
That's singer-songwriter, bassist and Babes With Axes member TR Kelley.
Turns out my machine has a history that's about equal parts chicanery and innovation.
The history of the Nelco involves World War II and a man named Leon Jolson. A Jew, he was interned in a concentration camp in Germany, but because of his mechanical skills, he had more freedom of movement than most, and was able to escape and return to his wife. After the war, they moved to New York, where he began as a broker of sewing machine parts, and eventually got a license to import European sewing machines to the US.
He started the Nelco brand while working for Elna and Necchi sewing machine companies, the former a Swiss maker, the latter Italian. Sometime in the late 50s or early 60s, Japanese products were beginning to be accepted in the American market. He contacted a Japanese manufacturer (history is vague on which one) to have them make sewing machines to import. They were substantially cheaper than the European models, and apparently incorporated some of their innovations (without permission). As a result, Jolson eventually lost his distribution rights to Elna and Necchi, but by then Nelco was booming.
My best guess is that my machine dates to the 1960s. I bought it well-used in 1977 for $25 from the group home where my mother worked, and took it off to college. It's patched multitudes of blue jeans, sewed shop aprons and clothing, shopping bags and bears and hats in the nearly forty years since then, and has only been in the shop twice, once for a cracked bobbin assembly, and again for general tuning and adjusting. It's heavy and sturdy, and the only thing I miss is a free-arm for sewing sleeves and cuffs. The nifty little look-alike box is not actually a sewing kit, but a photo slide carrier that belonged to Denise's dad. (She now stores bookbinding supplies in it.)
The best part about this morning's historical deep dive is the postscript. At the end of the article, there was a video showing a machine almost identical to mine (except it has the fancy automatic four-step buttonhole option). Featuring a sewing-machine aficionado familiar to me.
That's singer-songwriter, bassist and Babes With Axes member TR Kelley.