“All our rough furniture is in the shed out back”, he said and it was music to my ears. I was newly married in the early 1970s with a love of antique furniture but a pocketbook of a pauper. My acquisition strategy was simple–buy nice but wrecked furniture and then use my meager woodworking skills to coax life back into it. And that is how I found myself poking around an antiques shop in Centerville, Ohio. We were on a trip to visit family. Me, my ex wife–the plantiff, as she is more commonly known because of her proclivity for filing frivolous lawsuits, and her mother–Ma. The three of us had traveled to Dayton to visit the plantiff’s sister and growing family. This side trip was an escape from the house o’babies. We all shared a common interest in things old and it was love at first sight when I saw this sad little table underneath some broken chairs. It was a tavern table in the Sheraton style as interpreted by a country cabinetmaker. The nicely turned legs were pegged into the skirt but they had restored feet. The base was walnut and the top was cherry. The top suffered damage from having been nailed to the frame with cut nails. It had splits, separations, and a semicircular rat tunnel on one side. The whole thing was covered with dirt and cobwebs but its beauty shone through to me. I was in love with this 150 year old table. We struck a deal for the princely sum of $25 and I was thrilled.
The table was bulky but I had a plan. I would knock the boards off the top–easy. And then I would pop the pegs and all pieces would fit in the trunk for a cozy ride home. Knocking off the top was easy but the drawbored pegs were a no go. I solved the problem by fitting the frame inside the car with one leg in the middle of the front seat and the bulk in the rear. It left a small seating area for the plantiff. Well, hey, she WAS the smallest of our trio. And our ride back to western Virginia was only eight hours.
Back at home in married student housing I tackled the restore. Refinishing the base was no problem. Heck, I had refinished a spool desk when I lived in a dorm. The top was a different story. I had no shop or large clamps so I found a local cabinetmaker to help me out. His mission was to glue the boards together ONLY. I wanted to save as much of the patina as I could. But when I picked up the top, I was crestfallen. He had belt sanded the whole thing–even the charming rat tunnel. I was so bummed that I just slapped poly on it and gave up. It would be a project for another day. I attached a few cleats to the underside and used that blocking to temporarily hold the top in place. It worked well and allowed me to easily remove the top and move the table around.
And then life took over. I lost most of the antique furniture collection in the settlement. But this table came with me. I think the plantiff grew to dislike this table during our long ride home many years ago. It accompanied me on many moves during which I took great care to not damage the fragile top. Imagine my surprise when I found the movers using it for a ramp. I threw a fit and took the ramp away but after they left, I could not find it. I went to their warehouse and we found it in the back. Only now it was cracked. I threw another fit, brought the pieces home, and stuck them behind a door for over ten years. One day the top came up on my projects list. Having had this little table almost 50 years, I finally had the time and the skills to give it a shot. I can remove the suspense by revealing that my repairs were successful. After all this time I am finally proud of the top. The pretty little table finally revealed its beauty and charm.
I usually post chronological posts, but this series will be retrospective and begin with the reveal.