The Union loom we purchased because its owner needed the
money had a history before it reached us, which did not diminish when we gave
it back. We were contacted by the husband of the owner. We weren't hard to
find, we were the only business in the Yellow Pages under the heading of
Weaving. The husband said his wife wanted to sell her Union loom, and we agreed
to take a look and give some advice on condition and price.
We found the house and met the husband and wife in the
drive. The young woman was clearly holding back her emotions, not happy about
selling the loom. She grew up in upstate New York. Two spinster Shaker sisters
lived near her parents’ summer home, and wove and sold rugs for a living. She
was fourteen when they introduced her to the art of weaving, and she spent the
next several summers working happily with the women.
She grew up, moved on, and some years later was startled to
learn the old sisters had passed away and left her the loom. The gift delighted her, and she made room for
it everywhere she lived over the next several years. There always were rugs for
her homes and gifts for her friends, from the loom. But, now money was
necessary; we were weavers, could we buy the loom from her?
Union looms are utilitarian looms, not high in the price
structure. At the time a very good Union loom, fetched two hundred dollars at
the very top of the market. People found them in relative’s homes and thought
they had a valuable antique, but in truth they had a sturdy, well made tool
that could be found in a quarter of the farm houses from the Atlantic to the
Great Plains.
Although they have not been in production now for over a
century, Unions were built to perform and to last. That it had increased four
times in value from its final selling price was a tribute to the Union Loom
Company. We paid her two hundred dollars for her Union loom, and on the way
home decided to give it to Beth.
When Beth lived upstairs in the Whitcomb duplex Shelly and James, and Bekka the baby lived downstairs. Bekka was an irrepressible
little girl, who often disappeared up the back steps to Aunt Beth’s house.
Eventually Beth pulled the 24 rusty warping nails from the base of the loom to
forestall that potential baby trap. It’s the only change that happened to the
loom, and in retrospect I’m sorry we couldn't return them with the loom.
Beth eventually bought two four harness Newcomb Studio rug
looms. They filled much of her dining room; the Union was folded up and pushed
against a wall. Then one day the husband called us. His wife missed her loom
dreadfully, and had saved enough money to repurchase it. Would we sell? We
loaded the loom back in the truck and appeared in the same drive at the
appointed day and time. No one was home. After perhaps half an hour we unloaded
the loom, left it very close to the garage door, and left, hoping nothing would
happen to it.
I sent an invoice in the mail. No check came. I left a phone
message some weeks later. And more months on I sent a note, reminding the woman
she had not paid for the loom. Eventually I wrote the invoice off to bad debts.
It wasn't the first bad debt, it wouldn't be the last. Cost of doing business.
At least five years went by, the loom long forgotten, and an
envelope came in the mail from the young woman. In it, two hundred dollars plus
fifty for “interest and your kind patience.”
Her note explained the day she was to get her loom back, on
the way home to meet us in her drive, she was in a terrible auto accident. Her
husband already was home, to help with the unloading and moving, and
received the call to come to the hospital at once. He came home late and the loom in his
headlights was just the last part of an awful day.
She was all those years mending her bones, learning to walk
again, eventually finding another job, and finally saving two hundred dollars
to pay for the loom. She was so grateful we still had it. She never mentioned
the missing warping nails.
Bekka, when she scampered up back steps.
