"My Featherweight's story is of my mom, who met a handsome young Canadian soldier in Antwerp in 1943. They fell in love, he brought her to Canada, married her, and they bought the Feather while briefly living in Toronto before moving to rural Nova Scotia. Three years later she was suddenly widowed with an infant and a 2-year-old, living in a big house in a small town, with no family and barely speaking English.

She supported herself and my half-brothers with that Featherweight, doing alterations and making dresses for many years until she married my father. When I asked my oldest brother, now in his 50's, about the machine, he said one of his few memories of the time was seeing her at the kitchen table one night resting her forehead on the Featherweight and crying.

Yeah—my Featherweight is scratched and  its decals are worn off where she steadied her hand on the bed, the paint is chipped, and the stitch length indicator is worn where she flipped it up and down countless times to backstitch the end of a seam. It wasn't babied for the last half century. It carried a family.

It wasn't until I got the Featherweight from my Dad, after he'd stored it since Mom passed away, that I realized the sound of the presser bar lifter being flipped up is one of the comfort sounds from my childhood. Hearing that K-CLUNK means she's nearby."

—Daniel MacKay, from Featherweight Fanatics

"I love all sewing machines but when they say you never get over your first love, I wholeheartedly agree. It makes my stomach churn when I think that someone may have MY first piece of household equipment, Featherweight 221, AG810833. If I could only find it, I would love her just as much no matter how beat up, scratched, oil set into shellac, and grease turned to concrete she had become. So two weeks ago I was in an "antique store" and in the basement was a little Featherweight so woe-be-gone and lonely that I had to rescue it. I had never purchased a Featherweight that was so abused.

I don't know how they accomplished it, but the bed on the machine looked like they had scoured it with a rust-removing wire brush and turned a woodpecker loose on it. The case had pieces knocked off around the edge where the lid of the case rests and there were many pieces of the lining just hanging. The latches were there but the fastening part of each latch was missing (guess I'll have to learn to undo rivets).

As I poured kerosene into the oiling holes and brushed away with a soft toothbrush, and as I got it adjusted so the stitches were perfect and it didn't groan when I stepped on the controller, I tried to give up being furious with the monster-owner, and then I thought: What if the owner was a young mother making doll clothes for seven cents each so she could feed her babies, as many women did here in Omaha?

What if she was an elderly, almost-blind lady who needed to make a quilt a week to keep the electricity from being turned off? Like my mother during the dust bowl era—only our farm hadn't been reached by wires and she did it after we had gone to bed by a coal oil lamp, stuffing each grape with cotton, each stitch perfect and all quilted 12 stitches-to-the-inch in six weeks. Or even a mother who had to make her children's clothing after she came home from a long day as "Rosie the Riveter" in a war-time factory?

She may have lived in a house so small that the sewing machine had to be put away after every use and grabbed back out of the case for even a few moments stolen to sew. I am now so bonded to this homely little mechanical wonder, the best and most-loved sewing machine ever made.

Tiny FW221, Serial Number AH218098, doesn't have to go back into her case even though it is now so restored it glows; and until I find her tray I will have to leave the perfect small green box with all her attachments outside, but she won't mind. She gets to sit on my oval cabinet with her brass badge glowing, covered with her I-Love-My-Featherweight blankie."

— Peggy W. C., from Featherweight Fanatics

"As you all know, for the past year and a half my husband, who has Hepatitis C, has been on chemotherapy. He has not really given a hoot about much, how he looked, what he ate, just sort of alive. Several weeks ago we decided that the quality of life is worth more than an extended one, so he stopped taking the Ribiviren, and he is slowly reentering life.

I am in the process of making a quilt for our new great grandson. I did all the piecing on the Featherweight, Myrtle, and I am now ready to stitch the three layers together, so I dug out the Rocketeer, as that is the one that the walking foot fits. Of course, as things always go for me, the tension is way off. As I was trying to figure out what the problem was, my husband passed by where I was sitting at the machine, getting more and more frustrated, and he said to me, "Look at my shirt pocket; it needs to be fixed so my pens don't drop out and get lost."

My first emotion was irritation, and then I stopped and thought: How could I refuse his request, he was actually aware of his appearance? So I said, "I can't fix your shirt, you are wearing it." Fastest strip in years occurred before my eyes. I looked at the temperamental Rocketeer, realized that I had white thread in the Featherweight, so I moved into the sewing room and started to fix the shirt.

The next thing I knew, there was Bob with a whole armload of shirts. With that adorable smile on his face he said, "Here, I checked my closet and all these other shirts need to have the same pocket fixed, too."

I hesitated a moment, trying to figure out a good excuse for not doing them, and then figured out that when you have more sewing machines than he was giving me shirts to fix, there was no good excuse. We set up a 'line'. He took the shirts off the hanger and handed them to me. I whipped those suckers under the presser foot, up to the top, pivot three stitches over, pivot and then back down to the starting point, turn shirt over and pull the top threads to the back, hand the shirt to Bob as he un-hangered and handed a shirt to be done to me.

Would you believe, 14 shirts. However that is less than the number of sewing machines. When Bob thanked me for doing the shirts, I said to him, "Well, you have schlepped many a machine into this house, I could not think of an excuse not to." Myrtle, the Featherweight, is smiling, and so am I. My husband is returning to the human race."

— Pat Bergman, from Featherweight Fanatics

"I live in a place called Mayfield; it's about seven miles outside Edinburgh, Scotland. Five years ago as I was browsing round a scrapyard, I spotted a small rounded wooden box. As I lifted the lid, it revealed a Singer sewing machine. I just had to have it and promptly paid £10. I couldn't wait to get home to see if it would work.

It did and was in mint condition: the little can of oil was still fitted inside the lid, the small green box with attachments was perfect, also the little manual and a packet of needles unopened. I was so pleased with the machine and started using right away.

By chance, my youngest son told his teacher that his mummy had a sewing machine and that she would make all the costumes for the Christmas play.  I was a bit annoyed at first but couldn't say no. The costumes were beautiful and this little sewing machine made them all. I also made my daughter's Christmas party dress and various other things.

It's still in mint condition and I love it very much; however, I also have an electric one which I use quite regularly. Last month I inherited my grandmother's treadle sewing machine which is lovely as I can remember her using it when I was a little girl.

She used to say to me that one day I would have her machine and that I was to look after it for her. It's now under our stair and comes out now and again, as does my little Singer. I love them both very much in a strange sort of way; but there you have it, the story of my great wee find."

— Mrs. Caron Roy, submitted via e-mail

"... I need to get a belt for my Singer treadle which belonged to my grandmother. My dear husband had to put new veneer on the top because it had been stored in a leaky garage for several years and the top was ruined. He did an excellent job, as always, and the cabinet is now beautiful. I believe the machine is a 127 with the Memphis decals, which are not in very good condition.

This machine was used a great deal. My grandmother had ten children and she made clothes and quilts on this machine for many years. I feel so lucky to have it and was surprised that no one else in the family wanted it. I had it shipped from Oklahoma to Washington, which cost me way more than it is worth, but the fact that it was my grandmother's, who practically raised me, makes it priceless to me.

It seems to work okay, just turning it by hand, so I'd really like to get a belt and make the "grand old lady" sing like it did when I was a child and played around it while my grandmother was turning out another quilt top or dress for one of the big kids.

The rest of us wore hand-me-downs and usually couldn't wait for one of the bigger girls to outgrow a particularly pretty dress. ..."

— Pat Brown Ellison, from Featherweight Fanatics

"... My mother bought a Featherweight in 1952 and commenced to making her living with the little black jewel, plus teaching me how to sew on it. I liked the electric wonder much better than the other machine we used—a treadle that had been in her family for many years. Anyway, on to the story:

A vicious tornado tore through the countryside of Inverness, Mississippi during the early 1970's and demolished mother's home. When I finally could get in touch with mom, her only statement was that her other machines were found under the roof somewhere on the property but the black beauty was gone and she was extremely distraught. 

A couple of weeks later when phone service was restored to the area, mother got a phone call from a man who lived about 90 miles away; he ask her if she had lost anything in the tornado (to say the least, that was an understatement) and  then he ask if she had lost anything that was made of metal and black. She stated that she could not find her Featherweight sewing machine and that she had about given up on finding it. Due to some cancelled checks landing under the machine, the gentleman traced it back to mom; it had landed in a cotton field on his place the day of the tornado and the gentleman found it the next morning. 

Mother called me, so excited, and told me that I had to come home and drive her to get her machine. Let me tell you that I lived about 3 hours from her but I went home and took her to get the 'Featherweight with wings'. 

I have that machine and taught my daughter how to sew using it.  It sews a beautiful stitch and just keeps on stitching. I have several other of mom's machines but none so dear as the Featherweight 221...

Mother supported four children with that 221. I am most grateful for the many pieces of cornbread and soup I had to eat and shoes and clothes I had due to mother's capability to use that tiny little machine to generate income for us.  I look at all the Featherweights they have for sale on ebay and am amazed when I see the ones that appear as if they are brand new. Mom's machine was treated with much respect but it certainly shows that it has been used.

I used it to put myself through college and was grateful that mother loaned it to me during those four years.  When our daughter was born, mother gave me the machine and said that if I used it wisely, it would take care of all our clothing needs ... and it did."

— Edwina Staten, from Featherweight Fanatics

"I have a Featherweight that means more to me than anyone can imagine.

My husband Colby Crandall came home from WW11 in August of 1945. We were married May 3, 1946, our first son (Carroll) was born March 22, 1947. It was then that I learned to sew on my mother's treadle Singer and decided I needed a machine of my own.

Colby promised me that I'd get my machine after we had another baby. Bruce was born October 18, 1948.

On Christmas day I found a big package under the tree. It was shaped like a small chair. When I opened the first box I found a box on one edge of the big box. I opened that and inside was a match box of horseshoe nails. I knew then that he was being funny.

I opened the big box and found the carrying case and then the little machine. I stood back and just looked; I thought he had gone and bought a toy sewing machine. After I learned it was the real thing I was shocked. Colby just grinned and said, "I told you that when we had two kids you'd get your sewing machine."

My featherweight will always be my prize possession. I used it almost every day, then in July of 1960 we had our little girl. I made all of her clothes and am still using it.

It has been checked only once by a repair man; nothing has been done except cleaning, no parts replaced, and it works just great. It will be left to Bruce when I am gone because he helped me get my favorite gift of a lifetime, besides Colby and our kids."

— Mrs. Jean Crandall, submitted via e-mail

"I purchased two featherweights from estate sales about two years ago to put back for my two young daughters, ages five and ten years old. I had fun searching through estate and garage sales looking for the attachments and gadgets to complete the sets. 

One summer, my oldest daughter and her best friend left for girl scout camp.  The following week, our family drove the three hours to pick them up. On the way, we noticed an accident involving a motorcycle and a truck.  Thinking nothing more, we drove on. 

Upon arrival at the camp, we were notified that the father of my daughter's friend was the motorcycle rider and was in very serious condition. We had to be the ones to tell the girl her dad was in the hospital. Over the next several weeks, the girl's dad had several surgeries and eventually recovered.  However, during his long hospital stay, she spent a lot of time at our house. 

Those two girls had more fun with our two featherweights. They sat at our kitchen table as I taught them how to sew.  It was great therapy for my daughter's friend, as the two girls did lots of talking, just like little girls do—about being in the hospital, getting well, dying—everything.  Both girls now love to sew and have fond memories of our little black machines."

— Mrs. Ellen Boyd, submitted via e-mail

"Years ago I was at an estate auction in a neighboring town and it began to rain. Many folks ran for their vehicles and a few of us quietly put up our umbrellas and stood in the rain as the auctioneer continued selling.

He had lost the crowd for sure and as we stood there, more and more people started leaving. I had my eye on one little black case over on the side and I was not leaving without it. Finally the box was put on the auction block and the auctioneer called for a bid.

"How much for the little sewing machine here? Ten dollars, anyone?" My hand shot up, my heart beating wildly. "I have ten dollars, any more bids? Yes, eleven dollars." He looked back at me and my hand went up again. " I have twelve dollars, anyone bid thirteen? Thirteen, thirteen, thirteen?" I think he said it 40 times ... then FINALLY . . . "SOLD to the lady right down front." I was jumping up and down and couldn't believe my good fortune.

My machine runs great and has been used to teach my daughter to sew. We take it on vacation and make quilt blocks together. I cut and press and she sews on the Featherweight. It will be hers one day. She loves it too. But not as much as I do!"

— Debbie Stribling, submitted via e-mail

"I have a Featherweight that I am fortunate enough to have a history of, and a name for.

Here is a bit of the history.  My mother-in-law and father-in-law lived in a retirement condo in Lake Elsinore, about 99 miles out our front door to their front door.

One of the residents there was a man they called Levy, a dear friend of both my mother- and father-in-law.

Levy had retired as a prison guard at that resort on the rock in San Francisco Bay.  Worked there for over 30 years. After he retired he had to move to a warm, dry climate, and Lake Elsinore was it.

Myrtle was Levy's "lady friend" for well over 30 years.   Myrtle was an office manager for a fair-sized company in San Francisco. When Levy had to move to a better-for-  his-health community, Myrtle refused to quit her job and move south with him. With more seniority than anyone else in the company, Myrtle had many blocks of vacation so she spent many weeks in Elsinore doing Levy's business for him, making sure his condo was cleaned properly by his cleaning lady, that he kept his Doctor's appointments.

After my father-in-law died we chose to go to Elsinore every two weeks to spend the day, take Ma shopping, doing anything that needed to be done at that time, and enjoying her company.

One time we got there and Ma asked if Myrtle could ride to the market with us. This  presented a problem. Myrtle was well over six foot tall, and most of that height was legs, and we, for gasoline conservation drove the Saturn out to Elsinore. The only place that had real leg room was the front seat, pushed way back. One trip with Myrtle in the front seat and me scrunched in behind her convinced me that this was not the way to go.  From then on in, whenever Myrtle was down and wanted to go to the market with Ma, I stayed behind at Ma's condo.

Myrtle was obviously very devoted to Levy, and he to her. Once I had enough courage to mention this to Myrtle, and I asked her why in all these years, she and Levy had never married. Her answer to me was that Levy had asked her to marry him, but she had her mother to consider, so she asked him for some time to work things out, and when she had worked things out, Levy never asked her again, and she did not want to push the matter.

When my mother-in-law was in the hospital with a heart attack, Levy was at her bedside all day, every day. When we came in from LA, Levy would say, "Ann, you have someone here I can trust, so I will leave you now, but I will be back this evening after they have to head home."

One time when we had to leave Ma's room because of some medical procedure, Levy and I were alone in the waiting room. Levy said he wanted to get back to his condo and get the place ready for Myrtle to come in from San Francisco. I took the opportunity to say to him, "Levy, you two are so obviously devoted to one another, why have you never married?"  Levy looked me right straight in the eyes and said, "Well, many years ago I did ask Myrtle to marry me, and she said she had to work out something about her mother, and she never has told me 'Yes' she would marry me. As the years passed I just kept waiting for her to tell me she was ready to marry me, and then I just figured it was too late to worry about it."

After Ma got her heart rebuilt at Script's, we continued going down every other week, and when she was in town Myrtle rode to the store with Bob and Ma.

Then, Levy had to have full-time health care, and then finally he went into a nursing home. Myrtle finally rented out the condo so it would not sit vacant. One morning I walked into the front door to wait for Ma to finish getting dressed. I looked over into the corner and saw a very familiar black box, just like the one I had given away 25 years ago, and had not been able to find another since. Then Ma came into the room and said to me, "Myrtle came down and got everything not nailed down out of Levy's condo, and she gave me something for you as her way of saying 'Thank You' for taking her to the store, I think she said it was an old sewing machine."

I had that box open in under five seconds, and lifted out the most perfect Featherweight I had ever seen since my old one was brand new. I was hyperventilating I was so excited.

So, that beautiful Featherweight is named Myrtle.

Levy died a few years ago, and Myrtle passed within the last year. I wonder if they finally met and married in the afterlife. I hope so."

— Pat Bergman, from Featherweight Fanatics

"My Singer 66-16 was purchased by Bertha van Schoick of Lower Squankum, NJ on June 5, 1943 at a Singer store located at 647 Mattison Ave., Asbury Park, New Jersey—I wonder if that is a misspelling of Madison Ave.—and the salesman was George J. Wood, Jr.  I have the original warranty! 

Bertha lived 3 houses down the road from us and when she died, her daughter, who lived across the street from us, sold the machine to me, as she already had a very good, more modern Singer.  I was sewing on a cheap imitation—and sewing lots.  

I have used it to make coats and suits and dresses and slacks and blouses and  blankets and party dresses and swim suits and stuffed animals and doll clothes and pocketbooks and other things.

I was 14 years old when I bought this sewing machine and  I have loved this machine for more than 35 years.  I don't sew much now, but I cannot imagine giving up my old Singer.  My husband doesn't understand this, although by now he knows it's true."

— Gwendolyn Linn, 'Comments' section from a Survey

"... I remember Mother sitting at the Featherweight when I was a small child making pinafores and matching panties for her three girls from flour sacks. She always sang to us to keep us quiet when she sewed.

One Christmas she cut up her only beautiful garment, a green velvet opera cape lined in white satin, to make two beautiful dresses for my sister and I to wear in a school Christmas show. Auntie trimmed the collars with her beautiful tatted lace.

Daddy was a slender man and she tailored all of his shirts to fit at the waist, using the Featherweight. He also had lost his left arm and Mother cut off that sleeve on his white shirts and hemmed it so that Daddy did not have to struggle to button it when he was away from home on business.

I learned to sew using the Singer Featherweight. I still think it makes the prettiest stitches and the best buttonholes of any machine I have ever owned. I taught my daughter to sew with that machine and now I am going to teach my granddaughter to sew with the same machine.

Mother has loaned her machine freely. It is a part of my childhood and I want it to be a part of my Grand children's."

— Nancy O., submitted via e-mail

"My parents were married in October 1937 and as a wedding present to my mother, my father's mother gave her a beautiful scroll-faced Featherweight and it was her pride and joy.

I learned to sew on my mother's Featherweight when I was a small child of only eight years old, making doll clothes. My mother would thread the machine for me, but wouldn't give me the power cord and foot control because she was afraid I'd hurt myself, so I turned the handwheel with my hand for every stitch. In February 1955 for my ninth birthday, she took me to a Singer store and bought me a Model 20 Sew Handy, which she thought was safer for me than the Featherweight.

I, however, really just wanted to use the Featherweight and one day only a couple of months later, when she wasn't paying attention and had left it connected, I sat down and started to sew on her Featherweight using the foot control. She came back while I was sewing and realized that I knew exactly what I was doing and the Sew Handy went back into its box and has been there ever since, still looking brand new after 49 years.

I didn't want to make doll clothes. I wanted to make REAL clothes for myself and my mother did not have the patience to teach me. We had a neighbor, Mrs. Law, who was a wonderful seamstress and also had the patience of Job for teaching and when she heard that I wanted to learn how to make dresses for myself, she couldn't wait to offer to teach me.

She taught me about trimming patterns, pinning and marking, making thread "tailor tacks", making buttonholes (both with a buttonhole attachment and the beautiful welt-bound buttonholes), matching plaids, French seams, flat felled seams ... and on and on. Three times a week I'd carry my mother's Featherweight to her house after school and we would sit side by side at her dining room table and sew together.

By the time I was twelve I was making all my own clothes and at fourteen I was earning money sewing for other people, using my mother's Featherweight. At Christmas I sewed every gift I gave. In high school I made formals for all the school dances. The last thing I made on that Featherweight was my own wedding gown in 1969 and my new husband gave me a fancy zig-zag machine from Switzerland for a wedding present. Although it is still going strong after 34 years, I have always missed that little Featherweight.

My mother promised me that someday she would give it to me, but about 20 years ago she lent it to a woman she worked with and never saw the woman or the machine again.

A few months ago I received an inheritance and the first thing I wanted to buy for myself was a Featherweight machine, so I went online to ebay and found just what I wanted— a 1937 scroll-faced Featherweight exactly like the one I learned to sew on and I found myself grinning every time I looked at it. I started "auction watching" and found another one that looked a bit better and had more goodies with it.

If ONE Featherweight was good, wouldn't TWO be better? I talked myself into another one. Then I decided I wanted to learn everything I could about Featherweights. I bought a Service Manual and continued to "auction watch" because I became convinced that investing in Featherweights was better than Blue Chip stocks.

I now have 14, including two beautiful Blacksides, but they are more than just an investment to me. They are works of art, they are "work horses" that can sew anything from silk to tent canvas and I love them all.

As each one arrives I sit down and get acquainted with a new friend. I clean and polish them and "detail" them with Q-tips, I oil them and lubricate them and adjust the tension, check the belts, and tighten screws. I take inventory of their accessories and attachments and if anything is missing, I replace it as soon as I can. I clean the cases inside and out, make any necessary repairs to the cases and handles, and make them shine with black scuff cover. I cut felt pieces to line the compartments in the case trays and if I have keys, they get small tassels attached to them. I baby them and they reward me for my efforts by sewing as straight and true as they did more than 60 years ago. Each time I sit down to test sew for the first time with the latest machine I have acquired I feel the same thrill I had back in 1955 the first time I sewed "for REAL" on my mother's Featherweight."

— Pat Brooks, submitted via e-mail

"The love for the little black machines just grows and grows. I am so fortunate to have the most incredible sister of anyone. Our mother taught us both to sew at very young ages. It seemed she always had the latest and greatest Singer machines that came out. But she never owned a Featherweight. We lost our mother in 1991 and I now have her 'latest and greatest' Singer machine, a very old 70's model with cams and a slant needle. It is in my attic and I keep it because it was hers and she loved it.

My incredible and only sister has a love for estate auctions like no other. She was fortunate enough to become the owner of a Featherweight a few years ago (she also has submitted her story) and immediately called to tell me of her new treasure. Of course, having the same love of sewing, I was very jealous and envious.

Many times after that day I visited her home and would see her little black machine sitting out with quilt pieces under the foot. Each time I would comment on how much I loved the machine and wished I had one. She would always reassure me that one day she would find me one at a sale. Every year she would take the machine on vacation and work on a quilt with my niece, who also loves the Featherweight.

My sister and I remain very close and although we live in different cities, we see each other every Friday. One particular week she called and said, "When I come on Friday, I have a little something I picked up for you". Well, I am the younger sister and all my life she has spoiled me terribly with small tokens of her love so I thought nothing of the comment. When she arrived, she walked onto my porch carrying that little black case.

I knew instantly what she had for me. I was probably more excited than I had been in a while. She had been to another estate auction and was lucky enough, a second time, to be the highest bidder on a Featherweight. I was thrilled with the gift.

Fast forward a few years—and now I have a great sister-in-law who, along with my sister and I, began a tradition of making three quilts every winter. Needless to say, the Featherweights have been the highlight of these quilting sessions. We are truly the envy of all the quilters. My sister-in-law had no sewing experience before the first quilt class and was so impressed by her ability to sew on the Featherweight that she decided this was the only machine she could ever use. She and I have since made curtains for every room in her house ... all on the little Featherweight.

As fate would have it, like my sister I began a search for yet another little black machine for my sister-in-law to use. I went to estate sale after estate sale with no avail. Now these little jewels are harder to find and much more expensive. So I used another tactic; I merely began telling everyone I know about my Featherweight and that if they knew of any available ... I wanted to know. You never know where these little ladies are hiding.

Recently I was visiting with a friend and the subject of the Featherweight came up. I had just finished a quilt and was sharing some of the fun times we had during our last session. He asked a few more questions about the machine and then proceeded to tell me that he had one. He was sure his mother had used one when he was a teenager and if he could locate it, he would love for me to have it.

I immediately called my sister and told her of the possibility. We both agreed that more than likely it was not going to be a Featherweight. They just aren't that easily located anymore. About one month later, my friend visited again and stepped into my office with that little black case. For the second time, my excitement was unbelievable. I was now the owner of not only one but two Featherweights. Again, I called my sister and all she could say was, "You have got to be kidding". But I was not kidding and it is very true. I am so extremely lucky to be the recipient of two treasured gifts.

Although I now have two, I could never love any like the first one. My wonderful sister never forgot how much I adored her little machine. She wanted me to have one probably more than I wanted one, because I never really knew how wonderful they were until I got mine. Both machines are in great shape. One was born in 1941 and the other in 1952.

If our mother were still living, she would certainly be impressed with the Featherweight. I wish I could talk to her again to learn if she knew of these machines and just never told us. One day daughters will not sew. I am so glad that my dear sister has used the Featherweight that began my story to teach her daughter, my niece, to sew ... like our mother taught us."

— Reba Baird, submitted via e-mail

"I live in the Kansas City area, am an avid tailor, and have always loved the unique style of an older sewing machine. It seems the machines that are made of all metal are the best for workhorse sewing. I have a shop in my home and I also have commercial machines that I use for mass production.

I had heard of a Featherweight machine and had seen them but was not smitten with them. I owned a 301 singer and lost it to a house fire. I also have a 501-A singer that I will not part with for love nor money.

Now to my Featherweight; I was returning home from a rehearsal on a Friday night just a little before 7 P.M. and as I turned into my street I saw a bunch of trash neatly piled on the side of the road. I also saw that there was a sewing machine in its case there as well. I hesitated for a bit but decide to keep on going.

That night I could not sleep for the thought of this machine on the side of the road. So at 1:00 a.m. I got up put on some clothes and went five blocks up the street to retrieve this machine. I also have a Pfaff 130 that I use very often and the motor was going out on it and I thought even if the machine does not work I could use the motor. After getting the machine, and with a little oil and clean up, to my surprise it worked like a dream. But it was a Kenmore all metal—nothing special.

As I got this machine from the side of the road, I noticed that there was a black machine there as well, but I left it there. After returning home and playing with the machine for a bit, I could not get the other machine out of my mind, so I went back up the street to retrieve this one as well.

To my surprise I thought it was a toy sewing machine, and really didn't want it. But decided to use it for display here in the shop. When I got up the next morning I really started looking at the machine and realized that it was a Singer Featherweight machine.

After oiling it and cleaning it up, much to my surprise all I had to do was thread it and sew. The stitches were perfect. After sewing on a Featherweight I can understand the love that many people have for this machine. It's incredible!!!!!

The paint is scuffed up a little, but all the parts are there. I am now in the process of tearing it down, cleaning it thoroughly, and rewiring it. I will use it every day after this is done. I must confess I have never seen a prettier stitch. To the person that left it out there—thank you. It just goes to show one man's trash is another man's treasure. I am now smitten."

— Larry W., submitted via e-mail

"My mom had a nice Singer Featherweight when I was four years old and lived in Albuquerque.  She left it at my grandmother's house and during the time we were at church next door, (granddaddy was the preacher) someone broke into the house and stole several things. The only stolen item that I was aware of was my mother's sewing machine. 

I learned to sew at five or six, and made my first dress at seven.  Grandmother taught me to sew on her much larger Singer.  I always longed for that little Featherweight.  I always remembered that little machine.

When I grew up, I got married and we bought our first house.  The previous owners had left a lot their things in the house when they moved.  I was delighted to see a Singer Featherweight in the bedroom closet. 

I assumed that it didn't work and did not even try it out. I figured that some day I would get it fixed. 

After about fifteen years I started working at a sewing and fabric shop.  We had a man there who repaired sewing machines.  I brought mine in.  He cleaned it, oiled it, and it sewed as if it was new. 

I felt like my mom's machine had miraculously been passed on to me."

— Becky Rummel., submitted via e-mail

"I do have a story to tell about my mother and this machine.  All her seamstress friends used to tell her that the Featherweight was too light-weight for commercial sewing. 

However, one of the first things that my mother used her Featherweight for was to sew up a canvas top for my brother's Ford Coupe, which had no top. You couldn't do a more heavy-duty job than to make a car's convertible top.  She really proved what a work-horse the Featherweight could really be.

Over the years, she sewed nearly all my clothes on it.  It was the first machine I used when I learned to sew myself.  I love it.

I think the machine is still operable, but I haven't tried to use it in several years.  It probably needs some pretty heavy-duty maintenance by now.  But I have no intention of selling it: I just wanted some history about it."

— Marsha Roach, submitted via e-mail

"My Singer featherweight, a Centennial model, was a wedding gift in 1951, purchased at Perth Amboy, NJ. It always went with me and my family on overseas assignments.

It has upholstered, made draperies, clothes ... whatever was needed. The only repair I can recall is replacing the foot control cord.

I wouldn't have any other."

— Joan Brown, submitted via e-mail

"I've just driven Mom to the airport after a scant five day visit with us. She is now 62, her birthday was celebrated yesterday.

All through my childhood Mom appears as a super professional mother, her attempts at domesticity going as far as some chocolate cakes that did not happen frequently enough (and I think came from a box) and her titanic efforts to learn how to cook when I was 12. My mother often did not make dinner, but made reservations.

On the other hand my mother was a journalist, reporter, radio broadcaster, writer, producer, involved with international law, and someone who was deeply involved with UNICEF and the World Health organizations. She always had two jobs and I think I saw her one or two hours each day, if we stayed up late to greet her.

When I knew she was really coming, not wanting to be found too 'conventional', I tried to hide off my collection of sewing machines (4 Featherweights, 530 and 830 Berninas, 2 Rockets, a 201 and a 15J). My husband, who is proud of my bout with domesticity (go figure) convinced me not to.

Well ... turns out my mother used to help my grandmother sew the garments she made, my g'mother being a high end seamstress but having swollen legs, she would cut, my mother would sew. My mother even changed her school hours: she helped g'ma in the morning and went to university in the afternoon.

In no time at all, I showed her my Featherweights, and she fell in love, her eyes moist because g'ma had such the same machine!

She cut a pattern by sight, and in 30 minutes we had a lovely hot casserole caddy, lined and proper, complete with wooden handles and padded cardboard insert. She sewed it all with the little Featherweight, and was overcome by how nicely it stitched and how close she felt to her mother.

I gifted her the machine, but having had recent surgery and the great amount of stitches, she could not take it with her. I will keep it until we visit her. This morning as she left she stole one final glance at the case, tried to lift it and, resigned by the stab of pain, set it down gently by the back door.

The little Featherweight gave me the opportunity to meet the mother I never knew existed, and it gave my mother the opportunity to feel close to her own mother who died at the early age of 42. My mother was not interested in any other machine I had, and did not care about how many stitches the others could produce. She liked the little Featherweight, and the memories it created. I, who was attracted to them, did not even know of the link.

Turns out the woman with over 12 degrees and over 40 certificates, began as a seamstress assistant, and never has forgotten it. I guess those are the stitches that bind."