Singer **Red Eye** Model 66-1

A few days ago, I replied to an ad on Craigslist about a sewing machine. The ad simply showed a closed up cabinet, and listed the machine as a Singer in good condition. I asked that the sellers take a few pictures of the machine itself and email them to me. I did not get a reply.

Last night, about 7pm, I got an email saying ‘I know it is short notice, but’…the couple were loading a Uhaul this morning, and did I want to come look at it last night? They were in Davenport (35 miles from me), so I said no, but we could talk about it today. At that point, I still did not know what model it was, and I really was not interested unless it was a Red Eye. I attached a picture of a Red Eye that I ‘borrowed’ off the internet, and I said I was looking for a particular model, and unless this is what they had, I probably would not be interested. She replied that it indeed WAS what she had. Oh boy….(sigh……) I’ve been wanting one of these for a very long time.

This Red Eye is a model 66-1. You can identify that, because the pressure foot attaches on the back of the pressure bar. This characteristic is exclusive to the Model 66-1. The 66 models attach from the side. See HERE for more details.

Threading diagram courtesy of ISMACs International Sewing Machine Collectors’ Society

This morning, they said, they would send a picture of the machine, which they did, and the decals looked pretty good, so we started ‘talking’. They were loading their Uhaul and heading for Chicago by 1pm, so I needed to come look at it, but they were afraid that if they left it in the house, and not load it, I would not show up. I promised I would show up. I arrived at 11:45, and collected my Red Eye. By 1pm, I was back home.

From 1pm until 5pm, I cleaned the head. The pressure foot bar was STUCK. The lever went up and down, but nothing happened. I forced it to move with pressure from a screw driver. I sprayed some WD-40 on it, until it broke loose, then I wiped it off and gave it lots of oil, working it until it worked freely. I removed as many parts as I felt comfortable removing, then scrubbed and put them back on.

Here are some pictures. Take note of the nicotine on EVERYTHING…even on the underside. Also take note of my ‘weapons’ for cleaning, and the 13 filthy paper towels and 4 dirty qtips. A toothpick came in handy too.

BEFORE

The top half of this piece is scrubbed, but not the bottom.

The piece with the keyhole is actually a drawer! See? The top is not in good shape.

AFTER

Ok, another ‘Before’ of the machine, then an ‘After’ so you can see the difference.

Notice the tension assembly, bobbin winder, knob, and badge are much cleaner. What the heck is that round knob for anyway?

The round silver cover was BLACK when I started, now it is shiny. The decals are in exceptionally good shape.

The cabinet is not in the best shape. The extension table was not pretty. Someone used it for a plant stand. The veneer on the underside of the table, which would be the work surface if folded out, was cracked, water stained, and lifting. The underside, which is the top of the cabinet, when closed, was not in good shape either. Since I needed a small space to put the treadle stand, I removed the extension table. It still needs to have a belt installed, but there is no hurry for that. I have one.

I had to turn the hand wheel by hand, but she does sew a nice stitch…and that was after I even had the bobbin assembly all apart, and put back together…with no adjustments! (Forgive the dirty paper towel I sewed on).

The serial number on the machine is G5703818. According to the Singer website, she was born on September 5, 1917 in Elizabeth, New Jersey at the Elizabethport Factory, so she is officially 94 years old!

UPDATE:

THIS website is fun! It printed out an official certificate of the year my machine was born, when I gave it the serial number! How fun is that? Only machines built before 1970 qualify.

It found me….I swear!

Be blessed,

Michelle

Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity.    Gilda Radner