Alienbaby17
Well-known member
A Tale of Two 1940s Automotive Workbenches
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
A long winded story about how I dragged home even more old junk.
Part one.
It all started with an antique Arts and Crafts rocking chair. I’d been on the hunt for one since my daughter was born and I quickly began to really appreciate a comfortable chair. I finally found one I could visualize myself sitting in nervously rocking as I waited up for her to return from her first dates some fifteen years down the proverbial road. The problem was that the chair was about 100 miles away in the heart of Wisconsin farm country. After looking at dozens, maybe hundreds of chairs over the years I was confident this was finally “the one”. I made arrangements with the seller to come out the following weekend to take a look at it.
With the better park of a week ahead of me I thought it might be a good idea to see if I could maximize my trip by picking up anything else interesting along the way. Almost immediately on my first search I came across something. I felt my heart pumping faster as I opened the listing. The information was minimal and the photos were pretty bad. I consulted my “go-to” resource on the subject, www.servicemerchandisers.com and felt fairly confident what I was seeing was the bench from a Lincoln merchandiser. Looking for a little more confirmation, and also wanting to share my discovery, I sent thehorse13 the photos and asked for his opinion. He confirmed my suspicions. Once that was done it became a waiting game. If it weren’t a 200 mile plus round trip I would have headed out right then. Instead I had to wait four days to make my trip. I instantly became way more excited about the workbench than the rocking chair.
Eventually the big day came and I headed East towards Wisconsin. The rocking chair was the first stop and it did not disappoint. Then it was off into the rural part of an already rural area. When I finally found the old farm it was about what I had expected. As I slowly crept up the long driveway I spied a father and teenage son tinkering on something in a garage . It wasn’t the warmest welcome I’ve ever received. The seller was around my age. His son had a t-shirt that said something about “*****” on it. As we walked over to “Dad’s” place (the farm next door) the seller mentioned that his son was disappointed they were selling the bench they shot off their fireworks from.
The bench had been literally put out to pasture. It was left in the tall grass behind a decaying barn. I wondered how long it had been there. As we walked up “Dad” was attempting to park a rusty old Caravan in the weeds back near where we were looking at the bench.
The son mentioned that his father had brought it home years ago. “Dad” was probably pushing 80 and looked like he’d worked hard his whole life. When I asked him about the bench he said that he used to “clean out” places and people would always marvel at the things he would drag home. As I stood there listening to this I scanned the surrounding open barns and outbuildings all of which were bursting with old junk. I didn’t want to make it seem like I was searching. I know sometimes “country folk” don’t always suspect the best intentions of “city folk”. I optimistically inquired whether they might have the side cabinets and top bench around somewhere. They seemed like it was possible and invited me to look around a little bit- I was in!
Unfortunately after a bit of investigating the only thing I had unearthed was disappointment. I found what I think the reality of most “easy-picking” dreams turn into- a junk-filled nightmare. I don’t use the term, “junk” lightly either. I have an exceptionally low threshold for what is too far gone for me, and most of this stuff was sadly WAY too far gone. It was the kind of rusted, anonymous stuff one might expect; random broken car parts, discarded, damaged and worthless household items, and miscellaneous farm stuff that only a farmer could see the value in saving.
I explored a bit longer, still hoping to find the needle in the rusty-junk-haystack, but the day was getting short and I was getting tired. I decided to pull the plug and head home.
It was good that I left when I did because I quickly found myself lost in a maze of backroads farm country. As I cursed my GPS for leading me down some endless narrow trail I just knew wasn’t the right way, I also cursed myself for getting into another ridiculous quest for old junk. I told myself, “This is it. This is the last time I do something like this. This is ridiculous, I’m done.” As much as I wanted to believe that, looking into the rear view and seeing that Lincoln bench in the trailer behind me made me smile with pride and know that I was lying to myself.
This one was particularly satisfying to me because it was actually my first find from “out in the wild.” There’s something special about rescuing one from rusting away, or being lost to the scrap dealer in the inevitable farm cleanup. It was far more satisfying to earn this one instead of just buying one from a collector or dealer’s spotless garage.
Part Two to follow.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
A long winded story about how I dragged home even more old junk.
Part one.
It all started with an antique Arts and Crafts rocking chair. I’d been on the hunt for one since my daughter was born and I quickly began to really appreciate a comfortable chair. I finally found one I could visualize myself sitting in nervously rocking as I waited up for her to return from her first dates some fifteen years down the proverbial road. The problem was that the chair was about 100 miles away in the heart of Wisconsin farm country. After looking at dozens, maybe hundreds of chairs over the years I was confident this was finally “the one”. I made arrangements with the seller to come out the following weekend to take a look at it.
With the better park of a week ahead of me I thought it might be a good idea to see if I could maximize my trip by picking up anything else interesting along the way. Almost immediately on my first search I came across something. I felt my heart pumping faster as I opened the listing. The information was minimal and the photos were pretty bad. I consulted my “go-to” resource on the subject, www.servicemerchandisers.com and felt fairly confident what I was seeing was the bench from a Lincoln merchandiser. Looking for a little more confirmation, and also wanting to share my discovery, I sent thehorse13 the photos and asked for his opinion. He confirmed my suspicions. Once that was done it became a waiting game. If it weren’t a 200 mile plus round trip I would have headed out right then. Instead I had to wait four days to make my trip. I instantly became way more excited about the workbench than the rocking chair.
Eventually the big day came and I headed East towards Wisconsin. The rocking chair was the first stop and it did not disappoint. Then it was off into the rural part of an already rural area. When I finally found the old farm it was about what I had expected. As I slowly crept up the long driveway I spied a father and teenage son tinkering on something in a garage . It wasn’t the warmest welcome I’ve ever received. The seller was around my age. His son had a t-shirt that said something about “*****” on it. As we walked over to “Dad’s” place (the farm next door) the seller mentioned that his son was disappointed they were selling the bench they shot off their fireworks from.
The bench had been literally put out to pasture. It was left in the tall grass behind a decaying barn. I wondered how long it had been there. As we walked up “Dad” was attempting to park a rusty old Caravan in the weeds back near where we were looking at the bench.
The son mentioned that his father had brought it home years ago. “Dad” was probably pushing 80 and looked like he’d worked hard his whole life. When I asked him about the bench he said that he used to “clean out” places and people would always marvel at the things he would drag home. As I stood there listening to this I scanned the surrounding open barns and outbuildings all of which were bursting with old junk. I didn’t want to make it seem like I was searching. I know sometimes “country folk” don’t always suspect the best intentions of “city folk”. I optimistically inquired whether they might have the side cabinets and top bench around somewhere. They seemed like it was possible and invited me to look around a little bit- I was in!
Unfortunately after a bit of investigating the only thing I had unearthed was disappointment. I found what I think the reality of most “easy-picking” dreams turn into- a junk-filled nightmare. I don’t use the term, “junk” lightly either. I have an exceptionally low threshold for what is too far gone for me, and most of this stuff was sadly WAY too far gone. It was the kind of rusted, anonymous stuff one might expect; random broken car parts, discarded, damaged and worthless household items, and miscellaneous farm stuff that only a farmer could see the value in saving.
I explored a bit longer, still hoping to find the needle in the rusty-junk-haystack, but the day was getting short and I was getting tired. I decided to pull the plug and head home.
It was good that I left when I did because I quickly found myself lost in a maze of backroads farm country. As I cursed my GPS for leading me down some endless narrow trail I just knew wasn’t the right way, I also cursed myself for getting into another ridiculous quest for old junk. I told myself, “This is it. This is the last time I do something like this. This is ridiculous, I’m done.” As much as I wanted to believe that, looking into the rear view and seeing that Lincoln bench in the trailer behind me made me smile with pride and know that I was lying to myself.
This one was particularly satisfying to me because it was actually my first find from “out in the wild.” There’s something special about rescuing one from rusting away, or being lost to the scrap dealer in the inevitable farm cleanup. It was far more satisfying to earn this one instead of just buying one from a collector or dealer’s spotless garage.
Part Two to follow.
Attachments
Last edited:
Seriously, good luck with that. As the father of two girls, now 33 and 22, my experience is the world keeps working harder and harder to push that milestone sooner and sooner even as we dads keep wanting it to be later and later. 
