Singer Model 719 sewing machine

Yet another sewing machine. It's getting a little monotonous, but I have no control over what the trash piles will yield. Taking the same kinds of things apart over and over is still preferable to not having anything to take apart. Besides, this was one of those rare sewing machines that came most of the way apart.

I can't tell if this is an older machine, or a relatively recent one with retro or non-updated styling. I'm leaning toward mid 1970s, but I'm too lazy to look it up right now. Either way, it's a nice, simple design that looks like what it does.

This is the most uncluttered mechanism I've ever seen in a sewing machine. I don't think the picture does it justice. It's the same as popping the hood on a car from the 1960s versus a modern car. there's a sort of no-frills elegant simplicity to it.

Removing the side panel (which I tried to do by prying until I realized there was another screw behind the Singer logo badge thing) revealed more parts, and another angle from which I could attack the screws and Allen bolts. There were a lot of parts that would actually yield to my efforts. Surprisingly enough, the two control dials wouldn't fully come out; I initially thought those would be some of the few things that would.

There were even a few things to remove underneath the bottom panel. And, yes, that is a pile of my shoes in the background.

For a sewing machine, that's a mighty pile of parts. The main parts of the mechanisms didn't come off, but I was amazed at how many little ones did. I seem to recall taking another Singer apart that looked similar, but I don't remember it giving up so many of its guts. Maybe it was a different model, or I just got lucky with this one. Also, it looks like I need to be a bit more careful with the camera; this picture is a little fuzzy and washed out, even for my fairly lax standards.

The final trophy pile is considerably smaller than the total amount of parts I took off, but not bad for a sewing machine. Why bother with the front panel? I like the texture of the design on the plastic.

ADDITIONAL NOTE: On the off chance anyone besides me reads this, I'm going to be out of town for a few weeks, so no new entries until around mid-January. However, I do plan to try to fix the crappy formatting on the previous entries.

Juki 408 and 418 overlocking machines

I'm covering two separate machines here, which is something of a departure from normal, but they were so similar and there was so little actual disassembly that I might as well just have one entry for both.

These are overlocking machines. I've scrapped a couple of these before and just sort of assumed that they were compact, stripped-down versions of regular sewing machines. I now know, thanks to some quick internet research, that they are in fact designed to stitch on the edges of fabric, both to keep the fabric from ravelling and for decorative purposes. So I learned something new, which means this hobby isn't a complete waste of time.

On with the show, what there is of it. First, the 408 model:

The lack of a panel on the one side means this machine has been picked over to some degree. I can't imagine there was much to cannibalize off it in the first place though.

Here's a shot of the innards. Like so many sewing machines, there are plenty of fasteners that won't come undone, taunting me with the little parts they hold in place.

I really wanted that red dial. There's nothing special about it on its own, but the 418 has one just like it, and having two of something appeals to me a lot more than having just one. It's just more symmetrical that way. Anyway, the dial didn't yield to gentle pressure, so I applied more force and ended up breaking it. The plastic was kind of brittle. Oh well.

That's the one piece I saved off of the 408: the plastic side covering thing. You know, in case I ever need a plastic hinge.

Now here's the 418, which, I guess is ten better:

As you can see, it has a few things that the other one didn't, such as those cones for holding the thread. Nice shaped cones, but the type of plastic they're made of is too flexible to be useful to me.

I didn't bother to take pictures of the mechanisms inside of this one because it looked pretty much like the inside of the other one. Also, I didn't bother to try for the red dial on this one either.

Slightly bigger trophy pile for the 418, though not by much. That metal thing telescopes, so that might have a use. Might.

Elna sewing machine

This isn't going to be a very long entry. I think the first picture will show why pretty clearly.

First of all, it's a sewing machine, and as I said before, sewing machines often don't lend themselves well to disassembly. Not with my limited tool set anyway. Secondly, it's only most of a sewing machine. It was already picked pretty clean when I got it. When I grabbed this one, I felt sort of like the slow vulture at the carcass.

A little googling told me that Elnas are fairly high quality sewing machines (they better be for the prices they charge). Looking at the machine, I can believe that; except for the control knobs, there was barely any plastic used in its construction. The high price might also explain why the sew/vac place cannibalized this machine before throwing it out. These kind of sewing machines are ones people have repaired, instead of just throwing them out.

Most of the screws I could actually remove were on the back of the machine, holding that plate over the switch box.

Not much to show for the effort, but it's better than nothing I guess.

Hewlitt-Packard Laserjet printer

Last night I went out on my pre-trashday scouting ride with a bit of urgency. My junk supply had dwindled to almost zero, so I was looking for pretty much anything to scrap and write about. The sew/vac place wasn't throwing out anything but boxes, so I had to expand my search, which was still somewhat geographically limited since I'm using a bike. It was looking like I wasn't going to find anything, when I headed down a side street on a whim. And wouldn't you know, it paid off pretty well: a laserjet printer. Whoever tossed it even wrapped up the cord, so I didn't have to deal with it as I was transporting the printer home.

I really like scrapping printers. By their nature, they have to have a certain number of mechanical parts; you can't move a sheet of paper from one tray to another with a printed circuit board. And the parts are usually in 'layers,' for want of a better word. Removing a panel or circuit board often opens up a new set of parts.

I disassembled the paper tray just because I could, not because there were any parts of practical use or visual interest. It's just another activity on the Dead Printer Playset.

This access panel alows you to remove the cord, presumably for storage purposes, without having to take it directly off of the circuit board. Rather convenient, actually, though I'm going to be getting to the board anyway.

Here's the naked printer, without it's housing. The camera flash washes out the detail, but you get the idea. Notice the couple of shards of plastic toward the bottom of the photo. Printer housings are generally a pain to get off, and chucks inevitably get broken off in the process, but the plastic was unusually brittle. It's ABS plastic, which usually has more give than this. Even if this printer was sitting on front of a window, I can't imagine the UV degrading the plastic to that degree.

The 'laser' part of the laserjet printer. I think this is the first laserjet I've taken apart, all the other printers I've done were either inkjet or dot matrix. It's interesting to see what the laser setup actually looks like.

The obligatory bank of gears. And like most printers, only about two-thirds of them come off without damage, if they come off at all.

Behold the mess I made! Not that I'm usually precise or organized about scrapping, but after a long stretch of lackluster disassemblies, I couldn't help but be somewhat reckless with this one. Sort of like a kid at Christmas.

Now, that's a respectable trophy pile.

Electrolux Silverado Deluxe canister vacuum

The majority of what I take apart is either the victim of obsolescence, shoddy construction, or most often it seems, a combination of the two. Buet every once in a while, I run across a relic from the Bygone Era of Solid Construction that finally gave up the ghost after years of service. I always feel a twinge of guilt when I scrap them and only keep a few arbitrary and minor trophies instead of keeping the whole thing and repurposing it. Case in point, this Electrolux. It sat on my floor for close to a week while I tried to think of something that I could make out of it that would use the body, but in the end, I couldn't come up with anything.

A bit of online research revealed this vacuum to have probably been built circa 1972 to 1975. This machine is skirting 35 years old, and it's design is very much of it's time. A lot of the parts are some sort of high-impact plastic, but the main body is steel, as is some of the accenting (note the shiny piece on the top). Visually, it falls somewhere in between the Jet Age swoopiness of the late 1960s and the stoic utilitarianism of early 1980s appliances. It's not as iconic as the old Kirby vacuums, but it's still a rather striking design for something that sucks up dirt and cat hair. And for some reason, the overall shape sort of reminds me of the Landmaster from Damnation Alley.

That's the motor right there. It didn't want to come out, which goes to show that my rule of disassemblability=quality does not always hold true.

The settings control is mechanical rather than electronic.

The top piece comes completely off. The rubber tube coming out of the main body channels the exhaust air into the air vents on that top piece, and it obviously wasn't cleaned out very often. It strikes me as odd for whatever reason that the main body doesn't have much indication beyond the screw holes that the plastic piece fits there. No indentation or recess stamped into the sheet metal or anything.

A vacuum cleaner with hubcaps. Seriously old school.

I wish I had enough reason to justify keeping more than just this small selection of parts. Or at least more storage room in the apartment. But even as the bulk of the old Electrolux goes on to the landfill, a few pieces remain behind as reminders of its 30-plus years of existence. And hell, even if I end up throwing the parts away, it still got soething of an online obituary, which is more than most vacuum cleaners get.