The Sum of Its Parts
A.V. Walters–
We tend to be do-it-yourselfers. Both Rick and I come from families where you fixed it, before you replaced it. Sometimes, if whatever “it” was, was not within your field of expertise, you paid somebody to fix it. Sometimes, cost or convenience inspired you to do it yourself. There’s a little bit of a mantra to it, even if “it” is intimidating, “Well, how hard could it be, really?”
All the way to building a house.
That history, combined with an appreciation of older things, has led us, separately and together, to a good bit of investigative repair and reinvention. My home is filled with rescue-antiques. Rick is the mother of invention when it comes to building and repairing challenges. We have accumulated no small measure of experience in woodworking, refinishing, building, tool maintenance and repair, mechanical and electronics repair (mostly Rick), art restoration and the mending and making of things in fabrics (mostly me.) We have projects upon projects. Which brings us to the Paramount question.
In the midst of my mid-life upheaval, I decided I needed an intellectual challenge (because writing novels wasn’t enough?) I wanted to learn to play an instrument, and in so doing, to immerse myself in a participatory way, in the language that is music. I had to choose which instrument would be appropriate for a (then) solo, middle-aged woman. It had to be something I could play alone, and maybe with others. I envisioned myself playing and practicing on a big porch with a view. My first choice, violin, wasn’t a good fit—as a previous car accident had left me with neck issues. I thought about the sax—but even the idea of relearning the breathing for a wind instrument, left me winded. So, I decided on the banjo, mostly because I could not think of any banjo music that sounded sad. I picked up a cheapie banjo on craigslist and began learning and plinking. I have a long way to go.
But, as things work out, once you open the door in a particular area, opportunities step in. When my brother learned that I had an interest in the banjo, it turned out he had a contact for an old banjo with history. He sent it my way.
It is a Paramount, tenor banjo from the mid-twenties. It’s beat up and beautiful. For a number of years it’s been sitting, disassembled (thanks to a “well intentioned” friend) in its case. I’m coming very close to having that lovely long front porch, overlooking the valley, so I thought it was time to get the Paramount in shape. Rick, as is his way, raised an eyebrow.
The banjo needs a lot of work. First and foremost, it needs to be completely disassembled and cleaned. Then, a new “head”—the stretched skin that gives the banjo its distinctive sound. The choice was whether to use a synthetic head material, or the traditional calfskin head that was used when the Paramount was first manufactured. We also need to replace the tuning pegs—which raised the question,again, of new versus old. The Paramounts had ingenious Page, geared pegs, new back in the day, and no longer manufactured.
In the past, everyone had said that I need an expert to help with this banjo renovation. So, I asked around and received several referrals to a local guy, who was reputed to be both better, and less expensive, than the “ship it off to Lansing” guys used by local music stores. I called and made an appointment. First, he gave me his tour of successes—a line-up of string instruments, hanging awaiting pick up by his other customers. They were lovely—so we got to the Paramount. His eyes widened when he saw the disassembled banjo. A Paramount is an impressively machined instrument, sturdy and buttressed with all manor of hardware. The expert marveled that the parts were mostly there—you could see that he was positively itching to get to the task. He knew that I had contacted him mostly for assistance with the installation of the new head—but soon his enthusiasm overflowed to the rehabilitation of the wood and the nickel-plate parts. He pointed out the accumulated finger grime on the mother-of-pearl inlayed finger board. I hadn’t noticed how bad it was. He insisted that the entire instrument be disassembled, lovingly cleaned, then reassembled, before a new head could be stretched. He was adamant that only vintage parts should be used—and of course, a calfskin head. He explained the intricacy of the stretching of a banjo head, a process not unlike stretching the canvas for an oil painting. His enthusiasm was contagious, and I was completely on board. As he described the work necessary to restore the banjo to its former glory, the dollars were mounting. He looked up at me, but I didn’t blink. I’m a pushover for any argument favoring an antique’s original integrity. I was sucked in by his description of the painstaking task. With the vintage parts and laborious restoration, my “free” banjo was fast approaching a thousand dollar rehab.
“That grimy fret board,” I asked, “what would you use to clean it?” I expected to be drawn further into the secret and arcane world of instrument restoration.
“Oh, Windex will do it.” He said offhandedly.
My heart skipped a beat. “Windex?” I’ve done enough antique restoration to know that you minimize “wet” treatments, especially near inlay or marquetry. He noticed my alarm.
“Why, what would you use?”
“As mild a cleaner as possible. Probably Murphy’s Oil Soap, with very little water, a damp cloth to wipe it clear and then dry it immediately with a soft terry.”
He nodded, “Yeah, that’d work, too.”
But he’d now handed me the tail-end of the thread that would soon unravel the spell he’d woven.
“And the nickel-plated parts?” I asked.
“Ammonia soak—you know the Windex, and then, where needed, a little steel wool.” My eyes widened and he followed up, “Don’t worry, that steel wool wouldn’t hurt for the tough spots. Why, what would you use?”
“I like Never-Dull. It doesn’t scratch and can clean most any metal finish.”
“Never heard of that.” He pulled out a polishing compound he sometimes uses.
I had to press further. “What about the areas on the neck, and the other wood surfaces, where the finish is worn?”
He looked at me seriously. “There’s a temptation to refinish that—but it’d be a mistake. As long as the wood integrity isn’t threatened, you keep the value of a vintage instrument by maintaining the original finish. You can do that with a little Pledge.”
The bubble didn’t just burst, it imploded.
“Pledge?”
“Yeah, you know, or any polish and wax finish.” I had visions of 60s era homemaking commercials and gingham aprons. I needed an exit strategy.
“This is adding up. We really just need help with the calfskin head—the cleaning part is grunt work that we can really do ourselves.” His face fell. It wasn’t just that the fish had slipped the hook—you could tell that he had really wanted to get his hands on the banjo. There’s genuine satisfaction in the restoration of a beautiful old item. He nodded. And helped me repack the banjo parts back into the case. He was really a nice and genuine fellow. He was, after all, the person most recommended in the area.
I took the banjo home and told Rick the tale.
So, really, how hard could it be?
We went online, researched and ordered the replacement tuning machines, and the calfskin replacement head material. We even broke down and bought an original Paramount wrench to stretch the new head. (They look kind of look an old skate key.) There are You Tube videos that show the many phases of banjo restoration, including stretching a calfskin head.
Rick helped disassemble the rest of the banjo, and I started the painstaking cleaning process, starting with the inlaid fret board, using the materials of my choice. The expert was absolutely right (in part)—cleaned up, it is beautiful. The nickel plated, metal parts have been gently restored to their former gleaming glory. We have some wood repair still to do, but I’ve ordered all the replacement parts and look forward to the challenge of finishing the job.
Bit envious of your DIY skills. We are having particular problems with wood frame windows right now. We did, with huge dollops of help from expert friends, take them out and rebuilt things holding glass in, treated them. But this appears to not have really addressed the problem. And it is really difficult to find people who repair these kinds of windows…
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Old windows are really a challenge. I had the same issue decades ago. I ended up re-manufacturing the sashes with epoxy putty. It took forever, but those south facing windows lasted and lasted–epoxy doesn’t rot.
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A very cautionary tale. I have a tendence to think that the “experts” know best but sadly one can be disappointed where real experience is lacking. Good luck with the repairs. Amelia
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Banjos are wonderful instruments. Back then, when your Paramount was made, I think instruments were intended to be cleaned and maintained by real people rather than experts (as you ultimately chose to do).
My grandpa got a smashed mandolin, WWI vintage. Fixed it lovingly and carefully. When I visited as a young girl, I’d play that gorgeous mandolin and he’d play banjo. What a duo we were!
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That’s a great memory–what I wouldn’t do to hear that duo!
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Self sufficency has it’s rewards, eh? Plus you now have $900-plus to use elsewhere. A win win! Please post photos of the rehabbed banjo – preferably with you playing it ;-0
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Well, almost that much. The various parts will be about $250.00. But they are all original, so we’re keeping in the spirit of the renovation. I can’t wait until they arrive–I’m even dreaming about banjos.
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OK, I confess, I admire anyone with fix-it skills, plus the time and the patience. –Curt
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It’s the upside of an obsessive personality type.
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I love fixing pre-loved things as well. You’ve reminded me that I’ve got a very old mandolin banjo sitting on a shelf in the RUC. I haven’t looked at it for ages (but am looking at it now!) I’d love to see the pics of the restoration – best of luck with it.
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Ooooh, a mandolin! They’re lovely. I’d have tried that, but I figured I needed to minimize the number of strings. (Not so coordinated.)
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Wonderful stuff! These kind of projects are made for a Michigan winter, yes? Banjos make a wonderful sound and they’re not all that hard to play. DIY is a winning formula. Now, I’ve got to get out and start scraping the bubbled enamel off the side of our weatherboard house, so they can get primed and painted while the weather is still settled.
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I thought that your place was fully rehabbed, and complete, several years ago. What are you doing now? (And do send pics.) I have refinished more than one house–taking one completely back to original wood before priming and painting again. I highly recommend a hot air gun.
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Ah, well the paintwork on the sunny side was never quite right, despite the builders ‘attempt’ to sand back and re-paint the bubbles water-based finish – doubtless applied directly over failed layers underlayed by some old (oil-based) base – are failing. Most of the house looks great – just a series of bubbles on the lower courses on the one side. We’ll be hand-scraping (with a tungston-carbide blade scraper) and sanding with my Speedblock to feather-in the blister holes. A bit of modern primer and a few coats – no big deal. I have a hot air gun, but have been warned that it’s too easy to get smouldering happening behind the naturally occuring gaps in the old boards – scary. Good luck with the banjo, can’t wait to see it all assembled and shiny.
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