Reupholstering a Chair

The Upholstery Project was undertaken a year ago. A one-woman operation, with frequent editorial comment from The Husband, The UP was supposed to be a soothing, relaxing, stress-free learning experience at home that, with patience and care, also would produce, ultimately, a thing of beauty.

The tired old chair before reupholstering. (Photo courtesy of Gene Furr, Raleigh News & Observer.)

All through last winter, The UP was progressing as well as could be expected, free of time pressures. But then Mother and Dad called. The snowbirds were leaving Florida to return to Ohio, and their migration would bring them right through Raleigh, N.C., where we live. And Mother said the magic words: "I can't wait to see how your chair turned out!" At last! Something meaningful--a deadline! The UP had been in the talk stage for years. The plan was to restore an old parlor set--a sofa and two armchairs, one with a slightly higher back--acquired from an old-furniture store in Washington. The set was probably 75 or 80 years old, and its original upholstery was an orange-brown pile-like chenille cut into a heavy floral pattern.

But under the heartless, mindless ministrations of two resident cats, the fabric soon was shredded. And the old springs couldn't take the constant use. Something had to be done. Several professionals submitted estimates for a reupholstery job. The lowest bid would have required intervention by the International Monetary Fund.

Mother's counsel was ludicrous: "Well, you can do it yourself, you know."

She would know. She had re-covered several pieces of furniture, including a 9-foot sofa. Of course, it helped that she is an expert seamstress. But sewing takes patience. Plus, there was the hideous memory of eighth-grade home economics class, where the bobbin never cooperated. Cooking class wasn't much of an improvement.

"I know you can do this, honey," Mother persisted. "All it takes is a little practice." So confident was she that she handed down a gigantic roll of gorgeous fabric, a glorious sea-blue velveteen, that she had acquired years ago and never got around to using. She also handed down orders: "Go buy a book."

The result of the UP. (Photo courtesy of Gene Furr, Raleigh News & Observer.)

There are dozens of upholstery DIY books available, but the one that guided The UP was Reupholstering At Home (Schiffer Publishing, $14.95), by longtime upholsterer and teacher Peter Nesovich. The whole book was motherly. The introduction ended with the cheer: "Can you do it? Of course you can!" Next, tools were purchased--a tack puller, a claw tool to yank out staples, a webbing stretcher to tighten the platform for the springs. The velveteen would not cover all the pieces, so Mother suggested using it just on the sides and back. Extra fabric in a nearly matching color--plus other notions, like a 6-inch needle--came from Hancock Fabrics in Raleigh.

The goal of The UP was to get the chair done by the time the snowbirds flew north. When learning of that plan, and its deadline, Mother sighed.

The sofa seemed a little too ambitious right off the bat, so the first candidate was the smaller of the armchairs. With tack puller in hand and Nesovich's book on the floor, off came the cambric on the underside. That revealed approximately 78,432 tacks fastening the fabric on the front, sides and back.

Under the fabric were layers of old cotton batting, then a layer of coarser, strawlike stuffing against the wood frame. At bottom, the springs had popped out of their metal frame. But the heavy burlap webbing, the floor of the chair, was in great shape, so ever-frugal Mother recommended reusing it.

After six weekend sessions, the chair frame was at last exposed. Now, to rebuild. The old varnish on the exposed wood needed removal, and that task took three extra sessions. Then the chair went up on a table, and the springs were reattached to the webbing with the 6-inch needle and some fishing line.

Foam rubber is the medium of choice to stuff furniture these days. Most sewing stores carry it, and it can be easily cut to size with a handsaw. Laying it on the seat was easy, but the arms and back required thought because the foam had to be tucked around the frame and stapled down to restore the chair's overstuffed look.

At last, it was time to cut fabric. Because one small piece required two rows of piping, it was also time to confront the haunting demons of eighth-grade home ec.

The Husband's mother had acquired a nice 25-year-old Singer for $75 and lent it to The UP. More terrified phone calls went to Florida. Again, Mother said soothingly, "Oh, honey, all you need is a little practice."

Long-term memory stores the most amazing stuff. With an assist from The Husband, in five minutes the machine was threaded. But just as in eighth grade, the bobbin refused to behave as directed. No amount of bad words could compel its cooperation. The Husband pointed out a method, which was obviously ludicrous. When a friend famous for her own sewing skills came in to consult, she threaded the bobbin instantly, exactly the way The Husband had suggested.

"And I didn't even have home ec," he said, oh so very helpfully.

Grrrr.

The piping was sewn without incident. When stapling fabric to the frame, it has to be taut and smooth, especially over the deep curves on the arms and top of the back.

Patience brought The UP far enough along. But then Mother and Dad were headed home, and the deadline loomed. It was clear that even on a 24-7 schedule the chair would not be completed in time. It felt like failure. But upon arriving, Mother was delighted by what she saw. "We can finish the back together," she said with relish.

The back fabric came from the sea-blue velveteen. Dad sat on the couch channel-surfing while Mother supervised the trickiest task: handling fabric with tack strips, long pieces of cardboard about half an inch wide with tacks embedded in it. The tacks are punched through the fabric, then the strip is folded over to create a nice, straight line when hammered onto the chair frame.

Louie, one of the cats who shredded the old upholstery, checks out the revived chair. (Photo courtesy of Gene Furr, Raleigh News & Observer.)

But even under Mother's patient gaze, this was not going well. The strip went down along the frame, but the fabric was crooked. The next time, it was too loose. The time after that, it was too tight. Try after try was unsuccessful.

Grrrr.

"Take it easy, honey," Mother said. "Be careful."

Yes, Mother. (Grrrr.)

The hammer came down again. This time, it was surely right. This time, it was surely wrong. "Honey, let me show you ..."

No, wait, Mother, (grrrr) it won't take a minute ...

The claw end of the hammer went against the tack strip to pull it all out once more. What a pain. There was much less finesse in the handling now, and the fabric was taking a beating, and this wasn't working the way it was supposed to, and there was Mother urging caution, and Dad was flipping channels, and this stupid chair should have been finished weeks ago, and ... Riiiiiiip!

The futility of haste could not have been plainer than the 3-inch tear in the sea-blue velveteen.

Coolly, calmly, Mother stood up, pressed her lips together and walked away to sit next to Dad to allow emotions to drop out of the red zone. A few minutes later, she came back, eyeballed the problem and, without a word, repositioned the fabric. This time, s-l-o-w-l-y, the hammer came down, tack tack tack tack, and it was perfect.

Now, though, the top of the back had to be hand-sewn to the top of the chair. Mother pulled out a needle, and five minutes later, there lay 6 inches of the most beautiful backstitch, not remotely visible. She smiled at the hosannas of worshipful wonderment.

"Just an old seamstress' trick," she said. "You'll learn it."