REECE’S PIECES - Sitting is easier on the feet

One day, a clever carpenter fashioned a bench from a log he had stumbled across. Upon which many could sit side-by-side, somewhat like a modern-day church pew. This innovation was so well received that, soon, many people were getting out of the dirt and sitting up straight in a more civilized fashion. Sometimes, rows of these benches were arranged so the community could listen to the rousing speeches of their chief, who by then had climbed up even higher to perch on a rock.

People then sat around on stones and rudimentary benches looking at campfires, talking, and listening to long, rambling speeches until around 5,800 years ago. Then, a clever Egyptian carpenter got tired of having back problems from sitting on a backless bench and chiseled out a plan for a backrest on a rock. The backrest was especially handy when a crowd gathered to hear some long-winded government official reading the latest declaration from a long rolled-up piece of papyrus.

Other carpenters were impressed by the new backrest and improved upon it by turning it into a proper chair with a higher backrest and longer legs. Since they were Egyptians, they sometimes got artsy by incorporating wildlife designs in building these early chairs, with animal feet and claws sometimes gripping the floor. Some chairs had wings wrapping around them as armrests. Of course, you had to be a rich VIP to own such furniture. The pharaoh always had the best seat in the house. Common Egyptians didn't have much furniture and used whatever would do - a backless bench, a flat rock, or just relaxing in the dirt.

A wooden bench can be hard on a tailbone. It took thousands of years before some dude fed up with a sore keester came up with the first upholstered bench in 1705. Not only was it comfortable and good for taking midafternoon naps, but it was also quite stylish for its time with intricate needlework.

Artisans then began carving art into the woodwork of chairs padded with smelly horsehair. The concept of a simple bench became a sofa, and people sat side-by-side, once again, this time in comfort.

Sewing machines have long since replaced hand stitching, and foam rubber has replaced horsehair. We have couches that turn into beds, electric recliners with muscle-relaxing massage controls, and lightweight futons. Thankfully, bean bags are passé. Still, with all the modern tools, machines, and fabrics, nothing can substitute the skill and expertise required for a professional upholsterer.

My dad taught himself the upholstery trade by reverse engineering. He believed if he could take something apart, he could put it back together. And he could. To supplement his lowly sergeant’s pay, he bought an industrial sewing machine and went into business with me and my younger brothers as ready-made helpers.

Before I was large enough to help him carry furniture in and out of people’s homes, he put me to work watching the needle on his sewing machine so I could tell him when the bobbin thread ran out. The bobbin is what ties the knot beneath the material being sewn. Being a young boy, my attention span was short, and it would never take long for me to get bored and start gazing around the shop. I especially liked all the weird tools he had lying around, and I would imagine what I could build with them.

Whenever my dad saw my gaze leave the needle, he would speed up the motor to run the bobbin thread out as quickly as possible. He would then sew another few feet without it. Suddenly, he would stop and swat me on the rear with his wooden yardstick for not doing my job. That was a dirty trick. Once I learned to sew, I found I didn’t need anyone to watch my thread. I always knew immediately when the bobbin was empty. He told me later he did that to teach me discipline. I needed it.

Later, I was handed the job of removing old fabric from the used furniture. We used this worn-out material as a pattern, and it was important not to rip it. The worst part about that job was that I worked where people sat and made cushions stink. The best part was that when people sit, change falls from their pockets. That was the only pay I ever received, but I was proud to help my dad.

Steve Reece is a writer and columnist for the Reporter. His books, “I Know a Few Dogs In Heaven” and "Fish from the Sky" are collections of his best columns and on sale at the Reporter. Email him at [email protected].