I was going through an estate sale one day (an expensive habit but healthier than several I developed around the same time) when a sad old clock caught my eye. It was battered, broken, and several half-assed attempts at cosmetic repairs had marred its skin. What seemed to be nail polish and Sharpie covered chips, cracks, and the dings of a hard life. The first time I moved it, it became clear that the faded face was not fixed to anything, and it scooted and rolled on the peg attaching the hands to the movement that had unknowably-long been a misnomer. In short, it was exactly my type.
I already have several mechanical clocks in my possession and most were (and indeed still are) in need of great love and care that I am mostly unable, and entirely unqualified, to give. I told myself that I shouldn't buy it. I don't have enough room in my heart, not to mention my home and bank account, to give it what it deserves. But it was the last day of the sale. It had already sat for three days watching as strangers took away its long-time companions, and thinking of what might happen to it if it was still sulking in the corner by the time the trash bags came out filled me with sadness and fear that demanded action.
So I brought the little rascal home. I gave it a bath, lamenting the seemingly plastic exterior spotted with several different colors of black, DIY “repairs” that harm the value of antiques more often than help. I consoled myself, however, that given it seemed to be made of plastic encased wood it couldn't be THAT old. Could it?
Smilingly kicking myself for being a sucker, I started to look for the little guys' tags. Seth Thomas marked the face, the torn and faded labels on the back, and matched the initials on the access plate.
“At least it probably isn't some sort of Frankenstein's monster.” I told myself, “Cobbled together from bits and bobs.” Thus unjustly comforted, I got to googling.
This is when my spirits began seriously to lift.
The year 1813 shot a defibrillator like arc of electricity into my chest. The Seth Thomas clock company had been founded far earlier than any I had previously researched. Maybe my little rescue was older than I thought, it certainly had seen a few things. The next date was the year they ceased production, 2009. I had one hell of a wide bracket to narrow down. With the practiced breath of a jaded optimist I slowed the beating in my ears as I read how Seth Thomas (born 1785) bought the clock factory he had been working in for three years, and then bought another clock company three years afterwards.
His first clocks were made with wooden movements, and they didn't start moving to brass until 1842. The space between the brackets began to narrow, but I was almost too surprised to notice. To me, wooden movements are a novelty seen on etsy and in educational “shit-loads of assembly required” kits. Despite my love for old clocks, I never knew that these ticking timepieces once touted timber movements. In my mind, the level of precision required in each part seems incompatible with a material more suited for whittling. I briefly imagined someone with a Swiss Army knife whistling as they switched between different sized blades, occasionally inspecting their work with the attached magnifying glass. Perhaps the true origin of the famously precise Swiss clocks?
I put that silliness behind me and got serious. I had to find out how old this clock was. I didn't care how long it would take or how much investigation would have to be done. I would solve this mystery or die trying!
One paragraph down I hit a breakthrough!
The manufacture date is printed on the bottom. Oh.
Aha! It is in code, though. This could get tricky. I have never been much of one for ciphers but I know there are communities and resources out there that...
Oh. The year is written backwards and each month is represented by a letter. A = January, B = February, etc.
“A bit of an anti-climax.” I thought, as my mind howled with laughter at its own foolishness.
A quick inspection told me that my clock had been made in February of 1905. A familiar ambivalence rushed through my body. I was simultaneously blown away by its age and disappointed it wasn't older.
“1905!” I thought with joy.
“Yeah, but it might have been from the 19th century,” my thoughts replied.
“115 years!” I mentally exclaimed.
“Two months earlier and it would have been.” said my mind, pedantically pissing on my mental parade.
I resolved to rise above myself and learn what I could about the poorly stamped model name. I couldn’t make any sense of the letters. Though I was familiar with all of them they barely registered as a word in that order. I ended up finding a list of popular models to compare against, but strangely didn’t find any matches. On an alphabetical list “Dallas” was followed immediately by “Dana” before moving on to “Dayton”, “Delaware”, “Denton”, etc.
In fact, scrolling through the list revealed a bunch of place names. The Google results for “Dalny” started to make a lot more sense. It seems that the clock was named after a Russian city in China that was receiving a lot of attention around the turn of the century.
I elected to enjoy my discovery by sharing it with others, but couldn't help but mention my annoyance at the sloppy attempts to preserve what I now knew to be a treasure. (What? If I could just enjoy the moment I might be happy and not a writer.)
My thoughts on the surface of the clock led to a question: why was it coated in plastic? Isn't 1905 really early for that sort of thing? My fear of being fooled began to rise again. I was under the impression that plastic was not in widespread use until World War 2 at the earliest. I have learned not to trust my instincts here though, my knowledge of history is spotty at best and is primarily divided into chunks between wars with hardly a date for context. I spent a moment to take a cartoon-like shake of my head. Thus cleared, it kindly reminded me that the necessary tool was literally at my fingertips.
Maybe it was that the age of the clock had come too easily, or maybe I was overly concerned by the prospect of possibly having bought a fake (at a price that any reasonable person would happily pay for a fake, but still, it is the principle of the thing). Either way, I was hooked now. I needed to know everything I could, and the word “Adamantine” glittering on a label as well as relevant pages offered an appealing, and it turned out fruitful, way forward.
Plastic has revolutionized practically every aspect of modern life, but who cares? Before plastic was celluloid.
You probably remember celluloid from the climactic scene of “Inglorious Bastards”. The flammable film used to flambe the fascists for the sake of freedom? Made of celluloid. But I am a couple of wars ahead of myself.
In 1856 the lazy son of a lock-maker didn't bother to clean up after himself when developing some photos, and he noticed that after the chemical bath had evaporated it left behind a solid residue. That's right, plastic was invented by accident.
He called his invention Parkesine, which was promptly stolen, improved, and renamed several times over (a common trope of science history). It saw use as fake ivory, fake marble, fake wood, film, those silly green visors you see in old movies, and lots more. Even today people use it when plastic won't do.
I am sure the reader intelligent, diligent, and discerning enough to get this far will see where I am going (and might need a bit of flattery to continue). Adamantine was indeed one of those improved celluloids. Seth Thomas Clock Co. used it to imitate more expensive clocks made in France with onyx, marble, and ivory. The versatility in coloration and flexibility in application to the wood cases made it an economical and popular option. I gave myself quite the unearned pat on the back when I learned this. It was a fake! My instincts had been right!
I am sure, imaginary reader, you have the same question I had from the moment I saw the clock: How much is it worth? Unfortunately this is where I hit a wall. Oh sure, there are scores of Seth Thomas Adamantine Mantel (no, that isn't misspelled) Clocks on eBay and other auction sites. I have seen comparable pieces sold and for sale, but the keyword there is comparable. Despite the surprisingly well documented product history, I have been unable to find one single other Dalny anywhere. Not on eBay, not on clock collector websites, not even in the 1906-1907 Seth Thomas Clock Company Catalogue (it and the other editions are real page turners, if you happen to be as obsessive and bad at sleeping as I). Not a single matching image. Not one mention in the literally thousands of web pages I have poured over.
So that is where I sit. Pretty, atop a possibly one-of-a-kind 100+ year old mechanical clock worth at least three hundred dollars, for which I paid only fifty. Yet, I am still unsatisfied.
Weep for me reader. Or don't. God knows I have that covered.
