Grandpa Wiley’s Dresser

My Great-Grandpa Wiley Viers was a furniture maker in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s.  I own one of his dressers.  I feel so honored, knowing that he cut every piece, sanded every corner, and nailed every precious nail.  He probably worked in the light of a dim oil lamp and in a dark barn. He was a farmer by day and a furniture maker by night. What was he thinking at that time in his life when he made that dresser? What were his hopes and dreams? Does he know that his great-granddaughter cherishes this very special piece of furniture and somehow feels connected to him?

 

The last time I remember seeing Grandpa Wiley was when I was a little girl. He was dying and confined to a bed. I never really spent much time with him growing up, but I felt as if I knew him from all the stories my grandmother Lessie told me about him. His wife died when she was young leaving him with a house full of children. My grandmother was only five years old when her mother died. Can you just imagine how devastated he was, wondering how he would be able to take care of his children without his best friend, his beloved wife, Louisa? I can just imagine him going to his workshop to hang his head and cry where nobody could see him. I’m sure that his loss was overwhelming but all he could do was keep his feelings buried deep inside, determined to stay strong for his family because that was the way of men back then. 

 

My grandmother always talked about how hard he worked. He made sure his children had everything they needed and most importantly, he kept them all together. He was a man of faith and integrity. His children looked at him with awe and respect. He made sure his children always remembered what a great mother they had and how he would never find another like her.

 

My dresser isn’t perfect, not by a long shot. Some of the drawers do not shut properly. The glass shows its age, with flecks of silver peeping through. There’s a large crack running across the top where the wood doesn’t meet. I’m not sure what kind of wood he used but it’s extremely heavy. Are these imperfections why the dresser was not sold for money that would help a struggling family? To me, the imperfections are what make it special. It shows me he was an imperfect man doing the best he could. 

 

I always wondered about the history of this dresser. Where did he keep it in his house? Was it in a bedroom, a kitchen or family area? My grandmother gave it to my uncle Garry. My uncle stripped the many layers of paint and gave it to my mother. My mother gave it to me many years ago.  The only thing I have done is replace the old wire handles with some brass handles I found in an antique store in Jonesborough, Tennessee. 

 

I hope that the next owner will treasure this furniture as much as I have.