“Quiet! The humans are coming,” said Rocky to the others. He knew how much Mrs. Gueridon
loved to talk. “Rocky is getting old and cranky,” Mrs. Gueridon whispered to her husband from her
side of the couch. Rocky had grown suspicious of the humans ever since he had overheard them talking
about refinishing. He knew of a Herter Brothers piece, an 1885 Cherrywood wardrobe, from his previous
residence, who had been taken to the refinisher. The wardrobe never returned! Rocky had heard stories
from different pieces about what had happened, but none of the furniture knew for sure.
“Yes honey,” they heard the first human saying, as he entered the house. “I do believe that Mission
piece could use some work. The Christmas party is only three weeks away. I’ve finally gotten on Mr.
Hicksley’s good side since we closed the Barker deal. He has even hinted of a promotion! Hicksley has
an eye for antiques, so that rocker would make a good impression on him if we get it spiffed up a bit. I
want everything to be just right for this party.” The humans hung their coats on the mahogany and brass rack that stood in the foyer separating the living room from the front door. They then went upstairs.
“I knew it!” Rocky exclaimed. “I’m doomed! Just because a fellow gets a little age on him, suddenly
everyone treats him like a has-been. ‘Mr. Hicksley has an eye for antiques.’ I am not that old,” Rocky grumbled.
“Why are you getting so upset?” Mr. Gueridon asked. “It can’t be that bad.”
That really made Rocky angry. He didn’t like the Gueridons anyway. He had always felt intimidated by them since they had been brought into the Weldon’s household.
Mr. and Mrs. Gueridon were from Alsace-Lorraine, in France, but Mr. Gueridon always referred to himself as German since at the time of his birth, the province of Lorraine had belonged to Germany. The Gueridons were what is referred to as Art Nouveanu furniture, from the design school of Ecole de Nancy. Mr. Gueridon was an impressive candelabrum of mahogany. (He and the coat rack just happened to be second cousins.) He was proud of the designs of water-lillies in inlaid fruitwoods on his top and bottom shelves. All three of his legs, he often pointed out, were carved dragonflies, whose wings extended backwards to support the central shelf.
Mrs. Gueridon was a few years younger than her husband. She was born after Alsace-Lorraine was returned to France in 1919. Mrs. Gueridon was a Louise Majorelle piece, and although she did not possess the symbolic elements of design that characterized her husband, he had always found her gilt bronze mounts to be especially attractive. For years before they met, Mr. Gueridon had lived the bachelor life, courting one candelabrum after another. For a short time after coming to the States, he had been engaged to a cherry wood endtable, but they soon discovered their differences of preference in regards to polishing agents were too great. Mr. Gueridon knew that if they were to wed, the whole “bee’s wax verses lemon Pledge” controversy would continue to be a point of contention throughout their marriage. The wedding was eventually cancelled.Then he saw “her” in a specialty furniture store in Syracuse, New York, in 1942. It was love at first sight. He proposed marriage only a week later.
Unlike the Gueridons, Rocky was from the line of “Mission Furniture.” He was born in Aurora, New York, in 1897. Rocky was the firstborn son of Elbert Hubbard, the pride of the Roycroft Community, before his untimely death at sea in 1915. Rocky wasn’t fancy like the Gueridons. His fittings were copper. His legs were canted, and he had round, bun feet. No fancy dragonflies or moths with mother of pearl wings adorned his frame, but his mortise and tenon joints were strong. Why do they think I need refinishing? he thought to himself. I’m just as good as those old French candlestands!
When evening came, and the lights went out in the Weldon household, all of the different pieces of furniture drifted off to sleep. The old Grandfather clock tick-tocked his way into dreamland. The Oriental rug yawned and stretched several times, and then he was out also. “Good night, my love,” Rocky heard Mr. Gueridon whisper to his wife, as he blew her a kiss from across the room. Everyone had settled in for a night of slumber. Everyone…except Rocky.
Rocky’s mind raced with thoughts of “The Refinisher.” When sleep finally came to Rocky, it was not a pleasant sleep at all. He drifted out of consciousness, and into a nightmare. He found himself in a basement, where, he wasn’t sure. It was definitely not the Weldon’s basement. He had stayed in the Weldon’s basement for the first two months after they moved into this house, while they were in the process of arranging everything. Their basement was nice. It had a big warm rug on the floor, and it even had a fireplace. Mr. Weldon had eventually converted his basement into a billiards room.
This “dream” basement Rocky now found himself in had a concrete floor that was bare and cold. The apparition he saw standing before him was definitely not Mr. Weldon. Rocky saw many strange things. There was a wall shelf with cans of something called Strip Eze, and Red Devil. What is Trisodium Phosphate? he wondered to himself as he read the handwritten labels on the glass jars.
Then he saw it! Beads of sweat crowned his head. Just behind the strange figure standing in front of him, there it was, The Rack of Horrors! The instruments of torture hung ominously before him. The sight of the electric sander, the scrub brushes, exacto-knives, and paint scrapers was more than he could bear, but there was nowhere to run!
Suddenly, the Grandfather clock sounded the three o’clock hour. Rocky awoke in a cold sweat. He shook himself free from the hellish nightmare. “I’ll break out,” he whispered to himself. “They’ll never take me alive. But where does a renegade rocker find refuge?”
The remaining hours until sunrise seemed to crawl at a snail’s pace. “You look terrible,” Rocky heard the Grandfather clock comment after the old man had awakened. “I didn’t sleep well,” Rocky confessed. “I dreamed that the humans took me to the refinisher. It was horrible.”
“Son,” said the clock, “You don’t have to fear the refinisher. I’ve been myself. I was just as scared as you” “But you are in perfect shape,” Rocky protested. “Ten years ago, I was a mess. My joints were loose, and my finish had faded,” the Grandfather clock told him. “Just like you, I feared the change. But the refinisher is gentle. His hands are loving. He can make you new.” Rocky wondered about the old man’s words. Two days passed, and then “he” came. Rocky was taken away.
The day of the big party arrived. “Poor Rocky is going to miss the party. I guess he was right about the Refinisher. He is not coming back.” Mr. Gueridon said to his wife, as they watched the new rocker being brought into the living room. “HEY, wait a minute!” Mrs. Gueridon exclaimed, as she caught a closer look. “Let’s rock!” said the Mission piece, as he gave them a quick wink.
Danny's Stump 