Newer, wider television sets often don't fit existing entertainment centers. That wasn't going to stop one passionate couch potato, or the craftsman who would be her hero.
By BARBARA L. FREDRICKSEN
Published October 23, 2004
[Times photo: Barbara Fredricksen]
The former set up.
[Times photo: Janel Schroeder-Nortion]
Fredricksen the TV lover sits back and enjoys her new high-definition television in her rebuilt entertainment center.
[Times photo: Barbara Fredricksen]
Dimitrios Vakalopoulos, owner of Finecraft Custom Furniture in Hudson, stands next to the center bottom section of Barbara Fredricksen’s entertainment unit.
I fell in love with television when I was 5 years old.
Our Texas town had one TV, and it was in the window of a local radio shop. At night, the proprietor would leave it turned on so people could sit in their cars or lounge in lawn chairs, sandwiches and R.C. Colas in hand, and watch Houston Wrestling ("Wild" Red Berry was a favorite) on the snowy black-and-white set.
Those were incredibly happy moments for me, as I cheered the wrestlers, then curled up on the car seat between my parents and drifted off to sleep.
Those euphoric moments came back to me about a year ago when I wandered by a huge high definition television set in a local store. I stood transfixed, harking back to my bologna sandwich days, as crystal-clear pictures danced across the screen. The only snow was intentional, on the INHD channel, which shows gorgeous mountains and rolling seas.
Wow. I had to have one of those.
One problem: I already had a three-piece entertainment center with a center section that would hold a 27-inch TV, but not the 50-incher I wanted.
The salesman told me that was a recurring problem with potential buyers and ruined a lot of his sales.
The easy solution was for me to use the side units and get one of those big consoles with the speakers underneath. But I wanted the Samsung DLP HDTV, which is a tabletop. And I didn't want one of those tacky black plastic "media units" the TV stores sell plopped between my Drexel-Heritage side units.
My son is in the furniture business, and he offered to send me a new entertainment center. For the skinny plasma sets, he has consoles with trap doors in the top that let you raise and lower the sets by remote control like a videotape in a VCR. For tabletop models, he has credenzas topped by expandable "bridges" that attach to the side units. For TVs like mine, he has armoires with pocket doors to cover the TV when it's not in use.
Those new, wide-TV units are among his biggest sellers.
But I wanted to keep my entertainment center. I love its burled walnut and squiggly oak woods. (Besides, my boy should save his money, not spend it on his mom!)
I stared at my narrow TV cabinet for months before I had the grand idea of getting a cabinetmaker to take the middle unit apart and use the doors and wood to rebuild it wide enough to hold my new set.
I called several cabinetmakers, who laughed at the very thought of such a project. Even so, I talked a couple of them into coming out to take a look.
Both of them shrugged and said they wouldn't do it for any price.
Then I spotted an ad for a place that makes custom furniture by hand. I dropped by, was impressed at the quality of the work, and approached owner Dimitrios Vakalopoulos about doing my cabinet.
Vakalopoulos, a native of Athens, Greece, and a graduate of the Parsons School of Design in Manhattan, was less than enthusiastic about my project. Who wants to take apart and rebuild a nearly 30-year-old piece of furniture?
"Why don't you let me make you one from scratch?" he asked. But I was a desperate woman, having already bought the TV, so I begged.
Finally, he said what he thought would discourage me forever: The minimum price he would charge to do the work would cost slightly more than twice the $800 I knew I had paid for that center cabinet back in 1978. I swallowed hard, said "okay," and set a time for him to come take a look.
Vakalopoulos circled the cabinet like a caged tiger, grimacing at the thought of picking it apart and piecing it back together to blend with the other two sections. Fortunately, I had eight pieces of extra molding that would have been attached to the sides of the sections had I decided to use them individually. Vakalopoulos said he could use those pieces to finish out the molding along the front and along the top to make it blend into the other sections.
Then he and his apprentice-son Kosmas, 17, carted the cabinet out the door, saying they should have it back to me in three weeks.
Four weeks later, and still no cabinet.
That's when I learned that the cabinet is not oak, which is plentiful in Vakalopoulos's store, but mostly Chinese oak that would have to be shipped from somewhere in Asia.
And, unfortunately, hurricanes Charley, Frances, Ivan and Jeanne were holding up the shipments.
Finally, the weather cleared, the Chinese oak arrived, and Vakalopoulos finished and delivered my refurbished cabinet.
The finished cabinet blends perfectly with my existing pieces. Vakalopoulos obviously spent days matching the horizontal grain of the wood, the aged stain, the flow of the furniture's design. He has made furniture for Connie Chung, Rusty Staub and the late Rodney Dangerfield, but I doubt any was more beautiful than this one, and, arguably, not as appreciated by its owner.
The TV has been installed, and it's better than I ever imagined.
Now, would somebody please pass the popcorn?
- Barbara Fredricksen covers entertainment for the Pasco Times, a regional edition of the St. Petersburg Times. Dimitrios Vakalopoulos can be reached at Finecraft Custom Furniture, 18331 U.S. 19, Hudson. Call (727) 869-9090.
