Dr No's journey with a vintage Omega Ref. 2608 offers a compelling look into the often-unpredictable world of collecting and restoring watches from the 1950s. His detailed account highlights the unique challenges and unexpected triumphs that define the pursuit of horological authenticity. This article underscores the dedication required to bring a historically significant timepiece back to its former glory, even when faced with significant obstacles.
. . . ca '53.
Found this unpolished example on eBay earlier this year located in Venezuela. Ref 2608 was introduced in 1951 and, as usual with Omega, produced in several dial variations. Black engraved being especially compelling persuaded me to take a chance bidding on a watch from a country bedeviled with political problems. Astonished by my relatively low winning bid, I paid the seller and pleasantly surprised when the advertised watch showed up in my mail box a few weeks later. It was as described, totally original other than the seconds hand, never having seen a buffing wheel and probably not even a polishing cloth.
I took it to my watchmaker.
"Bad condition. Lots of movement corrosion. Why you buy these crappy watches, Art?"
"Because I like authentic Omega dials, Kingo. Here's another trinket I found on eBay."
I handed over a mint cal 283 movement with a Century dial and hands affixed. (The Century was likely solid gold and melted down, leaving a well-preserved movement and dial behind.)
"Oh, this one is good! So you want me to transfer the seconds hand and movement parts to make this one work?"
"Absolutely. Take whatever movement parts are necessary from the donor and transfer them to the original plates and bridges." (I was expecting most parts to be exchanged.)
Three weeks ago I got the call.
"Your Omega is ready. Please come pick up." (Kingo is from Japan, so English is his second language.)
When I saw it, I was disappointed. The case tube had been removed, so there was a noticeable gap between crown and case.
"Too much corrosion. I had to remove case tube. Cannot find replacement."
So I took it home, crestfallen.
π
The next day, I decided to ask Kingo if he could make a case tube from scratch.
"Well . . . (pregnant pause) . . . yes, I can make a case tube. Give me a little time."
Two weeks later, it was ready.
Much improved, even though there was still a visible gap.
"Let me show you," said Kingo, taking the bezel off. The movement was running.
In a moment worthy of a Rodney Dangerfield film, the seconds hand pierced his thumb.
"Ow!"
And the seconds hand flew off.
π±
We searched for a quarter of an hour. No luck. I had to console Kingo.
"No worries - I'll contact my usual parts suppliers for a replacement." I said this knowing it would be difficult without knowing the precise length needed, and even if a correct gilt hand could be found, it would look new and consequently out of place contrasted against aged hands and dial.
A week went by. I'd ordered a couple of seconds hands from third party suppliers, but neither were correct.
Then the phone call from heaven.
"Art - I found your seconds hand. Please come pick up."
It's been on my wrist since Saturday. When I told my pal Jim about the experience that evening, he said, "In the car world, we have a saying: cheap can be more expensive than you think."
After spending a total of double the acquisition cost to restore and outfit my latest addition, I know precisely what he means.
Art
