Bandsaw Restoration

Making the Cut: Full Restoration of a Vintage 1966 Wellsaw 8M Bandsaw

While a carbide-tipped chop saw makes short work of structural tubing for weldments, it has major drawbacks for a small workshop: it is deafeningly loud, scatters hot metal chips everywhere, and leaves tooth marks that require secondary cleanup on a belt or disc sander. Eager to upgrade to a cleaner, quieter process, I set my sights on a bandsaw.

True to my commitment to vintage American machinery, I jumped on a marketplace listing for a rusty 1966 Wellsaw 8M (16x9 capacity) for a few hundred dollars, expecting a straightforward weekend cleanup.

Instead, I fell deep into a restoration rabbit hole. The project ultimately cost three times my initial four-figure budget—additionally justifying nearly four figures in new tool purchases along the way—and required some unexpected engineering and metal fabrication. Fortunately, Wellsaw's exceptional legacy support (with parts available for saws dating back to the 1930s and a technician who happily walked me through complex disassembly over a dozen phone calls) made success possible.

Here is the complete documentation of the teardown, rebuild, and re-engineering process that brought this heavy-duty American classic back to workshop-ready precision.

With the bandsaw trailered home, I got some help rolling it off the trailer. Conveniently, the previous owner (a Kubota dealer) had built a custom rolling frame for it; despite the terrible condition of the casters, it made wheeling the saw into position for disassembly relatively manageable. Although I knew I’d be doing a full restoration, I couldn't resist plugging it in to run a test cut on a piece of square tubing. While it was definitely noisier than expected—unsurprising given it had been stored outdoors in their shop—the initial test cut was surprisingly clean and square. With the quick test out of the way, I started taking comprehensive photos and videos of every angle of the saw to serve as a visual reference during teardown and reassembly.

With the initial photo session out of the way, I headed over to the Wellsaw website and downloaded the specific parts and operating manuals using the saw's serial number. The parts manual proved to be an invaluable resource, featuring complete exploded views of every section with every individual screw, nut, and component identified to help guide the teardown. While I was at it, I called Wellsaw customer service to satisfy a neighbor's question about the machine's age; I learned it was manufactured in 1966, and that only minor design variations had been made to that model from the 1930s all the way to the present day.

Armed with the documentation, I officially began the teardown.

The first items to come off were the original cracked plastic wheel covers, which were precariously secured with tied electrical wire. It was obvious they needed replacement, and since I wasn't initially sure if new ones could still be purchased, I figured making them would be a great test of my fabrication skills. Right alongside the covers, the old coolant hoses were also tied to the frame with wire, so I untied those as well.

Next up, I removed the stock stop assembly from the front of the saw. The fixed stock stop arm was rusted tight onto the bar, requiring some patient muscling back and forth while sliding it off. During disassembly, I noticed a few modifications by previous owners: the stop set screw had been reversed, with extra nuts added instead of the single stock jam nut to clamp it down. Furthermore, the wing screw used for adjusting the hinged stop angle had been replaced with a standard hex screw. Even after soaking it in Aero Kroil penetrant for a few days, the screw was completely frozen, and the head snapped right off on attempted loosening.

With the stop assembly safely aside, I tackled the stock motor next. I loosened the set screw holding the motor plate in position, then used a prybar to shift the motor toward the pulley cover and take the tension off the V-belt. Normally, the motor plate should hinge smoothly on its pivot, but it was far too rusted to move freely. Once I managed to get the belt off, I unbolted the motor from the mounting plate and set it aside.

Because the original motor was an open-frame design and had clearly spent some years exposed to outdoor weather and dirt, there was no doubt that it needed to be replaced.

Next, I removed the blade guides. Knowing I would need to replace the bearings, I sat down at my laptop and built a spreadsheet parts list using the part numbers and diagrams from the manual. Unfortunately, the Wellsaw bearing numbers in the manual turned out to be proprietary (more on that later), but the single-row deep groove backer and double-row angular contact guide bearings still had legible numbers marked on their outer races, which I noted down.

At first glance, the guides appeared corroded and I wasn’t sure if they were reuseable. However, upon closer inspection, the cast iron plates and aluminum guides were simply coated in a hard crust made of peeling paint chips, dirt, surface rust, and steel swarf mixed with dried coolant, which scraped right off. Finally, I noticed the blade brush bristles were virtually non-existent, so I added them to the growing parts list.

The next step was removing the idler pulley and tensioner mechanism, which initially had me stumped: the spring was under heavy tension, but turning the tensioner knob did nothing. That's when I discovered a modification not shown in the parts manual: the original round brass nut—which compresses the spring and is typically fixed against rotation by a top screw—had completely stripped its threads. The previous owner had resorted to using a standard hex nut as a makeshift tensioner instead.

I started by removing the blade and the idler wheel, then tried to remove the nut itself, but it was corroded solidly in place. To safely de-tension the assembly, I very carefully loosened the two take-up support screws until the spring pressure gradually released; fortunately, this worked without damaging anything. With the tension safely relieved, I removed the entire tensioner unit along with its slide components.

Next, I removed the motor plate, wheel plate, and gearbox as a single connected subassembly. On this model, the blade speed is stepped down through multiple stages: a V-belt pulley reduction from the motor to the gearbox input shaft, a helical geartrain inside the gearbox, and finally a pinion gear driving a large ring gear on the main drive wheel. Because the motor plate pivot was stuck in the mount and I didn't yet have access to a shop press, I left those components attached for the time being and unscrewed the gearbox assembly.

Around this time, it truly sank in just how filthy this restoration was going to be. The gearbox was completely caked in thick, disgusting grime made from open geartrain grease mixed with decades of accumulated shop dirt. As I worked, I methodically organized all fasteners into labeled Ziploc bags, laid out parts on cardboard boxes, and started scraping heavy mounds of muck directly into trash bags. The sheer volume of grime was appalling—and I hadn't even reached the worst of it yet.

Continuing the disassembly, I removed the drive wheel, using an impact wrench to loosen the stubborn axle nut just as I had done with the idler wheel. For most of the saw's fasteners, I strictly used hand tools and worked carefully to avoid snapping anything, but the wheel axles featured nuts on both ends, meaning an attempt to loosen one side would sometimes just spin the other. After scraping away the hardened grease packed between the teeth of the cast iron ring gear, I discovered a major issue: the teeth were severely worn down on one side. Another item for the parts list.

Next, I removed the guide bracket beam, the saw frame, and the ratchet arm. During this phase, I ran into an unfortunate mishap: not realizing that the hydraulic cylinder was still full of oil, I removed the upper retaining nut and let the cylinder hinge downward, dumping fluid all over the concrete garage floor. Fortunately, I had a bottle of Chomp! oil stain remover on hand. I quickly soaked up as much as I could with paper towels and immediately treated the area with the cleaner. After letting it dry for a few days, the spill was barely noticeable.

Next, I disassembled the front and rear vises. Upon doing so, I noticed an interesting modification: since one of the threaded vise mounting holes in the top of the bed had likely stripped out at some point, the previous owner fabricated a custom nut plate out of a three-quarter-inch thick rectangular piece of hot-rolled steel. At the time, I didn't dig deep enough into the manual to realize it wasn't an original factory part—in fact, I wouldn't find out until after final finishing and reassembly—but the clever fix works well enough, so I left it be.

In an attempt to stay organized now that the upper half of the saw was fully broken down, I laid out all the components. Being an absolute neat freak while having metal fabrication as a hobby is a tough combination to reconcile. Around this time, it felt like I was spending more time sweeping and vacuuming than actually working on the machine; every single time I moved a part, another cascade of dried dirt and grime hit the floor.

The underside of the bed featured two mechanical linkages: one for releasing the ratchet arm so the blade could travel downward, and another connected directly to the motor switch for automatic shut-off when the saw reached the bottom of its cut. I carefully disassembled both linkages and disconnected the motor cable from the main motor switch and overload assembly.

I then pulled the hooked-on, grime-filled coolant reservoir and pump from the coolant tray, followed by removing and disassembling the motor switch. The coolant hose was secured to the bed with several clamps; while most came off without a fight, the material in the slot of one stubborn rounded-head screw sheared away enough that the screwdriver could no longer grip. Fortunately, I was able to use a Dremel with a cut-off wheel to grind a new cross-slot and punch the center, giving a Phillips screwdriver enough bite to grab hold. After soaking it with copious amounts of Aero-Kroil and applying heat from a propane torch, I finally coaxed the screw out without shearing the head off.

At this point, the only remaining part attached above the bed surface was the sliding vise gear rack, which was connected to the handwheel. The handwheel threads onto a shaft threaded on both ends, secured by a jam nut that prevents it from backing off when releasing the vise. Unfortunately, both the jam nut and the wheel were frozen solid. I spent a week repeatedly soaking the shaft with Aero-Kroil, heating the hub with a propane torch, and leaning on a very large wrench to release the jam nut, but nothing would budge it. Admitting defeat, I loaded the entire bed assembly into the truck and took it to a local fabrication shop, where they managed to break it free safely using generous amounts of PB Blaster and an oxy-acetylene torch.

With the bed out of the way, I grabbed a stiff paint scraper and went to work. Due to the combination of fine metal chips, dirt, and oil residue from dried coolant, parts of the coolant tray had developed an almost concrete-like buildup that was brutally difficult to remove. In many instances, I had to resort to a hammer and chisel just to chip away chunks, and even that wasn't always effective. While I managed to clear out a large portion of the crust, I realized that whatever final finishing method I chose, abrasive media blasting with coarse media would be necessary to get the rest down to bare metal.

With the main disassembly more or less complete, I removed the splash guard, lifted off the coolant tray, and finally moved the legs out of the way. With the base accessible, I shifted my focus to the gearbox.

With the saw disassembled, I began stripping down the gearbox. While I managed to get started using two- and three-jaw pullers, I knew the job would be nearly impossible to finish without a proper shop press. I typically avoid Harbor Freight tools, but my search for a decent American-made shop press was coming up short. That morning, a used Central Machinery 20-ton press that had only seen a single project popped up on Facebook Marketplace in a neighboring town, so I jumped on it. I also ordered a slide hammer and picked up a variety of additional vintage American pullers.

As mentioned earlier, the gearbox was completely coated in grime. I removed the cover screws, used a puller to gently separate the housing, and started pulling out the bearings. While the gears themselves were in excellent condition, three of the four bearings felt crunchy when rotated and needed to be replaced. Additionally, the pin hole for the external pinion gear was severely distorted, forcing me to add a new pinion shaft to the growing parts list.

While restoring the saw, I naturally had to source specialty parts directly from Wellsaw, but for standard items like bearings, I tried to find them elsewhere first to save some money. Unfortunately, many of the original bearings were stamped with non-ISO harmonized part numbers, making them tough to track down. Using a micrometer, I took accurate outside diameter and shaft measurements as a starting point, but some of the bearings also featured offset widths, and finding exact load ratings proved difficult. Ultimately, for a few of the trickier bearings, I decided it was best to just buy OEM replacements straight from Wellsaw.

With the gearbox housing completely stripped down and given a preliminary cleaning, I submerged the parts in a covered container filled with a diluted solution of boiling-hot water and Simple Green industrial degreaser. Once the water cooled down enough to touch safely, I scrubbed every component thoroughly with nylon and wire brushes. After repeating the process a couple of times, the parts came out looking brand new.

The next step was to clean up and modify the custom angle-iron frame built by the previous owner. While I really liked the overall design—it was functional, low profile, and fit the machine well—I wanted to install the German 5-inch easy-roll casters I've used on my other projects, which meant the original angle-iron caster mounts had to go. After sketching a quick drawing in SolidWorks to figure out the exact dimensions, I picked up some 4-inch by 4-inch by quarter-inch angle iron and 3-inch wide quarter-inch flat strip, then got to cutting.

After squaring the cut edges on the disc sander and beveling the weld joints to roughly 45 degrees on the bench grinder, I started welding. For this job, I used a Millermatic 211 inverter setup with a Bernard 200A gun, 0.035-inch ER70S-6 wire, and C25 shielding gas.

With the welds complete, I cleaned them up using a 3-inch carbon-steel wire wheel on a drill, then carefully ground them flush with an 80-grit flap disc. I skipped the 120-grit fiber-disc finishing step I usually rely on because I had decided to have the parts powder-coated with a hammertone finish, meaning I didn't need to stress as much over a flawless surface polish.

Once the grinding was finished, some expected residual distortion left the plates slightly out of flat. To correct this, I rigged up a makeshift straightening jig using scraps of heavy-wall rectangular tubing and a large C-clamp, using it to bend the pieces back until they were nice and flat.

With that, I turned my attention back to the frame. Even though the iron had been cut and welded with full joint penetration, the initial welds weren't the most aesthetically pleasing. I ground them flush, used a CGW red stripping disc to clear away the neighboring dirt, rust, and mill scale, and laid down fresh MIG welds on the corners. To wrap up, I blended everything down with an 80-grit flap disc, followed by a 120-grit fiber disc, and finished up by hand-filing the corners to create clean, uniform radii.

The accompanying images show the corners both before and after the cleanup.

With the edges cleaned up, I proceeded to weld the caster brackets to the frame. I sculpted the weld joints with an angle grinder to match the previous work, after which the mounting locations were ready to be drilled. I set the casters in place and used a transfer punch to precisely mark the hole locations. I then center-punched the marks, spotted the tips using a 7/64-inch 135-degree drill bit, finished drilling to the correct tap-drill size on the drill press, and threaded the 5/16-24 holes for the caster screws using a tapping block. After bolting everything up for a test fit, the frame rolled beautifully.

I debated for a while whether or not to add a shelf to the bottom of the frame. My main concern was that metal chips might collect down there, but after thinking it over—and knowing how meticulous I am about cleaning my machines after use—I figured that wouldn't be an issue. Plus, it would make a great spot to store stock cut-offs. I headed over to my cousin's fabrication shop and had him shear a sheet of 14-gauge steel to fit inside the frame. From there, I welded it in from underneath to keep a clean, seamless look on top.

Next up, I turned my attention to the motor and controls, knowing that mounting an enclosure to the frame would call for some minor fabrication. The first step was tracking down a replacement motor. After scrolling through Facebook Marketplace for a bit, I scored a new-old-stock, American-made Franklin Electric 3/4-horsepower, 120/240V single-phase capacitor start/run motor for a reasonable price. Following a successful bench test where it ran smoothly, I ordered some 14 AWG flexible cord, cable glands, and terminals from AutomationDirect. Since the original motor was only 1/2-horsepower, I figured bumping it up a bit would be a nice upgrade.

The coolant pump was originally powered by a NEMA 5-15 receptacle wired directly to the input side of the motor overload switch, meaning the only way to turn it on and off was by plugging and unplugging it. To fix this and provide proper control, I picked up a Hammond pushbutton enclosure and wired in a Siemens two-position latching switch for the pump.

Initially, I had concerns about inrush current and inductive kickback across the switch terminals when powering down, but after running some tests with an oscilloscope, I convinced myself that it wasn't an issue. The pump uses a shaded-pole AC motor which typically draws 1.5 to 2 times its full load amperage (FLA) inrush current. While the switch lacked an explicit AC-3 rating, its AC-15 rated breaking current was 10 times the rated switch current—equating to 100A. This is far above the 1.7A drawn by the pump motor, even though the apparent power draw sat slightly above the 72VA AC-15 limit. For these reasons, I figured the switch would easily outlast my lifetime. However, for a commercial production run, I would specify a switch with an official AC-3 rating designed for this application.

With testing successfully completed, I drilled and tapped mounting holes for the pushbutton enclosure, then fitted the original switch to determine the correct cable lengths.

However, once I opened up the original Allen-Bradley motor switch, I decided to change course. While the internal contacts were in decent shape, the insulation on the overload wire was cracked, and a piece of the plastic bezel had broken off, causing the switch to occasionally jam. Although I could have fixed it with epoxy (which I eventually did), I looked into buying a brand-new replacement just to be safe. I couldn't find an aftermarket equivalent online, and Wellsaw wanted a staggering $385 for a replacement. Figuring I could build a complete control setup using name-brand industrial components sourced from eBay or Marketplace for a fraction of that cost, I decided to bite the bullet and custom-design a small control enclosure. The new design would incorporate start and stop buttons, run and trip indicator lights, and replace the old mechanical linkage with a roller limit switch to automatically kill power when the saw reached the end of its travel.

With the design finalized, I gathered the parts. While I normally avoid budget Amazon products for professional projects, I was already bleeding money, so instead of sourcing my usual premium German enclosures, I found an obvious clone on Amazon that looked like it would fit my components for a very reasonable price. I put together a quick CAD model to double-check the dimensions and placed the order. Although wiring the panel turned into a bit of a nightmare because of the cramped space, the finished control box ended up looking remarkably clean.

Another modification the previous owner had made was extending the sheet metal gearbox pulley cover to provide better coverage for the motor V-belt. While I'm not entirely sure what motivated the change, it wasn't a bad idea; however, the 14-gauge extension had been stick-welded on, resulting in a functional but sloppy finish. To clean it up, I used an angle grinder with a cut-off wheel to slice off the old overlapping piece, fabricated a new cover extension out of a scrap piece of 14-gauge hot-rolled sheet using a jigsaw, and carefully tack-welded it to the original cover using sheet metal butt-weld clamps.

After test-fitting the cover on the saw, I removed it to fully weld all the seams solid. I then ground everything flush using an 80-grit flap disc and finished blending the surface with a 120-grit fiber disc to ensure a seamless look.

Confident that the majority of required parts were finally accounted for, I placed the large Wellsaw order that had accumulated and shifted my attention back to the replacement motor. After checking the date code, I did some digging and discovered that while it appeared brand new, it had actually sat in its box for 30 years. Standard electric motor bearings (like those from Timken or SKF) typically use polyurea-based grease, which has about a five-year shelf life before oxidation leads to thickener hardening, oil separation, and degradation—especially since these weren't sealed in bags. Although the motor ran fine during the initial test, it seemed a bit louder than expected, so I decided to swap out the 6203ZZ C3 bearings for brand-new Timken bearings as cheap insurance.

After installing the new bearings, I ran another test and was genuinely surprised by how much quieter the motor operated.

The next bearing scenario to tackle involved the main sawblade wheels. The bearings had a press fit in the wheel hubs, and I had removed them from their axles prior to getting the hydraulic press by tapping them out with a soft-blow plastic hammer. Once again, the original bearings were non-standard and only available under a different designation from a new manufacturer, carrying a hefty price tag. After taking precise micrometer measurements of the shaft and outer diameter and doing some digging, I found that standard 6204 bearings shared the exact same dimensions. However, the original MRC 204FS bearings featured a width offset, meaning a direct swap to a standard 6204 wouldn't allow for proper axial location on the axle.

To fix this, I happened to have a piece of scrap tubing that slid almost perfectly over the outer diameter of the shaft, which could be turned into custom spacers. Since I had access to a Haas CNC lathe at the time, I headed over to the shop and spun out a quick set. With the axles and original spacers cleaned up on the bench grinder's wire wheel, everything was prepped and ready for reassembly.

While my original plan was to fabricate new wheel covers to replace the cracked plastic originals, I figured that purchasing new ones would save a significant amount of time, so I ordered replacements straight from Wellsaw. The upgraded replacement guards consist of four pieces: a hinged idler wheel cover, an outer drive wheel cover, an inner drive wheel cover, and an upper frame blade cover. With the exception of needing to drill and tap a few new mounting holes, the two outer covers actually fit the original 1966 model quite well, and the new hinge design was a fantastic upgrade. However, the inner cover didn't fit properly due to the curved shape of the vintage frame. Since the upper blade cover was a relatively simple 90-degree bend with some edge contouring, I decided to fabricate it myself using a piece of 14-gauge strip sheared and bent at my cousin's fabrication shop.

After receiving the outer guards and realizing the inner one wasn't the right fit, I contacted Wellsaw. They informed me that they had already caught the error themselves, had shipped out the correct newer inner guard free of charge, and that it would arrive the next day. I have to say, Wellsaw's customer service was nothing short of fantastic.

The accompanying images show the new outer guards and the custom-fabricated upper blade guard.

Drilling the mounting holes for the new hinged guard turned out to be trickier than anticipated; I initially drilled and threaded them a bit too far down. While everything cleared fine when I mocked it up on the floor with the axles, when mounted on the bed, the bottom of the guard ended up interfering with the saw rest, preventing the blade from fully completing the cut. To fix the mistake, I welded up the incorrect holes, ground everything flush, and re-drilled them in the correct position.

When the replacement inner guard arrived and unfortunately still didn't fit the curve of the inner frame on the drive wheel side—since modern model 1016 frames are straight—I set out to fabricate my own out of 14-gauge sheet metal. Armed with a jigsaw, some hand files, C-clamps, my MIG welder, and a sheet of posterboard for a template, I got to work.

I started by determining the required depth by mocking everything up on the floor with the wheels and axles in their approximate positions. I measured the distance from the bottom of the curved mounting flange to the inner surface of the outer guard and cut a matching strip of metal. I also cut a similar piece for the bottom of the frame. Finally, I created a cover template by removing the guards, flipping the saw frame over onto a piece of posterboard, and tracing the frame contour with a pencil. I cut out the posterboard pattern, traced it onto a piece of 14-gauge sheet, and cut it out with the jigsaw. After a few rounds of test-fitting and careful file work, I achieved a precise fit and tack-welded it to the clamped strips.

With the pieces tacked in place, I welded along the outside corner, dressed the edge using my angle grinder with the flap and fiber disc combo, and then hand-filed the corner radius for a smooth finish. Though completely unnecessary from a structural standpoint, I also ran fillet welds along the inside edges of the flanges for good measure. Finally, I carefully laid out the mounting hole positions to align properly with the upper frame and drilled the screw holes in the new guard with a hand drill.

While there are many things I don't love about my Jet drill press, it certainly made the drilling tasks for this project much easier—keeping a hand drill straight in two planes simultaneously in awkward positions is always a challenge. Then there are those tools you buy, rarely use, and question keeping around until they suddenly save the day during some obscure step in a project. My Heinrich Model 20 drill press vise was exactly that tool in this case. Being able to flip it on its side and hold the saw frame vertically on the table helped me make short work of pre-drilling the 1/4-20 tapped holes for the guard mounting screws.

With the guards finished, attention shifted to surface preparation and part restoration. The cleaning phase proved to be the most labor-intensive portion of the project. Smaller components were soaked and scrubbed in an oil pan using a solution of boiling water and Simple Green industrial degreaser. However, larger bare metal surfaces that were too big to be submerged—such as the machine bed, guide mounts, and vises—required localized de-rusting. Furthermore, all through and threaded holes had to be meticulously chased to clear away heavy, obscuring grime.

For large surfaces, preparation began with a CGW red EZ-strip abrasive disc, followed by a 3-inch steel wire cup brush or a knotted wire wheel on an angle grinder. To tackle the stubborn, patchy black residue—most likely magnetite (Fe3O4), a dense corrosion byproduct formed beneath red rust in oxygen-deficient pits—Naval Jelly containing 25% to 30% phosphoric acid was applied. The phosphoric acid converts iron oxides into soluble iron phosphate, which is easily washed away. Although the magnetite proved resilient, requiring repeated applications and mechanical wire-brushing, trace amounts left behind are chemically stable and provide passive corrosion protection against future oxidation.

To clear out the through holes, I used a set of inexpensive Neiko bore brushes purchased on Amazon, which proved indispensable. By chucking a brush slightly larger than the hole into a hand drill and running it back and forth, I quickly stripped away rust and dirt down to clean bare metal. For the threaded holes, I cleared out the grime and rust using high-carbon steel taps—sparing my high-speed steel (HSS) tooling from the dirty work—and followed up with the bore brushes. In some instances, buildup was so severe that the holes were completely hidden until after the Simple Green soak and scrub revealed them. For a few heavily impacted holes, I even had to break through the compressed grime using a hammer and punch.

The accompanying image shows a stripping disc being used to remove surface rust from the stop bar. All abrasive cleanup was performed outdoors; following lessons learned on my welder cart project, I strictly avoid indoor grinding and cleaning to prevent dust and debris from settling across the entire garage/shop.

During the cleanup process, a few additional welding touch-ups were required. For example, in its past life—likely due to poor blade tracking—the saw blade had cut deep grooves into the saw frame support shaft. I filled these gouges with weld, ground down the excess, and carefully hand-filed the beam back to its original diameter.

During this process, I contacted Wellsaw customer service to determine the precise pivot dimensions for the support beam. Because the surfaces were heavily pitted, I wanted to verify that my hand-filing hadn't undersized the shaft. Wellsaw's technical support went above and beyond, sending me the original engineering drawings to verify tolerances—truly fantastic service. Beyond this repair, I also welded up several unused holes in the upper frame and ground the patches flush.

Before sending the parts off for powder coating, I had two final fabrication tasks to complete: building the roller end position switch mount and the coolant valve mount. The previous coolant setup was somewhat janky, using a main pump hose connected to a tee that was strapped to the front of the saw frame with electrical wire, which then fed two separate hoses with mini ball valves. After reviewing images of the modern Wellsaw 1016 design, I noticed they utilize a cleaner manifold with individually mounted ball valves, so I decided to replicate this setup. This upgrade required fabricating a simple custom mounting bracket and drilling and tapping new mounting holes directly into the frame.

To keep costs down for this personal project, I sourced the primary cooling system components from Amazon where possible. To protect against standard oxidation, I selected an anodized aluminum manifold with matching aluminum fittings. Furthermore, to prevent galvanic corrosion between the stainless steel ball valves and the aluminum manifold, I used nylon adapter fittings sourced from McMaster-Carr.

After removing and cleaning the coolant pump strainer, it became evident that cavitation had occurred around the impeller, eroding the housing exterior and causing the original paint to flake off. Initially, I attempted to tear down the pump to replace the bearings and prep the housing for powder coating—thankfully working over an oil pan when I realized it was an oil-filled unit. After half the oil spilled out, and recognizing that a full teardown wasn't worth the trouble since the pump still functioned properly, I simply reassembled it and left it as-is.

As it turned out, the pump featured a specialized four-hole plug on top for oil filling. To remove and refill it, I fabricated a custom spanner tool using a quarter-inch piece of steel scrap and 3mm steel taper pins left over from a previous PCB project. I drained the original oil and refilled the housing with Howard cutting board mineral oil.

Finally, I submerged the pump in a bucket of water to test the system functionality. Everything operated exactly as planned.

Next, I fabricated a simple mounting block for the roller switch out of a piece of 1-1/4” x 3/4” steel bar. I drilled and tapped holes in the block to mount the block to both the switch and the saw bed, and wired a cable directly to the switch contacts so it could be routed underneath the bed into the new controls enclosure. After determining the correct position for the switch, I traced its outline with a pencil. I then clamped the block securely to the bed, used a transfer punch to precisely locate the mounting holes, and drilled and tapped the bed to secure the assembly.

With all preparation complete, the saw was finally ready for powder coating. I screwed the original, now-sacrificial fasteners into all threaded holes to protect the threads during the process and put together a meticulous 48-page documentation package. This guide included photos of every individual part from multiple angles, clearly identifying which surfaces needed coating and which required masking. While many shops might turn down a job of this complexity, my regular powder coater, Andre in Modesto, CA, is phenomenal both as a person and a craftsman. On his recommendation, I selected Cardinal Paint T064-GR05 Grey Hammertone Semi-Gloss. This finish is exceptionally well-suited for machine tools due to its high scratch resistance—it even withstands light hammer strikes without showing damage.

To prep the parts, Andre blasted the surfaces slated for coating with 120-grit steel shot, which effortlessly stripped away any remaining stubborn grime and reached tight corners that hand tools couldn't access. He then went above and beyond by blasting the non-coated surfaces with glass beads, leaving them with an ultra-smooth finish. The accompanying image shows the parts freshly cured and coming out of the powder coat oven.

While the parts were out for powder coating, I turned my attention to reassembling the gearbox. Because pre-1966 gearbox designs relied solely on a light press-fit to axially locate the bearings, I was concerned about long-term reliability under vibration. Any axial migration of the gear shaft—driven by the thrust forces of the helical gears—could cause the gears to wander directly into the housing. Although Wellsaw eventually updated their modern gearboxes with robust axial retention mechanisms, and the vintage 1960s design had successfully run for decades, my engineering instincts demanded a closer look at the mechanics.

To assess the risk, I performed press-fit calculations using diametral tolerance data from the Peer bearing catalog alongside the nominal and starting torque values of the new 3/4-horsepower motor. To my surprise, the math revealed that less than 0.0003 inches of interference was required to resist the thrust loads under maximum nameplate torque during normal operation. After discussing my findings with Wellsaw, they confirmed that applying Loctite 609 retaining compound to all shaft and bearing fits is standard practice and highly recommended for these vintage assemblies.

While I commonly live by the mantra "buy once, cry once," I ended up eating my words during the gearbox reassembly by straying from my own rule. Because the gearbox is designed to be grease-packed, the original bearings used a single external shield, which allowed the internal grease to freely lubricate the rolling elements. To save some money while replicating the original design, I purchased standard Timken replacement bearings instead of buying the more expensive Peer bearings directly from Wellsaw. I removed one shield from each of the two internal pinion shaft bearings, soaked them in mineral spirits to strip away the factory polyurea-based grease, and repacked them—along with the rest of the gearbox—using the NLGI 0 Mobilgrease XHP 220 supplied by Wellsaw. After buttoning it up, I spun the input shaft with a hand drill to test the assembly. Maintenance mechanics reading this can likely predict what happened next.

Although I lack empirical data, the original factory fill was likely an NLGI 2 grease, which has the consistency of thick mayonnaise. By contrast, the replacement NLGI 0 grease has the viscosity of mustard. Under rotation, the thinner grease readily bypassed the single-shield design and forced its way out, requiring constant cleanup during testing. Realizing that the original single-shield configuration wasn't going to hold up with modern grease, I consulted with Wellsaw and promptly ordered dual-seal replacement bearings.

While having to re-disassemble a freshly built assembly is never enjoyable, doing so here was a particular nuisance. Because I used Loctite 609, which has a finite working time, the entire gearbox had to go back together in short order. To manage this, I wrote out a strict step-by-step assembly procedure. The process required shuttling between a hydraulic shop press and a Greenerd arbor press, utilizing various lengths of pipe and sleeves to match the different bearing race dimensions. Additionally, I had to scoop out a majority of the grease for re-use, and re-applying Loctite for the second time meant meticulously cleaning the original residue and degreasing the surfaces to keep the flowing grease from contaminating the bond. Ultimately though, the extra effort paid off; everything came back together smoothly, and the gearbox has operated leak-free ever since.

While I decided early on to powder coat the majority of the components, certain parts were better suited for zinc electro-plating due to their functional requirements. These included linkages, specific fasteners, the sliding weight bar, the sliding weight posts, and the stock stop bar. Initially, I researched home electro-plating kits from Caswell; while they seemed like a great solution, I wanted a more cost-effective alternative. Fortunately, I found a metal-plating shop in Sacramento that offered barrel plating for a flat rate, meaning they would plate as many parts as could fit in the barrel for a fixed fee. I gathered all the designated components and brought them over to be plated.

Early in the disassembly process, rather than attempting to salvage heavily rusted and dirty original fasteners, I chose to replace them outright. Since this was a non-critical machine tool application, standard Grade 2 fasteners offered a cost-effective choice (paired with Grade 5 washers, which handle Grade 2 bolt preload much better). Consequently, I repurposed the old, rusted fasteners as sacrificial plugs to protect the threaded holes during powder coating. The downside to this approach was the sheer variety of replacement sizes needed; buying individual fasteners in smaller quantities turned out to be quite expensive, but buying in bulk would have been unreasonably expensive. Had I known about the local barrel-plating service from the start, I likely would have salvaged and replated much of the original hardware instead.

With the parts back from the coater and looking phenomenal, the final reassembly was relatively straightforward. I began by mounting the casters onto the custom rolling frame, standing the legs upright, and slipping the coolant tray into position over them. Next, I placed the filter screen and pump inside the coolant reservoir before dropping the entire reservoir assembly onto the coolant tray.

Next up, I reassembled the linkages on the underside of the bed. My initial plan was to regularly coat all bare steel surfaces with WD-40 to prevent oxidation, banking on that fact since its name stands for "water displacement." However, I noticed that WD-40 tends to cause a distinct darkening effect on cast iron, and further research confirmed it isn't an ideal long-term rust preventative for this type of application. Instead, I switched to Boeshield T9 to protect all the bare metal surfaces. Boeshield is a solvent-borne paraffin wax solution that sprays on wet and dries to a thick, clear, protective film that excels at preventing corrosion. I applied it thoroughly to all remaining exposed metal contact surfaces.

With all the bare metal surfaces protected, I mounted the saw bed onto the legs. From there, I installed the splash guard, frame rest, limit switch, controls enclosure, stop bar bracket, tip-off block, and the complete rear vise and hand wheel assembly. These components all went together relatively quickly and uneventfully.

Next, I finished wiring all the cables into the controls enclosure and hooked up the motor overload auxiliary contacts. A quick functional test of the entire system verified that everything operated as intended.

With the bed and lower saw assembly nearly finished, I moved on to assembling the main saw frame. I began by pressing the axles into both the drive and idler wheels, followed by installing the idler wheel hardware, ratchet arm, and motor plate. Because the drive wheel is difficult to access once the saw frame is mounted to the bed, I bolted it on beforehand using an impact wrench.

To preserve the original aluminum nameplate prior to powder coating, I carefully drove out its four drive screws from behind using a small pin punch, taking advantage of the through-holes in the frame. Unsure of the exact screw size and inspired by a nameplate restoration guide on VintageMachinery.org, I decided to drill and tap the holes for threaded fasteners instead, allowing for secure and easy future removal. With the parts back from coating, I mounted the nameplate to the frame using matching machine screws.

Next, I removed the rear ratchet arm and enlisted some help to lift the upper saw frame onto the front of the pivot shaft. After installing the retaining washer and nut, I bolted the ratchet arm back into place to support the rear of the frame. With the pivot secured, I reinstalled the majority of the remaining top-frame components.

As mentioned previously, when I first disassembled the stock stop mechanism, the original screw used to limit rotational travel was so rusted in its threads that the head snapped right off. To fix this, I stopped by the fabrication shop that had previously removed the stuck hand wheel and had them cut a 7/8-inch length of 1/2-inch by 1/2-inch square bar to replace the original piece. I drilled a hole lengthwise through the center on the drill press, tapped the threads, and then welded it onto the stop arm after cutting off the old damaged section with an angle grinder and cut-off disc. While I don't have any photos of the fabrication process, the final result turned out great. Fortunately, all the parts requiring welding on this project were steel rather than cast iron.

Initially, I tentatively tried to replicate the coolant hose setup found when I bought the saw, which used a single clamp routing a short length of hard line to the exit side of the blade brushes. Because that original arrangement looked quite makeshift, however, it was hard to tell if it was actually what the manufacturer intended. Ultimately, after studying images of the modern 1016 saw model, I routed the lines properly and clamped them using U-clamps to both guide arms.

To set the downfeed rate, this saw utilizes a sliding weight positioned across the top front of the frame, counterbalanced by an adjustable spring. The weight was originally held in place by a bent metal tab that relied on friction against the bar. While this setup worked well enough when the bar was heavily rusted, once both the bar and the tab were zinc-plated, the friction was no longer sufficient, and the weight would no longer stay in position. To remedy this, I ordered an adjustable anodized aluminum clamping shaft collar from Ruland Manufacturing. Their prices were very reasonable, shipping was fast, and their service was excellent. I installed the collar downstream of the weight, where gravity keeps it securely locked in place during cuts.

Next, I installed the gearbox and the drive belt. For this setup, I replaced the original V-belt with a Gates cogged V-belt sourced from McMaster-Carr. Cogged belts offer superior flexibility and improved heat dissipation compared to standard V-belts, which translates to a longer service life. Additionally, they often run quieter and provide a slightly higher coefficient of friction for better power transmission.

To lubricate the open ring and pinion gear mesh on the drive wheel, I initially used a multi-purpose NLGI 2 lithium-based grease. However, during initial testing, the centrifugal force caused the grease to fling off and splatter against the inside of the wheel covers. After consulting with Wellsaw, they recommended switching to Lubriplate Gear Shield grease. This is a heavy NLGI 3 grease specifically formulated for open gearing applications. I purchased a tube from McMaster-Carr and applied it evenly to the ring gear teeth using a caulk gun while repeatedly rotating the gear by hand. This method successfully laid down a smooth, persistent coating that stayed put on the gear teeth during operation.

The multi-purpose NLGI 2 grease ended up being reserved for the tensioner slides, tensioner screw and frame pivot points.

With the saw fully reassembled, an unfortunate issue arose while I was installing the custom-fabricated inner drive wheel guard. Although I had test-fit everything while the upper saw frame was on the floor and the drive wheels were mocked up, I hadn't checked the fit with the saw frame actually mounted to the bed; once in position, the rear bed pivot shaft interfered with the guard's installation. Disappointed but determined to use the guard, I modified it using a jigsaw, cutting out a large corner section that included the smaller mounting flange. To protect the finish, I covered the underside of the jigsaw shoe with painter’s tape, and marked the cut line with a pencil and straight-edge over a strip of painter’s tape. Fortunately, this yielded an extremely clean cut edge with zero damage to the powder coat. I then touched up the bare metal along the cut line using a small brush and Rust-Oleum Ultra Cover gloss dark gray spray paint. The result looked nearly indistinguishable from the original powder coat, and the cover fit perfectly, just like a factory part.

Another minor issue arose with the replacement guards, this time on the idler side. As mentioned previously, I had to weld up and re-drill the original idler guard mounting holes because the saw frame wouldn't travel down far enough to complete a cut due to interference from the saw rest. Even with the hinged guard relocated to its new position, the frame still wouldn't lower completely to horizontal. To fix this, I had to lower the saw stop by nearly a full inch—a modification also needed to accommodate an 1/8-inch-thick piece of recycled UHMW polyethylene, which would serve as a cushion on the stop surface and be secured with industrial-grade double-sided tape.

To cut the UHMW pad to size, I used a router fitted with a Bosch 1/4-inch carbide 2-flute O-style router bit. I clamped scrap pieces of wood over the UHMW sheet to serve as straight-edge guides for the router base, and cut the piece I needed. The process resulted in an exceptionally clean-cut saw rest pad that provides a durable cushion for the frame drop.

While the saw uses a sliding weight and an adjustable counterbalanced spring to set the downfeed rate, it also incorporates a non-adjustable hydraulic cylinder (dashpot) to cushion the descent. Fortunately, thanks to the oil remaining inside throughout its life, the interior cylinder walls and lip seal were completely spared from rust. I simply popped the seal out before powder-coating the exterior and installed it back in afterward.

Although Wellsaw recommends an ISO VG 10 oil for the cylinder, they noted that almost any hydraulic oil will work. Because ISO VG 10 is extremely lightweight and hard to source locally, I opted for Johnsen's hydraulic jack oil, which is an SAE 20 weight (equivalent to ISO VG 46). While this is thicker than specified, the heavier oil actually helps compensate for minor wear on the seal and has been working perfectly.

With the saw fully assembled and ready to go, it was time to install the bandsaw blade. The original 5–7 TPI variable-pitch blade that came with the saw had some light surface rust, but it was still remarkably sharp and in great condition. To clean everything up, I prepared the surfaces using a 3-inch steel wire wheel mounted in a hand drill. I then repeatedly applied WD-40 to shop towels and pulled the blade through the wet sections until the towels came away mostly clean, which successfully removed the vast majority of the rust. I then set that blade aside for future use.

While this saw will likely be used to cut thick stock for machining down the road, my immediate application calls for cutting thin-walled structural tubing for welding. For that work, I ordered a fine-toothed 18 TPI Lenox bi-metal blade. These blades feature high-speed steel teeth welded to a flexible spring steel backing, giving them a much longer service life than standard high-carbon steel blades. Although many shops use a single all-purpose blade for everything, the rule of thumb for optimal cutting is to maintain a minimum of 3 and a maximum of 12 teeth engaged in the material at any given time. Manufacturers provide handy selection charts to help match the right tooth pitch to the specific material shape and thickness.

With the blade installed, it was time to tackle the adjustments. These saw models feature a good number of built-in adjustments via slots and setscrews—ranging from wheel pitch on both the idler and drive sides to maintain proper blade tracking, to the horizontal and vertical alignment of the blade during a cut. I followed Wellsaw's recommended sequence for making these adjustments.

I started by dialing in the wheel pitch and blade tension so the blade tracked smoothly right against the back of the wheels without slapping on every rotation. This required some back-and-forth tuning between the idler and drive wheel adjustments. Interestingly, the old 5–7 TPI blade and the new 18 TPI blade tracked a bit differently: the 18 TPI blade ran flush against the wheel flange, while the other blade tracked slightly further away on one of the wheels.

Next, I squared the rear vise to the table slot, as the blade's squareness is referenced directly from it. Finally, I adjusted the backing bearings, the guide bearing cam screws, the side-to-side guide translation, and the guide rotation on both guide assemblies. Getting everything perfectly dialed in required a bit of patience and occasional back-and-forth tweaking.

With everything squared and finely adjusted, the restoration was officially complete, and the saw is finally ready for action.

​Making the Cut: Full Restoration of a Vintage 1966 Wellsaw 8M Bandsaw

Making the Cut: Full Restoration of a Vintage 1966 Wellsaw 8M Bandsaw