It is safe to say, that I grew up with this clock in our living room on Oak Street. My mother had bought it at a furniture store between Oberlin (where we lived) and Elyria (where my father worked), Ohio.
This clock has been a lot of places, and when she died the clock stayed with her husband who, regrettably, did not treat it very well.
As you probably understand, a wooden clock is both a clock and a piece of furniture, and the wood needs to be treated with care. Unfortunately these finer points were not exactly followed.
Not quite the Red Violin, but quite a journey nonetheless.
I will keep you posted.