Typewriters!

When my daughter was maybe ten years old or so, she asked me to get her a typewriter. I did what any other dad might do: I found one on Craigslist, rendezvoused with the seller on some random street across town, exchanged what I think was $50 or so for what felt like a 50-pound hunk of metal — a Royal Empress (circa 1965) — and bam, just like that, my daughter had a typewriter. I feel as though she might have used it a time or two before losing interest, but I really took to the thing.

I remember feeling a bit fascinated and enthralled at the mechanics of it all. There's a cadence and percussion to the act of typing on a typewriter that I find really satisfying. Unlike typing on modern devices, you can witness what is taking place with the printing of each letter to the page. With each letter press, you can see the appropriate hammer strike the ribbon of ink against the fresh page of paper... not only that, the carriage advances slightly to accommodate the next letter to be placed in sequence. The intricacy of movement is akin to a dance... I suppose I could wax poetic about the act of typing on a typewriter more than most. Typing about the experience now produces a satisfying grin on my face.

So, with Molly losing interest, I began to use this Royal Empress here and there. I began to get into the practice of typing letters to friends and family. If I'd visit a friend for dinner or take a trip and visit a family member, I'd send a letter after the visit thanking whoever I had visited for the wonderful stay or visit I experienced. To my delight, these letters were met with joy and delight. "You sent me a letter!?", would often be the sentiment expressed to me... one of wonderment, glee and appreciation.

As I continued the practice, I became more creative. My letter writing became more refined. I bought my own stationary. I started buying some of the more visually appealing stamps the post office had to offer. I began experimenting with wax seals. Eventually I bought some rubber stamps to add some visual appeal to the letters I wrote. I was really coming into my own with this whole letter writing process.

At one point, I caught wind of a movie called California Typewriter, a film that delved a bit into the history of the typewriter and romanticized an era in which the typewriter was this wholly blessed object. The film featured typewriter enthusiasts Tom Hanks, David McCullough, John Mayer, and Sam Shepard. After seeing that movie, my fascination with typewriters took on a new level of appreciation. Slowly I began acquiring more typewriters. The Royal Empress was a wonderful machine, but I wanted to experience typing on a Hermes 3000, a Smith Corona Silent Super, an Olympia... the list goes on. My strategy was to search on Craigslist every so often... just to see what was available. Sure enough, here and there I found what, to me, seemed like a bargain and I pounced.

Slowly — over the course of several years — I built up a bit of a collection. I managed to find a Hermes 3000 (I actual found two!), I picked up an Olympia that the owner told me served as a typer in the Vietnam War. I garnered a couple of Royal Quiet DeLuxes, a couple of Smith Corona Galaxies. I even managed to find an Olympia SM7 that typed in a cursive font! All in all, I now own 16 typewriters... an admission that sparks a bit of a sheepish pride intermingled with a vague sense of a befuddled amusement. Who in their right mind owns 16 typewriters?!

Purchasing typewriters on Craigslist, inevitably is a bit of a gamble. Some of the typewriters I've purchased have turned out to be a real "diamond in the rough": a steal of a find, listed at a bargain price, and having absolutely no issues whatsoever. Many times, however, I've picked up a machine that has a bit of a quirk that you live with for a bit, until you just can't live with it anymore. For the quirks, outright dysfunctions, and everything in-between I take my typewriters to Paul in Bremerton at the Bremerton Typewriter Company. I don't know of anyone in the state (or the Pacific Northwest in general) who is more capable than Paul.

Just this past week, I took in a machine that was gifted to me; an Olivetti Lettera 22 (typewriter number 17!). This particular machine wasn't quite functional, but Paul and his apprentice felt confident they could bring it back to working order. They quoted me a price. I thought about it for a few moments, caved and said, "Let's do it."

I think my oldest typewriter — the Smith Corona Sterling (pictured at the top of the page) — dates back to around 1946 and still functions exceptionally well. All of the machines I own were built in a time that seems to precede the concept of planned obsolescence. As such, each of these typewriters, if taken care of, can perform the function for which they were intended for decades.

I've developed a sort of kinship with these forgotten typewriters. Where others might look at these things and see junk, I see value. Of my own life, I can recall times when I felt less than valuable and in need of repair. I know they're inanimate objects, but still... there's a sort of quiet inclination that develops within me when I see one of these machines discarded and neglected. "Look at that!", I'll say to myself, "Let's get this guy up and running." There's something inextricably satisfying in removing a typewriter from an environment of neglect and placing it in an environment where it is used and valued. What a delight to use a once forgotten instrument — now cherished — to produce letters that bring joy to both friends and family.