Good Enough, Close Enough

Post-Script: Another theory is that I'm sufficiently unskilled at typewriter repair that I have to use these kinds of justifications to live with a collection of machines that's less than pristine. But really, as soon as you drive that new car home from the dealership, it's beginning its long decline into decrepitude. All it takes is sufficient time. And so it is with typewriters, whose parts are essentially no longer being manufactured; in contrast with antique automobiles where you can assemble an entire 1930s-era Ford Coupe from parts ordered from catalogs. And thus we find ourselves, as typewriter lovers and users, living with little nagging problems, the essential ingredient being not letting them nag you to bits.

I think this is one key factor in the phenomenon of uncontrollable typewriter collecting (I'm a recovering addict), that we'd like to find some specimen with that ideally perfect combination of typing action, appearance, features, functionality and reliability, all rolled into one. It's fairly easy to find two or three out of the five, but all five? A perfect typewriter? Not gonna happen! Thus the mantra indicated in the title of this piece.

But I did take the Olympia SF out to the work bench today and performed more tinkering. When I'd first cleaned it last week the foam insulation pieces glued inside the side panels fell to dust. So today I replace them with 1/4" thick black craft foam and double-sided adhesive sheets. I also added some to the inside of the top ribbon cover, which never had any from the factory. There was enough clearance between the inside of the top panel and the ribbon spool axles to permit installation without interference, which hopefully will further reduce the noise level; not that it's so excessively noisy to use, but it's also not the quietest in my collection; and being small and easy to carry, I'm more apt to use it in public.

I also looked into the wobbly carriage bearings, which I made mention of in Episode 60 of the Typewriter Video Series. I tightened the rear bearing track a bit by adjusting the set screws, then reoiled the bearings with gun oil. Now there's a bit less wobble. Afterwards I did a half page or so of test typing, and this afternoon I'm going to sit in the front patio, drink more coffee and do some stream-of-unconsciousness typing.

This morning I took the Olympia SF, in a shoulder bag on my motorcycle, down to Michael Thomas Coffee in Nob Hill and did some indoor typing at the bar adjacent to their fancy siphon coffee machines. The combination of mad scientist-looking glass lab ware, manual typewriter and wood-&-metal counter somehow fit nicely together. I didn't get any negative feedback from my typing, as I'd asked the waitstaff ahead of time, and the gal indicated another of their customers also types there. I did overhear some customer point out my typing as they walked inside, but it didn't sound all that negative, probably some snide remark about hipsters. Imagine me, a nearly 60 year-old hipster!

I also handed out more fliers for the April 23 ABQ Type-In. Now I need to get more printed up.

Talking With Your Fingers

Post-Script: The reference in that last paragraph to Kerouac's On The Road was unplanned, but perhaps inevitable, given the nearly identical method of composition. I've read On The Road numerous times, but never in the context of it being a work specifically wrought onto teletype paper via manual typewriter, in some manic act of marathon muttering. Perhaps a reread is warranted.

I find the smaller font size of the Silent Super to be ideal for this kind of writing, as it seems more like letter-writing, more personable, requiring an up-close read, an intimate squint into one's own soul.

Misspellings and typographic errors courtesy of the author.

Teutonic Type-Off

Post-Script: Yes, I know the title's inaccurate, since neither the Hermes nor Smith-Corona can accurately be termed "Teutonic;" but I needed an alliterative title and that was the first thing that came to mind. This was a fun comparison to do on a windy and cold Sunday morning. As I indicated in the concluding remarks above, it serves as an informational test that might help me decide for or against any potential future typewriter purchase I might consider. I don't see myself buying another Galaxy-series machine, for example; not because they're bad machines, but because I already have a nice one, and they're rather large - and both H3Ks are more preferable. I'd rather, if the opportunity presented itself, consider another Silent or Silent Super model, in a different typeface and body color, since these are smaller, more portable machines. And should another Hermes 3000 come my way, I'd be hard pressed to pass it up, especially if it had a different typeface.

Another thing to consider in conclusion are the sample-to-sample variations between otherwise nearly identical machines. While there are subtle differences between my two Hermes 3000s, they're pretty close together in quality, which is as one would expect of a machine made to exacting standards - as long as they've been treated gently throughout the years. The Nekkid-Riter, it should be noted, came to me in much worse condition than the blue H3K, which was purchased from a typewriter shop some years ago. Despite those differences in condition and provenance, both machines type very nicely, which says something significant of their design and construction.

Typefaces are another point of comparison, even between identical models, as evidenced by my two Hermes presented herein. This becomes another reason to consider purchasing what would otherwise become a redundant member of one's collection, if the typeface were more pleasing as compared to a machine already in one's possession. This was one main reason why I decided to sell off the older, standard-carriage Olympia SM9, as the typeface was less pleasing to me.

This might be a fun test to do with my ultra-portable machines, so look forward to that in the coming days.

TWVS Episode 10 & Taking a Spill

This week's episode of the Typewriter Video Series covers the subject of fitting typewriters into a larger writing lifestyle, and especially with handwritten notes and rough drafts.

Meanwhile, the following blog article was inspired by a little incident last night involving my Webster XL-747 portable typewriter.




Post-Script: Certainly those Hermes and Olympias are more refined writing tools than the diminutive ultra-portables like the Webster. What matters most importantly to me are typing action and quality of imprint. While the Webster has a nice, dark imprint, its typing action was much stiffer than the bigger machines, yet I kept wanting to make it a favorite among my collection because of its small size, bright color and that it has the repeat spacer feature. Now, after last night's episode, I really do have a newfound respect for it. While those European models mentioned previously might be more refined, they would not have survived a drop to the floor without suffering extensive damage, I'm almost certain, if for no other reason than their heavier weight and, in the case of the newer body style of Hermes 3000, the extensive use of plastics in the body panels.

My enthused typing that followed was a watershed moment for me in my relationship with typewriters as writing tools. Never before had I experienced an excited, emotional period that also had with it an exuberant physical response. It was that more energetic typing action on my part that fueled my mind to break free from convention and write more spontaneously, almost conversationally. Since the letter was private, and has already been posted, I can't share it with you; but perhaps at some point in the future I'll get in the same frame of mind and post a typecast in the same vein.

While recording practice scenes in my Man Cave shed for this latest video, I happened upon the idea of writing sheds and their relationship with typewriters. This I think will be excellent subject matter for a future video in the series.

Typecast via Webster XL-747.

Mission Accomplished

Post-Script: A funny thing happened toward the end of our Starbucks meet-up. We had been sitting at a table by the front entrance when another dad, with teenage son, stopped by to talk with us on their way out, with the dad indicating that the boy had no idea whatsoever what that device was on our table; he had to explain the concept of typewriters to his son, it was so absolutely foreign.

Talking with my wife later this afternoon, we found it to be both "funny ha-ha" and "funny strange," how something as familiar to our background as typewriters could be such an absolute unknown to someone much younger. Which serves as reminder of our responsibility to impart to our progeny as much of the world of our youth as possible, for these sorts of verbal lore are how cultures and civilizations endure. And also serves as a warning, of how easy it is to lose the thread of one's generation, and how such rapid changes are brought about by technological and social forces seemingly beyond our control.

I made mention to the SM9's new owners that, should I succeed in planning an Albuquerque Type-In later this year, I'd let them know, in case they wanted to participate. In any case, I think it's safe to say that the Insurgency has felt a great strengthening of The Force.

Typecast via my new-style, wide-carriage Olympia SM9. But I hope this recent newcomer to the herd doesn't get a big-headed ego and think he now rules the roost; in a few days or weeks he'll get relegated to the closet for a spell, to be replaced at the typing table with another family member, at which time he should gain a bit more humility.

PPS: During our afternoon patio chat (what great weather we're having), we discussed how manual typewriters need no electrical power outlet or batteries, unlike cell phones, where one has to constantly worry about how many "bars" one has left. Then I looked over at the Olympia and noted that it always has 44 bars; 44 type-bars, that is.

One Last Hoorah

Post-Script: It's funny how something as seemingly mundane as a typewriter can bring back so many memories from long ago. In the case of this particular machine, its so-called "techno" font reminds me of having taken several computer programming classes, in high school in the early 1970s (Basic, Fortran and Algol). We typed each line of our program onto individual IBM punch cards, one line of code per card. Along the top edge of the card could be the plaintext equivalent character for each set of punched holes below. This style of printing, from a dot-matrix printer, is somewhat indicative of this Olympia's, hence the remembrance.

In the course of preparing the typewriter for sale, I decided to type up a "brief" instruction sheet of the machine's various controls, along with its care and feeding. It will also serve as an example of the machine's typing quality. Well, that "brief" instruction sheet is now three pages, and of course I could have gone on and on.

Being as how I have some spare correction tape cartridges (from one of my spontaneous office supply store binges - yes, I need a 12-step program), I'm going to include one along with the machine. And for another $3 I'll include an unopened 100-sheet pack of the Mead "general purpose" typing paper that I purchased online several months ago. Because I'd like to make the new owner's typing experience go as well as possible.

Which reminds me, I got an email today from a person in Albuquerque who found my blog online and has a question about a Smith-Corona Silent typewriter, of the same color and model as one I own. So that's kind of neat, now I'm starting to answer typewriter questions.

The top photo was made some years ago using my old Lumix G1, in the front courtyard late in the day. Because of the time of day, the brown stucco house and brick-colored courtyard paving, its very warm in tone, which the camera somehow rendered rather vividly, but I made no attempt to correct the tones; I have a whole set of these typewriter portraits, from that same day, on my Flickr stream, and rather like them.

Just in Case

Post-Script: I must also make mention of the fact that these SM9s are "half-space" machines, meaning that as the typebar is moving up toward the platen, the carriage moves one half space, then another half space as it returns. This means that it is capable of inserting a missing character from an already printed word, as is evidenced in the word "local" in the seventh paragraph. To accomplish this, the errant word is first erased, then the carriage moved to the last letter of the previous word. Then the space bar is held down as each successive letter is printed. About half the machines in my collection have this feature, which I've come to appreciate, given the errors common to my typing.

Just in case you might think that I've gone off the deep end, gushing with pride over the acquisition of a battered suitcase, my wife, whose opinion in matters of aesthetics I trust more than mine, approves.

I did a bit of online research on this Hartmann Skymate suitcase, and it appears to be the pigskin version. There appears to be a significant history behind this brand, which I had not previously appreciated. Also, if online prices are any indication, I might have gotten a good deal on this.

Photos via Fujifilm X10.

Mighty Fine Find

Post-Script: I installed a two-color ribbon purchased via Amazon, and noticed afterwards a bit of ink smudging happening, which you might have noticed in the typecast piece. I suspect it's the ribbon, not the typewriter. Late yesterday evening I felt I needed some typing therapy, and sat out in the patio room with the L.A.R.O.P. (Little Arse Roll of Paper) mounted to the wooden tray table, and did some stream-of-consciousness typing. Normally the imprint upon this thin automotive masking paper is rather faint, but with the combination of this typewriter and the smudgy ribbon, it gave a very dark impression - which impressed me!

I'm also aware, being the owner of a small collection of manual typewriters, that I really don't touch-type all that often on these machines. Part of the reason is because, for blog articles needing to be scanned, I treat each piece more as a finished work of letterpress, and so use a careful two-fingered method, so as to impart as clear of an imprint as possible. However, I get the sense that this SM9 might be a good candidate as a touch-typing machine, due to its snappy action and overall great condition. So that late-night L.A.R.O.P. session served as an opportunity to get a bit of manual touch-typing practice in, and it was a good experience. I am aware in doing so that my ring and pinkie fingers are in need of a bit of training; which can only happen with more practice.

Lacking a carrying case, I've been thinking about what to do when the time comes that I might want to transport it. Of course, one solution is, having a good assortment of portables, to simply use a smaller machine when desiring to type out and about. But still, there is the fact that this one will eventually get swapped out in usage rotation with another, and so storing it safely in my closet becomes an issue. I think I'll go do some more thrift/antique store shopping and find one of those hard-cased Samsonite suitcases, that seem all too plentiful; perhaps I can manage to install some kind of makeshift bracket inside, for mounting to the typewriter's undercarriage. There is also the possibility that the hard case for this machine might still be at the store I purchased this from, perhaps mislaid, and so it would warrant a return visit.

Photos via Lumix G5.