Ten Forty, Good Buddy

Post-Script: I think this was a good choice for the young lad, even if he doesn't use it much. And I like the idea that, even though it's "his," I get to share it with folks in public typewriter events. Because sometimes you don't want to take your finest machines out in public and let just anyone fiddle with it, especially in a busy meeting where you can't easily keep an eye on what's going down. Neophytes often are well meaning but can, if not careful, mess up an otherwise fine machine.



This gets me to the subject of my Triumph Norm 6. It'd been in the closet for a few months, and this week I took it out to do a spell of writing, when I discovered to my dismay that about half the type bars were totally frozen stuck. I brought it out to the workbench in the garage and discovered the frozen type bars were actually rusted. Somehow, moisture had gotten into the segment, unbeknownst to me, and rusted the type bars. It took considerable effort to free them and remove most of the rust. Unfortunately, many of the linkages under the type bars show signs of rust, also. I wonder if some acidic soft drink didn't get spilled inside, as I wouldn't expect water to do this kind of damage, especially in our dry climate where liquids quickly evaporate.

My wife and I were trying to remember when it was last used, but am not certain. Another reason to keep the rare or fragile machines home, and bring more of a beater to public gatherings. Which implies ... you therefore have to assemble a small fleet of beater typers just for that purpose. Just a few weeks ago I acquired another Smith-Corona Silent-Super, just for that purpose - or perhaps to sell to a member of the Society. I haven't yet started on cleaning it up, but it looks like everything is functional, though the platen is rock hard. Which isn't a problem, really, since they're so easy to remove and ship off to JJ Short & Sons. The cool thing about this machine is it came with all the ephemera, including owners manual, typing guide, even the little printed display tag that hung from the return lever via a string. I'll have to scan this stuff and get it sent to the Rev. Munk.

My wife also reminded me that this issue with the Triumph is a lesson to periodically bring out all your machines from storage and give them a good round of testing, then document any issues that need addressing.

A Bit of T.L.C.

There was a pile of typewriters still sitting on my workshop bench from Sunday's Type-In, most needing to be stored away but several needing to be looked at: both Smith-Corona 5 series machines, especially the Silent-Super, purchased late last year from what I've described previously as a "hippie." Both machines performed fine during the Type-In, but since I'd last attempted to service them, I've acquired the Smith-Corona Floating Shift Typewriter Repair Bible, published by Rev. Ted Munk. I figure this would make for a good opportunity to revisit the somewhat intermittent escapement issues with that machine, and see what effect a good service manual would have upon my tinkering experience; while also serving somewhat as a mini-review of the book itself.

The book is divided into various sections, from the earliest Floating Shift models up to the Series 5. It did take a bit of flipping around to find where the sections begin and end, as they don't have clearly marked dividers; I plan on installing some tabs to the pages for that purpose. Once I found the Series 5 adjustment section I started at the space bar alignment procedure and worked my way through the escapement to the touch adjustments, using as my test subject the somewhat troublesome Silent-Super mentioned previously. It has been performing much better than when I'd first acquired it, due to the "service" I'd performed previously, but I didn't know exactly what I did to make it better. Now with the service manual, hopefully I'd find out, along with any further improvements to be had.

The space bar itself was well-centered in the frame of the machine, with no hanging up or rubbing, but the trip point of the space bar linkage upon the escapement was a bit too close to where the space bar stops at its rubber bumpers; the adjustment was to reform (bend) a linkage arm, to permit the escapement to trip earlier.

Next was checking the escapement pivot arm for freedom. You lock the carriage in the stored position, which also disables the rack gear from the escapement, then disconnect the spring on the pivot arm. It should freely pivot with no binding. I found it necessary to loosen the pivot points a bit, made with a precision open-end wrench and small screw driver; I'm still needing to acquire some gun-smith drivers for this purpose (or, more ideally, a legacy set of typewriter tools - as rare as hen's teeth). Now that the pivot arm was moving freely, I reconnected the spring.

Next was checking the freedom of rotation of the escapement star wheel itself, which is again checked with the carriage locked and the pivot arm manually moved out of the way. Here too I found it necessary to loosen the star wheel shaft nut a bit, to provide freer rotation.

Next was to check when the escapement is tripped as letters are typed. This is done by slowly moving a type bar toward the platen and noting at what position the type slug is relative to the type guide when the escapement trips. It should trip when the slugs are adjacent to the tip ends of the type guide. I found it necessary to reform a linkage to adjust the trip point.

The rest of the escapement-related checks were in good order, which encouraged me.

Subsequent testing on several sheets of paper with random nonsense typing showed marked improvement, with virtually no skipping or piling up of letters. But I did see another section in the adjustment manual about the touch selector, so decided to take a look and see if any improvements could be had there. It turned out that there was some unevenness of touch tension between the left and right sides of the keyboard, which was easily adjusted via the two screws on the touch spring lock bar. Once they were balanced from left-to-right, I then loosened both evenly about a quarter turn, making the overall touch of the machine a bit lighter, something I like in good portable machines.

None of these adjustments could have been made without the service manual, and the nagging escapement issues this machine had been experiencing I feel are resolved. There was not just one adjustment that fixed the problem, but a whole series of adjustments. The manual proved absolutely invaluable.

Once emboldened by my success thus far, I proceeded to the much trickier task of realigning the type slugs for even imprinting. This took me far longer than I'd anticipated, mainly because I lack the special tools designed for precision bending of the type bars. But I can say that, finally, the type imprint is much better aligned vertically, while the upper case imprints are clearer than before. I found that subtle misalignments would still deliver good lower case imprint, but with the type slug hitting one side of the type guide slot it would cause a smearing of the upper case imprint.

I feel this machine is finally in a condition where I'd be comfortable with anyone using it. And credit is entirely due to Ted Munk for making these resources available to the layperson typewriter community.
After servicing the Silent-Super, I proceeded to tackle the much less troublesome Silent version, and I didn't find too many issues to speak of, other than the escapement trip point was a bit too far toward the type guide, so it had to be backed off a bit; just the opposite of the previous machine.

I haven't gone through every area of these typewriters with this book, since I haven't been experiencing other issues. But I can rest assured that, if need be, I have the technical resources to tackle virtually any problem.

Another item of interest in the adjustment section was doing custom adjustments to compensate for individual user's typing styles, specifically what they call "Follow -Through, Hang-on Typists" and "Speedy Galloping Typists." Some of these adjustments involve reforming parts, while others involve measuring tolerances of clearance between neighboring parts and, if necessary, machining parts or ordering replacements.

Aside from the adjustment section, I found it interesting in the section on model features that various platens were once available for these machines, including extra hard platens intended to be used for stencils or thick sheets of carbons; and also slotted platens of various sizes for typing on smaller cards. It makes me wonder, when I read about someone's super hard platen, that perhaps they have one of those purposely-made extra-hard platens.

Any person owning one of these Floating Shift models owes it to themselves to get this manual, because these service adjustments are written with the technician in mind, using down-to-earth language that is rarely found in tech manuals of today's era. I especially love the way that terminology in the text is underlined, then the underline is connected to a call out arrow that points to the exact part in the associated diagram on the same page, making it easy to locate the part being described.

Keeping these machines running into the future is going to be much easier with this factory-supplied service literature available to anyone. What we still need, however, is a supply of replacement parts, currently only found from donor machines too far gone to fix. Perhaps some machine shop will rise to the challenge and start fabricating these rare and unique items. But until then, we need to keep these machines in good working order with a bit of tender loving care. Thanks, Reverend Ted! Yesterday I couldn't spell technician; today I are one!

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.

Notes on Lap-Typing

Post-Script: As you can see from above, I did end up making another video, on lap-typing. I happen to love portable and semi-portable typewriters, and what I find most distinctive about them is their relatively compact size and weight makes them ideal for moving out from the traditional office/desk setting, into more creativity-spurring environments. After all, this is why they are called "portables" in the first place.

I was hoping to try my hand at making a medium-size portable like the beloved Smith-Coronas Silent into a more take-anywhere machine, by removing the top of the hard case and, keeping the machine secured to its base, enclose it in a soft material like an old pillow case, then slip into a backpack, for carry-anywhere portability. But alas, my little day pack is a bit too narrow for that idea to see fruition. Perhaps a slightly wider back pack. Of course, a person could lug the case by its handle, but who wants to do that for more than just a few minutes at a time. I was also brainstorming some idea for attaching straps to the hard case, so it could be portered on one's back, but no winning ideas have yet to see the light of day.

Speaking of Smith-Corona Silents, yesterday I brought out the Silent-Super for a bit of test-typing, and noted that, after it's been sitting for several months unused in the cold garage, the troublesome escapement issue returned. I spent several hours yesterday afternoon with it and its stablemate non-Super Silent next to each other on the bench, as I used the less problematic machine for a comparison, and found a few mechanical adjustments needing to be made, and some hardened pivot linkages needing to be freed up. Afterwords I spent an extended period of time with the machine and it hasn't skipped once. But that doesn't necessarily mean that it's fixed, no sir, because one has to remember where it came from: a Craigslist ad from a fellow who I'd generously describe as a "hippie," living in the filthiest house I'd ever stepped foot into (and I used to do TV repair service calls, years ago, and have seen a few grungy dwellings in my time). I spent several days initially cleaning and degreasing this machine. Even now there's a bit of funky odor emanating from the hard case, just a subtle reminder of its colorful pedigree.

This typecast was via the recently acquired Brother Charger 11, a humble but willing writing companion, and truly fit for lap-typing.

Selfie Santa

Post-Script: In comparing fountain pens (specifically bottle-filled) and mechanical pencils with cartridge pens (like ballpoints, rollerballs and gel), I'm also reminded of the business model embodied by instant film, inkjet printer and shaving cartridges, where the money is made in refills, and also ties the consumer into a dependency upon a manufacturer's supply chain. I like the idea of a bottle of ink, that can be appropriated from most any supplier, lasting a great long while and able to work in most any fountain pen with suitable converter. Similarly with mechanical pencil refills. I was just at my local office supply retailer yesterday to buy more leads for the Monteverde brass pencil, and ended up with a small package comprising only five refill containers, each with 15 leads apiece, that's equivalent to, say, 75 woodcase pencils. And they had much larger packs of refills. I felt almost guilty for even considering purchasing a larger quantity, not knowing if I'd even still be alive by the time they ran out.

I like this idea of a pencil or pen being a tool that can last decades, with readily available refills.

Typecast via Webster XL-747. In case you haven't seen it, episode 49 of the Typewriter Video Series starred this pretty blue portable. In the video, I made mention of the end-of-line bell, that on this machine sounded more like a clunk than a chime. This morning I took the bottom of the machine off to inspect the bell mechanism. I'd expected an off-center mounting screw on the bell itself, like on many American-made machines, where the screw can be loosened and the bell's position readjusted. Not so on this Japanese-designed machine, where the linkages operating the bell, and the bell itself, are permanently mounted to a common bracket with no adjustment screws available. It turned out that the problem was the bell clapper arm was resting against the bell itself while at rest, such that when it was made to strike the bell it wouldn't let the bell freely resonate. I ended up "reforming" (i.e. bending) a small bracket on the other end of that clapper arm, such that while at rest the clapper is just shy of touching the bell. Now it makes a bright yet dainty chime at end-of-line.

I enjoyed using this machine for today's typecast. Yes, it has a heavier feel to the keys than some other portables. But the length of the key stroke is short, and the action snappy, making for a pleasing experience. Best of all is its reliability, and easy access to the escapement mechanism underneath, if need be; which I haven't needed.

To Stay on the Straight and Narrow

Post-Script: Do you remember, just a month or two ago, all the time I spent cleaning, adjusting, typing and typecasting with my more recently acquired Smith-Corona Silent Super? Well, this is its older stablemate, the venerable non-Super Silent, the one with the fixed tabs, and a bit more drab color scheme but in better mechanical condition. In terms of "haptics," this one feels every bit as good as the best mechanical typewriter, but is more compact in size than the larger Galaxy 12s or Hermes 3000s. And, being of elite-sized (smaller, 12 characters per inch), it just works better for me as a first-draft typer, especially with the seemingly endless roll of teletype paper threaded up. It is because of machines like this, situated in my patio room upon the tray table, ready to type up a storm, that I can, at a moment's notice, be creating words upon paper. An imminently practical, pleasurable writing instrument.

I've been taking a liking to this teletype paper. No, it's not a fine quality foolscap of rich vellum, it's instead more like rough, leathery, thicker newsprint. But I like the look it gives to printed words. They're meaty and physical. You can more easily see the ink impressed upon the paper's fibers. The paper's off-white tone looks like it's already aged half a century, like these freshly typed words could have been from a previous era; some sort of typewriter time machine at work, words from the present appearing as if they've come from the past.

The best part of using the roll of teletype paper is not having to thread up a fresh sheet of paper after an all-too-brief session of typing. No interruptions, just pure, nonstop writing pleasure.

The top photo shows a Bic Cristal medium-point in blue ink, one of my all-time favorite writing instruments. If it weren't for fountain pens, this is what I'd be writing with. I've taken to liking these pens so much that I go out of my way to stay stocked up on them; the larger 1.6mm tip versions are also very nice writers. Oddly, they're rather hard to find at my local big-box retail stores. Luckily there's Amazon to the rescue.

The Changing of the Guard

Post-Script: I like these kinds of simple pieces. They're conversational, like sharing to a larger audience just a little bit of how typewriters fit into one's day. Nothing fancy or presumed, merely about rotating one's typewriter usage. I wonder if Jay Leno does this, tweeting about taking some car from his collection out for an afternoon spin.

As a typewriter fanatic, I think it's important to type frequently, even if it's nothing profound or earth-shattering. Just get one's fingers on those keys, hear the snap of the type slugs hitting paper, hear the ding of that little bell at the end of the line, smell the machine oil exude from that shiny instrument of literary creativity. Keep in touch, even if it is just about swapping machines, or some other mundane part of one's life.

Others might think differently. They might ask of us why would we go to the trouble, especially with something so ordinary and relatively unimportant as this little one-pager sent off into the aether. I think it's most important to answer the question of "Why type?" by the simple response of "Because." Because I can, certainly. Because I have a selection of functional, beautiful machines to choose from. Because it's "Me-Powered." Because it's fun: we are far enough removed from the days of typists toiling away at their typewriters in the drudgery of the mid-20th century office environment that bringing one of these to life by the animation of our fingers somehow brings us to life, too.

I think typecasting makes blogging more satisfying. It's one thing to bang out a little nothing note to the world directly on one's computer, but quite another to do so with a scan of a paper artifact that reveals so much more than the mere words themselves. And it takes some effort, more so than hitting the "enter" key. So, to paraphrase that old Hallmark greeting card slogan, "When you care enough to send the very best, send them a typecast."

Beater Typers

OKAY. I recently came to the realization that for the serious, or semi-serious, or sometimes-serious writer of prose, who chooses to compose first-drafts via the medium of mechanical typewriter, there are some things worth taking care with, while other things don’t matter so much.

One of those things not worth worrying about is the quality of imprint. These are to be typings that no one else in the entire universe, save for one’s estate trustee or poor offspring stuck with the duty of disposing of your life’s detritus, will ever see; unless you’re one of those few whose writings are of a caliber worth the attention of some university institution.

SO! Quality of imprint doesn't matter. What does matter are other things.

ONE! Legibility. The letters so printed need merely to be readable, so as to facilitate later transcription into one’s word processor for that lengthy, middle-period of revision. But they needn’t be printer- perfect.

TWO! The mechanics of the typewriter need only be sufficient for the job of putting down legible words on paper, to later be transcribed. Nothing camera-ready here. Nothing fit to be published or shared with others, just inked words on paper, that you alone will read.

THREE! Haptics need to suit the writer. All important, this issue of feel, for how the two individuals, the one machine and the one writer, meld into a more perfect cybernetic union, which is that all-important physical sensation of pleasure for the writer, doing the Lord's work of creating literature out of thin air, powered by nothing more than cheese burgers and beer, has everything to do with the success of the endeavor. Even if the machine has some serious issues (like this one, for example), if the feel of the thing - the haptics - are good (like this one, for example), then the fit is right for it to be that all-important first-draft writing machine.

NOW! I will make a pronouncement. That the best, prettiest, sleekest machine in one’s typewriter stable might not be the best suited candidate for the job of workhorse typewriter. Like that stable of fine cars in Jay Leno’s garage, you wouldn't want to use that rare, exotic sports car for one’s daily commute. Doesn't make sense. You leave the pretty stable queens to primp and preen and so be ready for Friday nights out on the Strip; meanwhile that worker’s machine does the daily grind of making a living.

FOUR! The dichotomy should be striking, that one could be found to be creating some dang fine piece of literature using that most humble of writing instrument; that what mattered wasn’t the punter’s concern of fancy paint and shiny nickel trim or brand name, but that this old, ugly junker was a humble tool; that the work of writing is what happens between one’s ears, then to be worked out in fits and starts upon some cantankerous, curmudgeonly clunker of a tin-plated typer. It’s the dichotomy between the humble status of the beater typer and the finery of the resulting work. BEATER TYPER: that’s something to be proud of, that one went out of their way to find and use the most beat of the beater typers as one’s daily workhorse, that’ll take you from point A to point B reliably, though perhaps not in style or fashion.

FIVE! Elite font size. You want to not only be using that nearly endless roll of teletype paper, but to fit the most letters on each line of type before the inevitable interruption of the carriage return.



SIX: TRUNK TYPER! You won’t always be chained to your nearly endless roll of paper, that Jack Kerouac-inspired technology, but might want to be out and about on short notice, for one never knows when inspiration might strike. It’s like lightning in that respect. So the Trunk Typer is the one you keep in your car at all times, year-round, come hell or high water. And it needn’t be that ultraportable, svelte runway model of a typewriter, regardless of how much you want to show her off. More apt would be a chunkier, middle-weight job, a serious working typer, a bit of a beater in appearance and performance but one that’ll get the job done. It’s not like you’re going to carry it very far ... it’s in your car, after all.

SO! Here’s what the serious typewriter-using writer should consider. That one’s writing station, during that all-important creative first-draft phase of writing, should be the typewriter chained to the nearly endless roll of paper. For me, it’s a wooden folding tray table, paper roll mounted underneath to a dowel rod between the table’s legs. It’s portable enough to easily move around various parts of my home, since I don’t always write in one spot, but like to break up the monotony.

Your needs might be different, I don’t know; but for getting yours gears well-oiled and spinning with endlessly imaginative outpourings of creativity, nothing beats a good beater typewriter well-suited to your person, where you don’t have to worry about every nagging issue (maybe it skips spaces or the letters aren’t even - but so what?), but it works well enough to easily put words down on paper that you alone will read. A beater typer is your true friend, your best friend, as a writer, because you have no higher expectation than it perform to that minimal requirement. It's imperfections are what makes it charming. After all, you’d be afraid to crank out a 50,000 word novel on your museum-grade cabinet queen, afraid you’d wear it out; but not so the beater typer, it has nothing left in life but to serve you, it's one true Master.

Typecast via beater Smith-Corona Silent-Super.