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I miss the typewriter.
This is a strange comment, coming as it does from a man who makes his living preaching the gospel of the personal computer to seniors. But there is a feeling—tactile, musical, nostalgic—in punching typewriter keys that’s sadly lacking on a computer keyboard’s soft rhythm.
I remember relying on the typewriter. I graduated from high school in the early 1990’s. Computer technology was still in its infancy. I can remember doing a majority of my college research the old-fashioned way: searching magazine abstracts one by one, scouring microfilm/microfiche, carefully paging through books foxed and brittle with age, and writing bullet statements in longhand on index cards. I am convinced it was a better, more deliberate system. You chose your words more carefully when a mistake meant retyping an entire page.
The information age has its consolations. You can visit some of the world’s great libraries from the comfort of your own home—libraries that never close, no library staff to chastise you for talking too loud. But there was something deeply satisfying about the detective work of old-school research, and the typewritten end result. The stacks of my college library were like a medieval dungeon: drafty in winter, sweltering in the heat of summer. They were dimly lit—flickering florescent bulbs, and whatever sunlight filtered through glass block windows. Seating was uncomfortable, workspaces were littered with carved graffiti –the hieroglyphs of the bored ages of undergraduates. There were no clocks. Entire floors were always empty—the windowless basement (military studies/religious studies); the 7th floor (history). They were an oasis for reflection and tranquility, if a little creepy on bad weather days.
These days, I collect typewriters. It’s an unwieldy collection—not exactly like collecting baseball cards or Hummel figurines. They’re heavy—where I do find unique models online, shipping costs are crushing. They take up a lot of space. And it’s almost impossible to find ribbons for certain models (I like models that are in reasonably good working order). Fewer and fewer people specialize in typewriter repair, which obligates me to do my own repair work.
But it is a labor of love that appeals to my interest in history. You can chart the rise of certain fashion trends through typewriter design: early models have a very art deco look (see YouTube link); the Smith Corona Coronet’s that I like have a more mod look and feel (see article pic, complete with shag carpet). Better finds include documentation—where they were purchased, owner’s manuals (for an earlier generation, the typewriter was a mark of bourgeois respectability—a big ticket buy), a label or plate identifying the business that owned the machine, even print advertisement.
As my collection grows, I realize that I need a bigger house to contain it. Or a smaller scale hobby, and less sentimental outlook.