Squibs
Fifty years ago, the start of my sophomore year at Tecumseh High School, I walked into Typing I, which was taught by Mr. Frank Graham. The typing class was recommended by my high school guidance counselor, Mrs. Mary Fall, after I failed Miss Kathy Kelso’s Algebra I class my freshman year. Mrs. Fall thought I needed a backup plan and suggested I study the secretarial sciences.
That September day, I sat down in front of a Royal manual typewriter with its dark gray steel exterior and emerald green plastic keys and began to learn typing. It was hard, not only because striking the keys required strong fingers, but having to type a certain number of words per minute was incredibly stressful.
In order to be successful enough at typing to actually get a secretarial job meant memorizing the QWERTY keyboard and then being able to type without looking at your hands. The other part of success was measured in the ability to type a certain number of words per minute without errors.
I failed at both. At mid-term, I was probably typing 20 words a minute and I remember the goal being more than twice that. But, I did my best and Mr. Graham took pity, passing me with a “D.”
I didn’t give up my college dream, either. I was accepted at Siena Heights, where I had a work study job in the English Department office. There, a fancy IBM Selectric awaited and suddenly all that angst in Typing 1 came together for me–I became a much faster, more accurate typist, working my way up to 65 words per minute. I didn’t even need to look at my hands.
Fast-forward to 1986. I started my first newspaper job at the Saline Reporter. There was an eclectic mix of manual and electric typewriters–no Selectrics, however. The editor, Tom Kirvan, pounded away on an Underwood Five from the 1960s, using the “hunt-and-peck, two-fingered” method. He hadn’t memorized that QWERTY keyboard, apparently. I had a manual typewriter, too, at first, but eventually was assigned to an Olivetti electric that was missing the top cover to the keys. It made a lot more noise than its manual counterpart.
About 8 years ago, I found a 1964 Underwood Five Touchmaster at a barn sale. The asking price was $25, it seemed to be in good shape and it worked, so I paid cash and lugged it off to my car in a cloud of nostalgia for those old school and newspaper days. I even found a typewriter stand at a local antique store for my heavy-duty workhorse.
I regularly type letters and more recently, narratives for scrapbooks. So it was with great pleasure I happened upon the 2016 documentary, “California Typewriters,” featuring interviews with Tom Hanks, musician John Mayer, sculptor Jeremy Mayer, historian David McCullough, writer Richard Pelt, and playwright Sam Shepard, among others, against the backdrop of a Berkley, Calif. typewriter sales and repair shop. The documentary is delightful and I highly recommend it, especially if you’re one of those people who learned to type long before anyone would have imagined Microsoft Word.
Writing on a manual typewriter provides me with a connection between thought and action that cannot be mimicked on a computer keyboard. It is tangible, real, something I create that is different from the product of electronic devices. Striking keys as I write makes writing tactile, a physical act that connects me to my work in a way that otherwise gets lost in the translation from keyboard to computer screen.
Sadly, California Typewriters closed its doors in 2020, but the typewriter continues to generate both nostalgia and fascination. It’s a good backup plan, too. It doesn’t require electricity or a printer to generate its product.
Just a ribbon, a few keystrokes, and a sheet of paper can become a masterpiece.
SQUIBS 