When you get stuck in the creative writing process sometimes it helps to change your scenery and tools. I pulled the old Royal Portable (left) out of storage and dusted it off. It could benefit from a good cleaning and new ribbons, but it works. I knocked out half a page the first afternoon with zero distractions. With all the typos it’ll be more like a quarter page when it’s edited, but still. The one on the right is an antique “portable” Corona, which would take a lot of work to get it functioning smoothly again.
Lou told me that his father used the Royal while he was in college, so I wrote to him to get more of the story. He told me that when it looked like he would be able to go to college, he knew he would have to write reports, and that he should probably learn to type them. He remembers that his mother and he drove to Wentzville, MO, which was 11 miles from the family farm, and found a place that sold used typewriters. The Royal was about 20 years old when he purchased it in 1953, making it 85 today. Pop’s “high school curriculum included a typing class, probably because even in that farming environment some girls wanted to be secretaries. So I took the class along with about half a dozen girls. I think I was the only boy on record to have ever taken that class. I don’t remember being teased about it, but then I was big and heavy enough to avoid direct teasing by those interested in self preservation. And I did barely manage to pass with a speed of 40 words per minute. Of my graduating class, only one girl and I attended college. I did use the typewriter in college to type up lab reports. I’ve looked for a relevant photo from the time, but cannot find one.” I learned later that typing wasn’t the only thing that was done with this typewriter. It also functioned as a booster seat for my husband!
Earlier this week I took my Pop’s old Royal to the only repair shop in Rhode Island. It’s a mom and pop joint and the guy who owns it is 80. While I was in there he told me some of his life story and showed me around the shop. He said that 30 years ago he got a lot of work from college students who would then forget to pick up their machines before going home for the summer. He kept those old machines for 25 years thinking that some of them might remember when they came back for their reunions. They never did. He was about to close his shop and retire to Florida when manual typewriters became popular again thanks to steam punk and a yearning for an unplugged way of life. He sold all those old typewriters and is so busy with new repair jobs that his son quit his job to learn the business. He said his only regret is that his brother died of pneumonia he contracted in the hospital while recovering from a head injury he got after falling on the pavement outside his shop. He never did forgive himself, thinking that if only he had done a better job of salting and shoveling his brother might still be alive. I’m glad I found this shop and decided to have the Royal refurbished. I have a good feeling my historical fiction novel is getting a good start in old Mr. Marr’s repair shop and on Pop’s old Royal.
I heard from old Mr. Marr a few days later. He said it was in good condition for such an old typewriter, except for one thing. The ribbon spool was not advancing. It seems it somehow got cracked. He looked through his old inventory to see if he had a replacement and came up with one. He was hesitant to tell me how much it would cost to restore my new writing companion to good health, considering all the work it would take to dismantle and reassemble the parts. I expected a large number to spill forth from him and was fully prepared to pay almost any sum. He said, “It’s going to be $85. Normally I would ask $130, but you were so nice to me yesterday I’m going to give you a discount.” I can not in good conscience pay less than the full amount. This man has spent his whole life and delayed his retirement in order to bring back to life a dying industry. He deserves the full amount for his work. He called me back just a few minutes after we hung up and asked if I wanted him to remove the piece of ancient tape with my married name written on it so he could polish it up. “Absolutely not,” I said. That’s part of its charm and my inspiration. It wouldn’t be the same machine without it.” I’ll be picking up my re-furbished typewriter in a couple of weeks and can’t wait to hear the sound of it tapping away as I make progress on my story.