Good news! The green script Royal FP arrived today!

Bad news. It was left sitting on-end on the front stoop.

Good news! The seller packed it exceptionally well, and no damage was done. Carriage hadn’t even twitched.

Bad news. It has no ribbon spools, and standard spools don’t fit.

Good news! The spools from a Royal HH fit!

Bad news. The carriage doesn’t move when I hit the keys.

And that’s where it sits. There must be an unobtrusive little lever somewhere that “unlocks” the keyboard, because the escapement and all other functions work fine. Carriage moves when I hit the spacebar, or tab key, or backspace. Just not when you hit anything connected to a typebar. Not much time right now to delve deeply into the issue, but quite frankly, I’m flummoxed. Typically, the spacebar uses the same escapement release mechanism as the keys. I assume since everything else related to the carriage and escapement work that I must be overlooking some “feature”.

And no, Monda, this isn’t a sign that I should send the Royal to you right away. Though I am wondering about your little curse hoodoo.

Hi, all. Just wanted to let y’all know that my previous post inspired me to start a new blog for all of those historic images and bits of ephemera that just don’t fit anywhere else. The first post commemorates the anniversary of the tornado that all but flattened Rochester, MN, ultimately spawning the creation of the Mayo Clinic. Check it out!

Today we visit a couple of classrooms from the past. Back before “keyboarding” classes, nearly every high school student learned touch-typing, in rooms full of clacking, dinging, ratcheting clamor. And lest those of you who didn’t have to take one of those classes believes that there is no difference between “typing” and “keyboarding”, the two are worlds apart. Touch-typing is an art. The keys are not neatly compressed together and nearly level, as on a computer keyboard. The vertical and horizontal finger reach of a manual typewriter is nearly twice that of a keyboard. Shifting required actual muscle strength. You had to align forms with the type; calculate centering, right-justification, columns; keep track of your bottom margin; plan ahead for footnotes. There was no word wrap.

If you made a mistake–oops!–backspace and delete could not save you. Heaven forbid you didn’t discover the typo immediately and had to use half-spacing to insert a missing character. If you were being timed for speed, there was no going back and correcting your mistakes with a quick backspace or Ctrl-<-. Those flubs counted against your word count.

And you did most of this without looking at the machine.

First up is a postcard, c.1915, of the Spencerian Commercial School typewriting room. Click to see it full-size and try to find as many different typewriters as you can. Is that a Smith Premier 10 next to the Monarch and the Remington in the near row?

Next is a Library of Congress photo of a typing class at Eastern High School in Washington, D.C., c.1920. Most of the typewriters are Remington #10s. Click the photo to view it larger and enjoy the fashions which were popular then. If you click here, you’ll see the most wonderful thing about this photo: the list of classroom typewriter serial numbers and reported problems (“Remington RX85832 – Bell does not ring”).

Interestingly, while the fashions and the machines in use indicate that this undated photo was taken in the 1920s, a couple of those serial numbers cross-reference to much later dates.

Photos of the Remie Scout, 3-bank Underwood, and Erika with her folding Corona cousin have been uploaded to Flickr!

The Remie Scout

The 3-bank Underwood Standard Portable

The folding Erika with her kissing cousin, the Corona #3. Very different bodies, but if you looked at the folding carriage mechanics, you’d hardly tell the difference.

Speaking of typewriter photos, it seems that I was caught in action on Typewriter Day by fellow Flickrite Jonathunder! My insanity is famous!

So yesterday, I come home to find M. Clemen’s gorgeous Erika folding portable awaiting, on it’s side, by my back gate. Fortunately, he had packed it well, and no damage was done by the Three Stooges Postal Service. This is the one I received in trade for my 1951/2 Smith-Corona Sterling. Hardly a fair trade, but I’ve committed to repairing the Erika’s few functional shortcomings. Such as the platen that spins freely around its core, the crumbling feed roller, and the mangled paperclip that serves as the bell-dinger spring.

At the same time, my first round of Traveling Type arrived from Strikethru! My, she has a nice pair of
rubber stamps. A large Remington standard adorns the front of the envelope, while a large Western Union telegram facsimile fills a large portion of the back. Inside is a Travelling Type log entry form which I dare any of the other participants, including myself, to best. The script Hermes 3000 she typed her submission on makes my Escort 55 quail.

This morning, because I’d had them sent to the office to protect against potentially being left out in the rain, I had two more typewriters waiting for me! (Yes, you may assume at this point, if you haven’t already, that I have a collecting problem.) These were eBay machines that were about to be won by keychoppers, for insultingly low prices. I impulsively threw in a pair of lowball bids and walked away, only to be surprised in the morning by a pair of “You won!” emails. Suffice it to say that the total cost of both machines, including shipping, was less than the one usually goes for, minus shipping. I don’t know what typewriter gods were smiling down upon me that day.

One is a Remington Remie Scout, made sometime from 1932-1934. The serial number has been deliberately obliterated, so I can’t find out for sure. The Remie Scout was another inexpensive, no-frills Depression-era typewriter, sometimes sold as the Monarch or the Pioneer. Update: the serial number has been found! It was behind the top row of keys, hidden beneath several layers of dust. Not sure what the mangled number on the side of the segment piece was supposed to be.

The other is a 1929 Underwood Standard Portable 3-bank in forest green. I’ve lusted after one of these 3-bank Underwoods for ages. The fact that it isn’t the standard black is just icing on the cake. Alas, the ribbon spool covers are missing, but that’s fairly typical with these guys. Too soon to have photos yet, but it looks just like this one on Richard Polt’s site.

So far my promise to the spousal unit to begin unloading typewriters has resulted in exactly one typewriter removed from the house, which was canceled out by the Erika, and four new ones coming in.

I should look on the bright side: an addition to typewriters is highly unlikely to kill me with an infected needle.

Here is one of those thrift-shop gems that you almost overlook. Mansion of Evil is a very early graphic novel published in 1950. It’s clear that Gold Key wasn’t quite sure how to handle the format (“Something new!”). For one thing, other than Mr Millard, no credits are given at all. There are also no typical copyright and title pages. It is simply 200 pages of comic book sandwiched between two covers, ending as abruptly as it begins.

The story revolves around a woman who is kidnapped by a wealthy artist to cover up the murder of his wife, who the kidnapped woman just happens to look exactly like. The artwork is not bad, and quaintly outdated. Fedoras and streamlined automobiles abound. The women all wear knee-length skirts, and the men all wear suits. The writing is of the best breathless, pulp detective style. In fact, it reads a lot like how a 1950s radio detective show sounds.

Born in Canby, MN, in 1908, Joseph Millard wrote a number of books on all sorts of subjects. Perhaps his best known are his biography of Edgar Cayce and the movie tie-in novelization of at least one of Clint Eastwood’s “man with no name” movies, For a Few Dollars More.

Announcing a new addition to the Collapsing World blog family: Stop Defacing Rochester! Here you will find updates on the state of historic buildings in Rochester, MN: which ones are targeted for demolition, which ones are threatened, and which ones have been saved by preservation. There may also be the occasional rant about the lack of preservation-mindedness in this town and other poor architectural choices.

On a related note, this blog may soon shift addresses slightly. In order to incorporate multiple blogs on the same site, I’ve upgraded to a different version of Wordpress. Likely, the change will consist of a single letter in the URL: “blogs” instead of “blog”. Will keep you posted.

We’ll start with the bad and ugly. Do not waste your time and money with The Black Dahlia! While the earlier film adaptaiton of a James Ellroy novel, L.A. Confidential, was excellent, this adaptation is a complete mess. Written by Josh Friedman–responsible for the “coulda been worse” War of the Worlds and the Keanu Reeves dreckfest Chain Reaction–and directed by Brian De Palma–who used to be good–Black Dahlia is a complete mess. I have not read Ellroy’s novel upon which the film was based, so I don’t know if he is to blame for the unnecessarily convoluted storyline, the meandering subplots, laughable characters, and criminal slander against titular murder victim Elizabeth Short. The gratuitiously gimmicky camera work and over-the-top buckets of blood, however, are all De Palma’s.

The Black Dahlia herself has very little to do with the movie, other than having her name stolen for the title. Yes, the historical event of her murder is in the film, but the body is shown only briefly and then she is forgotten, with the exception of several excerpts from a totally fictionalized lesbian porn film. The actual person of Elizabeth Short is made out to be a bisexual prostitute–for which zero evidence exists–and whatever family she has left should sue the studio for defamation of character.

The murder is nothing more than a plot device. The real story involves a complicated love triangle between two cops and their girl. For their part, Josh Hartnett, Aaron Eckhart, and Scarlett Johansson are all pretty good. The costumes and set design are perfect. The rest of the movie is bad, bad, bad. We won’t even speak of Hillary Swank.

Once upon a time, Brian De Palma gave us classics such as Scarface, Wise Guys, and The Untouchables. Then he was apparently abducted by the same aliens who abducted John Hughes and had his brains scrambled and sucked out his nose through a crazy-straw, after which he made Snake Eyes and Mission to Mars.

Everyone associated with this movie should be forced to spend the rest of their careers working on nothing but “Mary Kate and Ashley” videos. Maybe that would be a good thing, because then the Olson twins would be bank-robbing lesbians who shoot heroin and take their clothes off for no reason.

*****

Possibly the most unnoticed and underappreciated film that’s out right now is The Illusionist. In the era of movies which sacrifice story for special effects, here is the rare case of a movie which is all story and merely supported by special effects. Edward Norton–reminding us as he did in American History X that goatees can look good–plays Eisenheim, a magician in 19th-century Vienna whose love for childhood friend–who happens to be a Duchess–causes him much political grief with the Crown Prince, who the Duchess is engaged to. To say more would be to give away too much, for this is one of those movies which reveals its plot a little at a time, never frustrating you with vagueness and never leaving you sure whether you know what’s going to happen. To be sure, much of the film is complete fantasy, but it is done in such a way which allows a comfortable suspension of disbelief. Norton is charming and mysterious, Jessica Beil is finally in her element as more than just a pretty face, Rufus Sewell is perfectly dastardly, and Paul Giamatti is completely convincing as the everyman Chief Inspector who is caught between just trying to do his job and being manipulated by a higher authority.

The cinematography is beautiful and dreamy, and the story is charming and original. It would really be a shame to let this one disappear on you.

–After a way-too-expensive weekend in the Cities* I sat down and did some much-needed updates to Machines of Loving Grace. Most of the changes are subtle design improvements. I added a few typewriters I’ve recently aquired, redid the thumbnails, made the font size consistent throughout, re-ordered the machines into chronological order, and placed each page’s entries in a table to make the spacing more consistent. At some point I’d like to replace the old scanned photographs with digital camera pictures. The digicam pics seem much sharper and brighter. But that’s for another weekend.

–McDonald’s has shamrock shakes! I shouldn’t. They’re so unhealthy. I really shouldn’t. I’m trying to lose weight as it is. But…but…but…

–Found a great book called Shadows Over Baker Street. It’s an anthology of stories about Sherlock Holmes confronting Lovecraftian horrors. Neil Gaiman & Barbara Hambly are among the contributors. I can’t wait to read it.

–I would like to take this opportunity to reiterate that I hatehatehate driving in Minneapolis.

*I really must have the folks at Uncle Hugo’s/Uncle Edgar’s cut me off after a certain point. Like maybe when the first basket gets full.