My handwriting was terrible when I was young. As soon as I learned to write, I knew I had an issue. One of the teachers and my mother both worked with me to make my handwriting presentable. I wrote countless “r’s” and “o’s” in my notebook, but it didn’t help. My mother told me that as soon as I got to a school that had typing class, I was enrolling. And I didn’t object.
My mother bought the typewriter for my brothers and myself but I was the one who made the keys extensions of my fingers. I never thanked my mother for buying this machine while she was alive. I regret that. But my mother’s action certainly made an impact on my life.
With this sleek electric machine, I wrote every report and paper required to get me through Baldwin High School, CCAC, and Duquesne University. Then the real fun started.
While still in college and after graduating I wrote over 500 cover letters that were sent with resumes to potential employers. When none of those cover letter/resume combinations resulted in a job, I wrote other things. I wrote a letter to a woman who worked in the HR department of a local company. Her company had given me eight job interviews for an entry level job. She then sent not one but two rejection letters—the second coming two days before Christmas and was written in a demeaning tone I didn’t appreciate. The letter I sent her in return made me realize that there are cathartic benefits from writing.
I wrote a screenplay about the South Side of Pittsburgh and the forthcoming closing of the steel mill.
I wrote two business plans that didn’t have a chance in heck of getting funded.
I wrote five letters directly to five real estate developers. One of the five read the letter, called me, interviewed me and hired me. That letter got me an interesting job and got me started on my career. Many of the research projects I wrote as part of that job were written on this machine. When I wrote so much that I broke the belt inside, I called the Typewriter Hospital. There was a fellow who fixed typewriters. He drove an old ambulance. He would make house (or office) calls and pick up the machine for repair in the ambulance.
I wrote two other screenplays—the third one resulted in a $5,000 grant from the PA Council on the Arts.
The second grant I received from the PA Council on the Arts came from a screenplay I wrote on a Smith-Corona PWP 1. PWP stood for Personal Word Processor. Not only did I not save that machine, I can’t imagine that there is a person alive who still has one. The screen was about 3 inches X 5 inches. It was Smith-Corona’s answer to the desktop computer. It wasn’t a good machine to use but I understand technology had to take steps to get to the computer and keyboard I’m using today.
Two other typewriter notes:
The inspiration for this essay is a 2016 documentary on Prime Video titled California Typewriter. The show provides a great history of the machine, and interviews with well-known creative souls (including Pittsburgh’s David McCullough and honorary Pittsburgher Tom Hanks (Mr. Rogers and Otto)) who used/use typewriters. The film is also about a Berkely, CA store with the title name, the day-to-day operations and the owner’s decision to sell or not to sell the building.
To learn more about the movie click HERE.
On my first trip to Cuba, I stood in the window of the Museo Hemingway outside of Havana and saw Ernest’s Corona typewriter on his desk. The Cubans don’t allow visitors inside the house. One just walks around and looks in the windows.
