-Isms: Views on life in rural America

The first newspaper article I wrote and sold, at age 16, was typed on a Smith and Corona manual typewriter. Dad kept the brown-gray piece of technology in a leather-zipped carrying case, stored underneath the wooden office desk in the den.

Despite having precise handwriting, he typed everything: Return envelopes. Weekly missiles to his parents. Ticket requests to the University of Nebraska athletic office. Worksheets and pop quizzes for English classes.

The young version of me watched the keystrokes push the carriage across the roller and made me wonder, “How the heck does he type that fast?”

By the end of my sophomore year, I mastered the keyboard, memorizing finger placement, spelling out words on an imaginary air keyboard. (P.S. I still do that, especially when I’m contemplating word choice in an article.) I could type more than 100 words per minute on the IBM Selectric. This was a skill that would come in handy later in life, when I competed against other teachers as our students participated in the Wayne State quiz bowl. (P.P.S. I won three years in a row. Typed 125 words per minute.)

When I left for Hastings College, my parents rewarded me with a Smith-Corona of my own. The typewriter was fancier than Dad’s version. It was Summerland blue and featured a heavy plastic case in matching color.

When I would return from class, I’d carefully remove a piece of Eaton’s typewriter paper from its sleeve, place it against the left margin set, turn the platen knob and transcribe notes. It was a great way to reinforce studying.

That manual typewriter survived several moves, but when I started teaching, the ‘rents thought I deserved an upgrade. They gifted a Brother electronic word processing typewriter. The machine included a 70,000-word dictionary and files could be saved to memory. I typed a lot of speech scripts and class assignments on that machine, until I finally purchased a desktop computer in the mid-90s.

Now, an Apple keyboard sits on my desk, but it isn’t the same as using a trusty typewriter. The tat, tat, tat of the key striking paper is missing. It is nice, though, not to have to insert pieces of paper or break out a piece of blue carbon paper, so I have a copy.

A year after we opened SAM, we rescued a Royal manual typewriter from the ReStore in Lincoln, primarily as a conversation piece.

It was love at first keystroke.

A couple keys stick occasionally, and once, grandson Zeke tried to unwind the black and red ribbon. I’ve watched Jorden sit, hands hovering above the keyboard, motioning the alphabet in the air.

Like grandmother, like grandson. Makes me wonder if the first newspaper article he will write and sell will be typed on a keyboard or if he’ll transcribe his thoughts into an app, rearranging words by dragging and dropping on a screen.

I like the creative flow generated from typing. Maybe it’s the rhythm of keys on paper or the tactile movement of fingers on each letter or the ding signaling a carriage return. New thought.

Or, maybe old and vintage is finally popular again. Maybe some things never change.