I had a video conference call with Mrs. Soto’s fourth-grade class this morning. I wore a tie for old times’ sake. Although I have always looked ridiculous in neckties.
I discussed the art of creative writing. I covered topics like essays, grammar, and how I learned to use a manual typewriter in Mister Edmund’s typing class back in 1807.
Eight-year-old Akin raised his hand and asked, “Wait. What’s a typewriter?”
I found myself smiling, loosening my necktie, because at this moment I felt about as old as the Giza Pyramids.
“You’ve never heard of a typewriter?” I asked the Future of America.
Most kids hadn’t.
I couldn’t believe this. Which got me thinking about all the other things Mrs. Soto’s kids probably never heard of, for instance, Garfunkel.
And what about Rand McNally maps? I’d like to know where those went. You can’t even buy them in gas stations anymore.
I believe maps are superior to GPS systems. Maps never recalculate, never screw up, there are no batteries, no connective errors, no robotic voices that sound like Jacques Cousteau on horse tranquilizers.
Sure with paper maps people often got lost in the wilderness, but only a small percentage of these people actually died.
So it was hard for the fourth-graders to believe that I still use an archaic device like a typewriter, but it’s true. And for anyone in Mrs. Soto’s class who is reading this column (for extra credit), I will tell you why.
For writers, the typewriter serves a sound professional purpose. And I’ll illustrate my point by telling you exactly how I wrote this column:
First, I sat down.
Next, I fired up my laptop, which is connected to the vastness of the internet.
I ate Fritos.
Then I cracked my knuckles. I started typing with greasy fingers.
Before I finished my first paragraph, I already had a problem because I knew I wanted to talk about Rand McNally roadmaps. So I opened an internet browser and did a search.
There went 13 hours of my day.
My simple search took me to huge online map databases. Which led me to (why not?) a hydrological survey of Utah. Which led to fascinating articles about Mormon beliefs regarding undergarments. Which ultimately led to a video of a cat wearing men’s underpants and riding a raft in a pool. After this I took a nap.
So I think I’ve proved my point.
But with typewriters you don’t get distracted. You sit down; you write. No interruptions. That’s why I sometimes use them. Although not as often as I should.
As a kid we all used typewriters. And as I said earlier, we attended mandatory typing classes, too. I told this to Mrs. Soto’s class and was greeted with snickers.
The Brilliant Minds of Tomorrow responded with: “Typing CLASSES? But why?”
Then everyone openly laughed.
It’s been a long time since a body of fourth-graders ganged up on me.
Mrs Soto’s class then informed me that today’s kids don’t need typing instruction; they’ve been typing on standard keyboards since they were ovums. Many toddlers can already type 7,000 words per minute.
Well, good for them. Because once upon a time we pre-computer generations learned the QWERTY keyboard on corroded manual typewriters in Mister Edmund’s class. These machines had crusty ink ribbons that hadn’t been replaced since the Eisenhower administration.
Which was also approximately the same era when Mister Edmund last bathed—this man’s tailwind could knock a toad off a gut wagon.
We kids would spend entire class periods doing typing drills which consisted of tapping out nonsensical practice sentences like:
“The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.”
“Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party.”
“Mister Edmund has thermonuclear b.o.”
Sadly, typewriters, maps, and lots of other cool things are now considered obsolete, and I for one am against this. Namely, because old stuff frequently outperforms, outdoes, and outclasses “emerging technology.” This, in a nutshell, is why I am crazy about antiques.
So I’m running out of room here, but I’ll finish by saying that if by chance Mrs. Soto’s class is still reading this, and has somehow maintained consciousness, I want you to know that there is magic in old things.
You can’t find this charm in glowing monitors or phone screens. You can, however, find it in an antique store. Which is why I encourage all Mrs. Soto’s kids to go mess around with some real antiquities.
Get your hands dusty. Hold a paper map. Flip through the pages of a Norman Rockwell compilation book. Try on old hats. Wear wire rimmed spectacles. Borrow your grandmother’s Smith Corona manual typewriter. Do it while you can. Do it while your grandmother is still here.
Because each year your childhood will get further away. And someday you’ll end up speaking to a class of cheerfully curious fourth-graders who will make you feel like Methuselah’s great-uncle when they giggle at you.
Then again, maybe they were laughing at my tie.
Lol. It’s a sure sign of entering your dotage when you sigh, turn your eyes Heavenward, and say, “Kids these days.”
A few Christmases ago I had lovingly addressed my packages in my best handwriting. I hauled the bunch to the post office and joined the throng trying to send their parcels through the postal ether.
When it was my turn, I happily placed my neatly wrapped packages on the counter anticipating my loved ones’ responses to my Christmas cheer. The young lad who was my postal clerk du jour, studied the first package on the stack. He scratched his head and put it aside to examine the next package. He didn’t weigh anything, he didn’t measure anything, he didn’t type anything. I watched him as he sorted through all of my several packages, wondering what he was doing.
Finally, he asked me, “Is this writing, um, cursive?”
I took a look at what he indicated. I had indeed used cursive writing to address my packages without giving it a second thought. I’m no doctor. My cursive writing is impeccable. I never got fancy with it, changing up the way the letters are shaped or how they connect. It’s how I learned it in the third grade, never having had the desire or impulse to try to reinvent the wheel. I always got high marks on my handwriting. I blinked at the young clerk a couple times and said, “Yes, it is. Are you having trouble reading it?” resisting an insulted reaction. Of course it’s cursive. What else? I could have printed, I do sometimes, and it’s also artistically legible. No one has ever negatively critiqued my handwriting, ever.
He responded, “This is so cool! I’ve never seen it before!”
“You haven’t? Can you read it ok?”
He had a big smile on his face as he examined this amazing and wonderful antiquity. He said, “It’s so cool how you connect all the letters!” I guess the job of a postal clerk is painfully repetitive. We got through my transaction amid his remarks like, “This is so pretty!” “How did you learn to do this?” “ They taught you this in school?” “Third grade? Wow, that’s incredible.”
As I departed, I tossed up a prayer that the rest of the clerks that handle my parcels en route can divine cursive writing, and made a mental note, “Printing on packages from now on.”
I do all my writing on a keyboard, mostly on my phone using my thumb. I don’t use two thumbs like I see the kids do - I think this is psychotic. I carefully print all postal packages these days. When my first novel came out, my local independent bookstore invited me to a book signing. How exciting! I flashed to the conversation I’d had with the young lad at the post office some years before. Everything is so digitized these days, I wasn’t sure when I’d last signed my name as would be the expectation at a book signing. It gave me a cramp! It wasn’t my heretofore neat and tidy handwriting! Ack! I practiced. I even practiced writing some phrases of encouragement and gratitude to those buying a copy of my book. Once I went to sign a copy and the buyer said, “Oh no! Writing on it devalues it.” It does? I’ve considered my author signed copies of books a part of my store of treasures. As old as I am, I learn something new all the time, but I’m old enough to pick and choose. Dang kids.
Simply - thank you! Your daily columns are one of the highlights of my day. This one reminds me of the day I visited my nephew’s nigh school and they had a display titled “history of technology” and it had items like a corded phone, a roll of Kodak film, a cassette tape recorded and, you guessed it, a typewriter!