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Headliners Good and Bad. Good - Varityper; Bad - Chicago Sun-Times

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I have been asked by a lady in Melbourne about finding a good home for this Varityper Headliner 820. It is listed on eBay at $1 but has failed to attract any interest. As much as I would be keen to try it out, I am downsizing my collection and the cost of transport to Canberra might be excessive. If anyone is interested in it, please contact me.
It was owned by an editor and engineer at the CSIRO. The Varityper comes complete with 14 typesetting discs and operator's manual. It was made in New Jersey. Images below are not of the actual items on offer:
This operator's manual doesn't contain geography lessons, which is what headline writers at the Chicago Sun-Times urgently need. After the New Zealand All Blacks beat the United States 74-6 in a rugby union Test match at Soldier Field in Chicago on Saturday, the Sun-Times ran this subhead:
In fairness to the editor of the Sun-Times, he has since apologised for this gross show of ignorance. One does have to wonder what American kids are taught about the world in their schools! Do they think the world begins at the redwood forest and ends at the Gulf Stream waters? Or perhaps they think those places are in Canada.
The image above shows the All Blacks performing the pre-match haka. The haka comes from Māori culture. The Māori are native to New Zealand. New Zealand is across the other side of the Tasman Sea from Australia. It's a different country. Different flag, different government, different people, different culture. Gettit? 
What I really did appreciate was that before the match, the Chicago Tribute got its dance writer, Laura Molzahn, to write a lengthy piece about the haka, in which she described it as more ballet than war dance. Ten out of 10 for the Tribute for this brilliant bit of thinking, minus 10 for the Sun-Times for not thinking at all!

The Typewritten Letter That Will Change a Nation

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It's a black day for Australia. In an hour, Australia will bid farewell to its once visionary leader, former Prime Minister Gough Whitlam, at a state memorial service in Sydney. At 11am, the nation will pause to mourn the loss of perhaps its greatest ever statesman. Whitlam died, aged 98, on October 21.
It strikes me as somehow appropriate that this memorial service should take place on Guy Fawkes Day, the annual commemoration of the day in 1605 when Guy Fawkes was arrested while guarding explosives that the Gunpowder Plotters had placed beneath House of Lords in London.
On the eve of Whitlam's service, a signed copy of the typewritten letter which dismissed him as Prime Minister, on November 11, 1975, has emerged. In 2004, Whitlam wrote on the letter words which, at a time of political morass in this country, should resonate for all Australians.
"The Constitution of the Commonwealth of Australia must be altered to set out the duties of a President as Head of State," Whitlam declared.
The original letter was signed by a perpetually pickled, pompous git, a juiced-up Judas called Kerr, who at the time was the Governor-General of Australia. This cur, allowed to act on behalf of the monarch of a foreign land, had taken it upon himself to sack the democratically, lawfully elected government of this country. This was not, of course, the doing of the Queen of England, who remains blameless in the whole sordid affair, yet at the time her representative in Australia had the power to change a government. Thankfully, it can never happen again.
The cur Kerr
Nonetheless, Australia remains a constitutional monarchy, in theory at least ruled from Buckingham Palace, and with a Queen's representative, a Governor-General, still residing in Government House. It's a shameful situation, and Whitlam's 2004 note, added to the end of his 1975 "pink slip", clearly spells out the need for a president as our head of state, as the head of an Australian republic.
Perhaps Whitlam's death, today's memorial service, and the revelation of this note (described as his "last will and testament to the men and women of Australia"), will hasten the day when Australia will truly mature into nationhood and be prepared to stand upon its own two feet, to wipe the Union Jack from its flag and become fully independent of Buck House.
One might grasp how I can draw analogies with Guy FawkesI grew up unwittingly celebrating Guy Fawkes' capture, when, on each November 5, his effigy was burned on a bonfire. Although, originally, this annual event commemorated the 1605 survival of James I as the Protestant King of England, over the centuries Guy Fawkes came to symbolise not evil but rebellion. And rebellion, more than ever, is what is needed Down Under right now.
There's a surviving sense among some Australians, Australians of a certain age and a certain political bent, that had Whitlam been allowed to remain Prime Minister, an Australian republic would inevitably have been on his agenda. As it was, the federal election which followed his dismissal merely served to confirm that the vast majority of Australians were far too short-sighted and insular to grasp the real implications of Kerr's action. That vote should have been an out-and-out protest against British influence in Australia. Instead, it was a reassurance to Britain that Australians wanted to continue to be ruled from 10,000 miles away.
Today, Whitlam will yet again be lauded for his sweeping cultural, social and economic reforms, including granting land rights to indigenous Australians. His state memorial service is shaping as the biggest in living memory. Tens of thousands are expected to assemble outside Centennial Hall - the so-called "Temple of Democracy" - in Sydney's CBD, as the country gathers to make its final, formal salute to the man who dominated a large part of Australian politics during the lives of most of its citizens. 
But the most fitting tribute of all would be, of course, the dismissal of the Governor-General. Long may Australians rule Australia! We think we already do, but the truth is we don't, not so long as the Union Jack remains on our flag and loudly states where we truly stand.

Ernest Hemingway and the Erika Folding Portable Typewriter

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Ernest Hemingway's Erika 3 Folding Portable Typewriter
The young Ernest Hemingway
American writer Jeffrey Robinson emailed me overnight, saying he owns this Erika folding portable typewriter upon which Ernest Hemingway wrote his brilliant 1926 novel The Sun Also Rises. It's almost too good to believe, that one of my all-time favourite novels was written on one of my all-time favourite typewriters (my own version is the Bijou folding, see below).
Jeffrey Robinson
I am generally quite cynical about such claims, but have every reason to believe this email and its contents are genuine.
Quite aside from Robinson's possession of the Erika, it reveals details about Hemingway and his first two typewriters, and the one used to write The Sun Also Rises, which - to the best of my knowledge, anyway - have hitherto remained unpublished in print or online.
It is well known that Hemingway's first typewriter, a Corona 3 folding portable, was given to him on July 12, 1921, as a 22nd birthday present, by Elizabeth Hadley Richardson (1891-1979), who would become Hemingway's first wife. (She thought it was a 23rd birthday gift, believing Hemingway to be a year older than he was.) The couple were married in Horton Bay, Michigan, on September 2, 1921, and two months later left for Paris. Letters written home to his mother Grace in February 1922 confirm Hemingway was using the Corona 3 there at that time. See my post on the subject here. Also the Vanity Fair article here.
Later, Hemingway also used a range of Royal portable models, including an Arrow, as well as an Underwood Noiseless 77 and even, as some claims would have it, a Halda Model P. But his purchase of an Erika folding to write The Sun Also Rises is a revelation, at least to me.
Jeffrey Robinson wrote to me after stumbling across my post on Hemingway's Corona 3. He explained:
"I ... thought you might like to know the rest of the story. I got this information from [Hemingway biographer] Carlos Baker (1909-1987) when he was at Princeton.
"Hemingway was on his way to Pamplona for the first time [in July 1922]. He took a taxi to the Gare de Lyons (I think that's right) and got into a fight (probably about the fare) with the cab driver. In those days, luggage sat in an open space next to the driver and not in the back with the passenger. As the two argued, the driver got so frustrated that he tossed Hemingway's luggage out onto the street, including the bag (box?) with the Corona. It smashed.
"As soon as he got back to Paris, he bought a used Erika (photo attached) on which he wrote The Sun Also Rises.
Sylvia Beach
With a wounded Hem
Jeanine de Goldschmidt
Pierre Restany with Arman
"When he left Paris, he gave the Erika to Sylvia Beach, of Shakespeare and Company bookshop fame. She eventually gave it to an antique dealer friend, whose daughter [Jeanine de Goldschmidt-Rothschild?] married the French art critic Pierre Restany. The daughter inherited the typewriter. 
"Restany was friends with the French-born American artist Arman who, among other things, used to slice up objects and remount them. He called them 'Colères' and was famous for doing this with violins, for instance.
Arman's 1962 work, Infinity of Typewriters. It's a Corona 3 second from left, top row, not an Erika.
Arman's 1997 Heroic Times
"Arman owned the Erika for many years. It sat on a shelf in his Riviera studio. He never used it for one of his works because he didn't have an emotional relationship with it, the way he did with musical instruments.
"In 1975, or so, he gave the Erika to me, knowing that I'd appreciate it and take good care of it. I do and have. It sits in my office, under glass, on my desk, not far from a Hemingway-era Corona and my old, ever-faithful 1944Royal
"Sometimes, not often but sometimes, I feel sorry for young writers who will never know the joy of hearing their words click onto paper."
Jeffrey Robinson was born in Long Beach, New York, in 1945 and graduated from Temple University in Philadelphia in 1967. He served four years as an officer in the United States Air Force and at the end of 1970 moved to a small village in the south of France. He settled in Britain in 1982 and in 2007 returned to New York.

Finding a Typewriter's Serial Number

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In the past week or so two readers have asked for directions in finding the serial numbers on their typewriters, a later model Imperial Good Companion portable and an L.C.Smith No 8 14-inch carriage standard. By chance, while looking for something else entirely, I came across this page from Wilf Beeching's Century of the Typewriter (1974 edition). It's not a complete guide by any means, but it may help some. For example, later model Imperial portables don't have the serial number where Beeching points to, but underneath the left side ribbon capstan. I hope this helps John, who owns the L.C.Smith seen below. John wrote, "The serial number has eluded me. I have flipped it on all sides, slid the platen to both the extreme right and left and snooped around with a bright flashlight - all to no avail." Don't feel alone, John, I am very familiar with that sense of frustration!

Back to the Garden at Woodstock: Celebrating an American Beauty, the Oliver Typewriter

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By the time we got to Woodstock
We were fourteen hundred strong
And everywhere there was song and celebration
And I dreamed I saw the typers
Riding those typebars in an arch
As they turned them into butterflies
Above our Olivers
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden
1907 was a big year for the Oliver Typewriter Company, with the opening of the Dearborn Street building in Chicago on May 1, the new No 5 model, and improvements to its Woodstock, Illinois, factory (opened in 1896).
The distinctive reliefs were made by the American Terra Cotta and Ceramics Company from $1 a ton clay shipped to Crystal Lake. The designs were by Karl Schneider.
Mounting department
1902 baseball team
 In 1909, Fred F. Main, of Columbus, Ohio, even designed a pneumatic carriage return for the Oliver. Sadly, instead he sold the rights to Underwood (which didn't produce it anyway).
 Oliver nonetheless forged ahead to one million typewriters by 1922, the year it launched its No 11 "Speedster"
But the Woodstock plant closed in 1928

In Brutal Fact, I Employ a Typewriter: Vale Morris Lurie

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This you should know about me ...
- Morris Lurie (1938-2014)
Last month Australia lost one of its four remaining great typewriter writers. A Hermes 3000 user (with a spare in one cupboard and an Olivetti in another), Morris Lurie lost his battle with cancer at the Wantirna Hospice in Melbourne on October 8. He was three weeks short of his 76th birthday. 
Lurie got his first typewriter, a Brother portable, in 1963. Two years later he left it behind in Melbourne with an uncle and went off to Morocco, Greece, Denmark and England, where in 1966 he published Rappaport.
Rappaport's Revenge (1973)
Lurie was born to Polish emigrant parents in Carlton, Melbourne, on October 30, 1938. A writer of comic novels, short stories, essays, plays and children's books, his novels work focused on the comic mishaps of Jewish-Australian men (often writers) of Lurie's generation, who are invariably jazz fans. 
Flying Home (1978) was named by the National Book Council as one of the 10 best Australian books of that decade. His stories were published in The New Yorker, The Virginia Quarterly, Punch, The Times, The Telegraph Magazine, Transatlantic Review, Island, Meanjin, Overland, Quadrant and Westerly.
Seventeen Versions of Jewishness: 20 Examples (2001)

Judgement week
By Morris Lurie
The Melbourne Age, May 6 2002
Judging stories is not easy
O Chekhov, O Henry, O God, then imagine the sifting of better from good, and you haven't even come to consideration of best. 
Winning is easy. The phone rings, you say thanks, end of story.
Anyone can do it.
I've done it myself on occasion.
Some even do it lots.
Take the late James McQueen, to snatch up a handy instance and example. Now there was a winner. Tasmanian. Lived on roo meat, he confided to me once. The short story was his meal ticket. If there was a competition going, he entered it, often as not won. Certainly he kept himself alive. His secret was to choke up those competitions with more entries than a river full of spawning salmon, a veritable arsenal of different typewriters in constant clatter to slip in such disguise past the eagle nose of the most diligent scrutineer. Your modern computer gizmo word-processor optic-fibre professional grammar-correction spelling-check characterless print-out not yet being invented at the time of which I speak, which, even if it had, Jim would have mastered and conquered and put to multiple employment, never fear, needed to win, as he did, had to win, which he did; what a champion, year after winning year kept those roos jumping on to his Tasmanian dinner plate.
Big deal.
Yawn.
As I've said, easy-peasy.
But was he ever a judge?

Typewriters: 1880 versus 1930

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'There's gonna be war' ... The younger gentleman seen in this 1930 movie is the great speed typist George Hossfeld. The older gentleman is James Nelson Kimball (1855-1943), an Underwood employee and for many years organiser of the world speed typing championships. Seems like a real character ...
Below, the legendary Albert Tangora in 1937. The first male seen in the video is the later world champion Cortez Wilson Peters (1906-1964).

'Yes, you heard ...." The Hague, Netherlands, 1938

Blued-Eyed Canadian Mistress of the Typewriter Keys

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 From TheOttawa Journal, November 3, 1979
*The author of this piece, Peter McLaren, (born Toronto, August 2, 1948) is a nephew of Irma Wright. This was his first published article. McLaren is Distinguished Professor in Critical Studies, College of Educational Studies, Chapman University, California, where he is co-director of the Paulo Freire Democratic Project. He is also Emeritus Professor of Urban Education, University of California, Los Angeles, and Emeritus Professor of Educational Leadership, Miami University of Ohio. He is also honorary director of the Centre for Critical Studies in Education in Northeast Normal University, Changchun, China. He is the author and editor of over 45  books and hundreds of scholarly articles and chapters. His writings have been translated into over 20 languages. McLaren lives in Orange, California.
The Stars and Stripes, November 9, 1953
Irma Wright, second from right, with, from left, George Hossfeld, Stella Willins and Albert Tangora at the National Business Show, Grand Central Palace, New York, 1929
Irma Swinburn Wright was born in Wentworth, Ontario, on March 18, 1899. Typing for the Underwood team, she was elevated to the professional division for the 1929 world championships, which were held in Toronto and won by George Hossfeld at 135 words a minute. Wright set a Canadian record of 118 words a minute in 1936, matching it in 1938. The next year she was appointed coach of the Canadian team for a Test event against the US.

When a Remington Travel-Riter DeLuxe (aka Monarch, Envoy) Portable Typewriter Won't Type

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This model also appears as a Monarch and an Envoy.
About a month ago, after visiting the Nicksons to see their Depression Era typewriter collection, I popped into a bric-a-brac store on my way home and was shown a much later Remington Monarch portable typewriter. Actually, it's a Travel-Riter DeLuxe, but it's basically the same thing as what I am more familiar with as a Monarch.
These are early 1960s Dutch-made versions. The store owner had bought this one before finding out it didn't type. The typebars moved, the carriage didn't. That the carriage didn't move distracted me from what turned out to be other major issues: tell-tale things like the ribbon vibrator not moving, the ribbon spools not turning  and the ribbon colour selector switch not working.
Anyway, I turned it upside down and noted the key and spacebar mechanisms were all working, to a certain point. But the most noticeable sign of trouble was the distinct rasping sound the carriage made when moved from left to right. So I realised I'd have to take it home and take it apart to get at whatever was causing the problem. The store owner was happy for me to do that, of course, since she wasn't going to be able to sell it the way it was.
Yesterday I got around to the task. Fortunately, I'd taken apart another very similar, though slightly earlier design, so I could compare the workings between the two. The first thing I realised was that someone else had taken the problem portable apart before me, and hadn't put it back together very well. For one thing, they hadn't replaced the factory screws, but put in much more modern and larger Phillips head screws. I'm assuming the original owner had tried to fix the machine, failed to do so and reassembled it badly, then sold it as was.
First I loosened the escapement rack. There was clearly some impediment under it, stopping it from being lifted up smoothly. In the process of trying to lift it out, and with all the jigging about between the two machines, the source of the problems quickly became readily apparent. In fact, it almost dropped out on to my lap. But not quite - it was still stuck at one end in the escapement rack.
It was a rod under the right rear of the machine, as I faced the typewriter from its back end. Only then did I realise the ribbon colour selector switch, the ribbon vibrator and the spool capstans were all banjaxed. They couldn't work because the flanges which would normally operate all this gear were attached to the unattached rod. It had been jarred loose from its screws.
Apart from the end sticking up into the escapement rack, the rod had come completely loose. It is hollow and is normally held in place by screws at either end. The screws were impossible to loosen, so I had to wedge the rod back into place between the screw ends, which I managed with some effort. All the while I had to ensure the flanges which operate the ribbon colour selector and the spool movement, and the piece which moves the ribbon vibrator - all of which is cogged to the star wheel and moves the carriage - were placed and held together in their proper positions by this rod.
Breathtaking just to read about it, I know, and breathtaking to do it.
But, once done and, voilà! The typewriter types!
I suspect this problem resulted from a design fault. With the earlier model, the colour selector switch is far more straightforward - simple but effective. On the problem typewriter, the design has changed to a dial inserted in the mask beside the keyboard. My experience indicated that this was stiff and didn't work very well. I reckon that with any sort of pressure applied to it, it could bugger up the typewriter. After all, the flanges at the rear of the mechanism have to move somewhere if one forces the switch to move, and that somewhere comes into being when the rod holding the flanges is pushed off its screws. Maybe the original owner, in forcing the colour selector switch, dislodged the rod. That's my theory, anyway ...
The original factory brass nickel-plated screw is on the right, the newer (though already burred) zinc-plated screw left.

Last Days of Speed Typing Glory

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In 2007, soon after the publication of that excellent book The Typewriter Sketchbook, its editor, Dutch typewriter collector and historian Paul Robert (The Virtual Typewriter Museum) suggested I should start researching world speed-typing championships for a chapter in what Paul had then hoped would be a second volume.
It never came to be, but once started I was hooked on speed-typing research, as regular readers of this blog may have noticed. I have posted on many aspects of the early history of these championships and on the speed-typing champions. 
In the past few weeks my interest in this subject has been revived and I realised there was a need for me to fill the many gaps in the history of the last 17 years of the championships, between 1929 and 1946. Even then I hadn't fathomed out that for four years (1931-34) there were no championships and that for two years (1936-37) there were two versions of the championships - leading to much confusion for typewriter historians!
So here now is what I believe to be the complete story, with for the first time a full list of professional title winners from 1906 to 1946, and previously unpublished details of the championships held between 1929 and 1946. I could say I will end posts on speed typing here, but I can't promise ...
1931-1934 NO CHAMPIONSHIPS WERE HELD
1935      Albert Tangora    . .      Royal         . .              128 words
1936 Chicago    Albert Tangora  . .      Royal    . .        135 words
"       Toronto   George Hossfield . .   Underwood . .  131 words
1937 Chicago  Albert Tangora     . .    Royal         . .     141 words
 "      Toronto   George Hossfield . .   Underwood . .  139 words
1938              Norman Saksvig  . .   L.C. Smith     . .   119 words
1939*        Grace Phelan . .    Underwood . .                139 words
1940#      Margaret Faulkner . .  Underwood  . .        121 words
1941            Margaret Hamma      . .       IBM   . .         149 words
(Albert Tangora, in finishing second to Hamma with an average of 142 words a minute over an hour on a Royal, achieved the highest ever score for a manual typewriter under full championship conditions, including the deduction of 10 points for each error. His 1923 score of 147 was achieved under less rigid conditions.)
A world portable typewriter championship title was awarded in Chicago this year to Cortez W.Peters, using a Royal. Peters won the world amateur standard typewriter title in Chicago in 1936. Peters never won a world professional standard machine title, as was often later implied.
1942-45 NO CHAMPIONSHIPS WERE HELD
1946              Stella Pajunas   . .         IBM      . .            140 words
(Stella Pajunas is the only person to have won all four championships - professional, amateur, novice and women's - in the one year)
* In 1939-40, only amateur titles were awarded.
#Electric typewriters allowed for the first time. 
1929
George Hossfield (often spelled "Hossfeld") retained the world professional title he had won in Sacramento, California, in 1928. He won his seventh title in Toronto on September 28. Hossfield beat Albert Tangora by typing at a then world record average speed of 135 words a minute. Barney Stapert was third at 125 wpm and Stella Willins fourth at 124. At that time, the three fastest typists in the world, all Underwood users, lived in Paterson, New Jersey.
Belva Kibler of Tuscon, Arizona, won the novice title.


1930
George Hossfield won his eight world title in Richmond, Virginia, on September 27, typing at 133 words a minute. The event was held outdoors.
Given the domination of male typists since Margaret Owen's fourth and last win in 1917 (there had been 12 male winners in the interim), for the first time a separate world women's championship was held, and was won by Stella Willins. Remo Poulson of Waterbury, Connecticut, won the amateur title.
Stella Willins
There was a obvious need to encourage women to continue to compete, and much publicity was given to Willins, Poulson and Kibler. Interestingly, Willins and Poulson both promoted Camel cigarettes.
1931-1934
The championships were not held. Underwood withdrew its sponsorship - probably believing it had already well and truly proved its point - and there were increasing difficulties in finding a city to put the money up and provide facilities to host the event.
1935
Albert Tangora gets rewarded with a car and a few Royals.  As well as the standard, Tangora heavily promoted Royal's portables, claiming to be able to type at 140 words a minute on the portable.
Perhaps peeved by Underwood's loss of interest in the championships, in March 1935 Albert Tangora and Stella Willins switched camps and signed with Royal. Royal enticed the pair to change allegiance, the idea being to revive the championships in order to promote its new Victory standard model with touch control. It planned to publicise touch control as the "scientific" way to win speed typing tests by using "stock standard typewriters" as opposed to Underwood's "works" modified machines. Royal convinced International Commercial Schools to back the championships and stage them at its annual gathering in Chicago, on June 28. 
Royal's scheme worked royally and Tangora beat Hossfeld, using an Underwood, to regain the world title he had last held in 1928, claiming his fifth professional championship at 128 words a minute. In subsequent advertising, Underwood conceded this defeat, admitting it had not won every title, but 26 of 27 world championships since 1906.
1936
Stung back into action by Royal's bold and effective move, Underwood took its own initiative and established a rival world championships, at the annual Canadian National Exhibition in Toronto. Just like boxing in later years, there would be more than one set of world champions each year.
The championships were held just a week apart, in Chicago on August 27 and in Toronto on September 2. In Chicago, Albert Tangora won his sixth world title with 135 words a minute, beating Cortez W. Peters (133). At the time, Tangora insured his fingers for $100,000In Toronto, George Hossfield beat Barney Stapert with 131 words a minute.
Trying to restore Underwood's reputation, Hossfield was busy visiting schools throughout the United States in 1936. On a single day, November 25, he demonstrated his incredible speed in two exhibitions. First, in the morning, at Boyertown High School, Pennsylvania, he typed 240 short words of memorised material in one minute. That afternoon, at the Pottstown Business School, Pennsylvania, he typed 246 words of a repeated sentence in one minute. Perhaps his all-time record was 252 words typed in one minute at the Union High School in Phoenix, Arizona, on February 26, 1941. It seems unlikely this feat was ever bettered on a standard manual typewriter.
Once Hossfield had won at least one version of the world title back for Underwood, Underwood wasted no time in commissioning New York advertising agency Marschalk & Pratt to put together large adverts to appear in 70 newspapers across the United States. It must have cost Underwood a small fortune! Here is an example of the ad:
1937
The Toronto version
The two separate championships continued for one more year. In Chicago on June 25, Albert Tangora won one version with 141 words a minute, beating Cortez W.Peters on 138. Stella Willins retained her world women's title with 128 words a minute.
In Toronto on August 28, George Hossfield won the other version with 139 words a minute. Grace Phelan won the amateur title with 129.
Perhaps the most interesting aspect of all this was that Cortez W.Peters took part in both versions of the world championships - using a Royal! What's more, newspaper comments were made about the colour of Peters' skin - he was the first African-American to compete as a professional - and his weight (more than 220lbs). One paper said he'd "obviously only trained on a typewriter". After losing out to Tangora in Chicago, in Toronto Peters was second to Hossfeld with 136 words a minute. Barney Stapert was third.
Another remarkable feat in 1937 came from Canadian Russel James Moffit (1895-1965), who had lost his right arm in World War I. In his home town Toronto, Moffit typed 67 words a minutes using just his left hand. Before losing his right arm, he had been a right-hander!
Above, Lewis Spencer beat Moffit's record, typing 70 words a minute in Chicago in 1941.
1938
 Above and below, Norman Saksvig on his way to victory in Chicago.
Just one championship was held in 1938, in Chicago on June 23, and the winning performance heavily emphasised the difference the absence of Tangora and Hossfield et al had made. Tangora said he was "too busy" to prepare for the event. Norman Paul Saksvig (1910-1966), who had been competing with a L.C.Smith since the 1936 world championships in Chicago, won with a mere 119 words a minute. It was a hollow victory, since the women's title when to Stella Willins with a much higher score, 128.  The Cortez Peters-trained Ben Pesner won the amateur title, using, like Willins, a Royal.
In Toronto, a marathon typing exhibition and an amateur team's event between Canada and the US replaced what had been a rival world championship in the previous two years. Hossfeld was not involved.
1939
No professional championship was staged this year. Grace Phelan won the amateur world title, held at the New York World's Fair. She typed 133 words a minute on an Underwood. Interest in the world speed-typing championship was by now rapidly waning. It had long since served its purpose, as far as the major manufacturers were concerned. And electrics were on the way ...
Above, one of Phelan's young "rivals" at the World's Fair. Below, one of Phelan's competition prizes, an Underwood portable.
1940
Margaret Faulkner
This year's world amateur champion is possibly the least known of all world typing champions. Margaret Faulkner of Toronto won in Chicago on June 22, with 121 words a minute on an Underwood. It was the last time a manual would beat an electric for the title. Faulkner beat Margaret Hamma, who scored 119 on an IBM. Lenore Fenton of Seattle was third.
Lenore Fenton used a wide range of machines, including L.C.Smith, IBM, Burroughs and Royal, in making the 1944 US Navy typewriter training film. See here.
Velma Crismon, 16, of Tacoma, won the novice title with a 113, a world record for this class, but she was also using an IBM
Velma Crismon with her trophies
Electric takeover
1941
Margaret Hamma
Brooklyn's Margaret Hamma, still classified as an amateur, became the new world champion at age 28, in Chicago on June 21. But for the first time, the title went to someone using an electric typewriter - in Hamma's case, an IBM. Hamma scored 149 words a minute with this considerable advantage. By far and away the most impressive performance in the championship came from former champ Albert Tangora, who typed at an average of 142 words a minute on a Royal manual. This is the highest score ever achieved using a manual over the full hour under strict championship conditions, with deductions of 10 points for each error. Cortez Peters was third with 141, probably his finest effort ever.
1942-45
No championships were held during these years, most likely because of the US involvement in World War II, when such pursuits would possibly have been frowned upon.
1946
These were the very last world speed typing championships ever held under proper championship conditions. The title went to Stella Pajunas of Cleveland, Ohio, using an IBM. Contrary to earlier claims, Pajunas did not even come close to Hamma's record of 149 from the previous championship, instead achieving an average score of 140, not even as fast as Tangora or Peters on Royal manuals in 1941. Hamma, after a reign of five years, during which time she hadn't had to defend her title, came second with 138.
What Pajunas did achieve, however, was to become the first and only person to win all four titles in the one year - professional, amateur, notice and women's. 
Not surprisingly, given that where once hundreds had competed, now one person could win all four crowns in a single year, and given the competitions were being dominated by electric typewriters, the 40-year history of world speed-typing championships ground to a halt.
Eleven years after the last championships, George Hossfield could still lay claim to have fame as one of the all-time typing greats:

Under heavy fire in Madagascar, he leapt ashore, carrying his Imperial portable typewriter, bowler hat and umbrella

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Kenneth Gandar-Dower with Pongo at Hackbridge Kennels, Surrey, on February 4, 1937.
Kenneth Cecil Gandar-Dower was the sort of real-life stuff of which Boy's Own stories were made. He was an astonishingly good all-round sportsman who played tennis at Wimbledon, a pioneering aviator, a much-travelled explorer and adventurer, a war correspondent and a writer.
The heading on this post comes from his own book, In Madagascar [1943]. 
At the outbreak of World War II, Gandar-Dower was photographing gorillas in the Belgian Congo [later Zaïre, now the Democratic Republic of the Congo]. He spent 1940 working on the mass-observation project with ornithologist, explorer, guerrilla, ethnologist and archaeologist Tom Harrisson before serving as a press representative in Nairobi for the Kenyan Government. Later, as a war correspondent, he covered campaigns in Abyssinia [now Ethiopia] and Madagascar, travelling vast distances by bicycle and canoe.
On September 10, 1942, at Mahajanga [French: Majunga] in the north-western part of Madagascar, then held by the Nazi-collaborating Vichy Government, Gandar-Dower landed under heavy French fire as part of the Allied assault with the Second Regular Battalion of the East Lancashire Regiment.
Gandar-Dower leapt from the landing craft carrying his Imperial portable typewriter, a bowler hat and an umbrella.
Essential items for a
war correspondent
in Madagascar in 1942 
In February 1944 Gandar-Dower boarded the SS KhediveIshmael, a troopship bound for Colombo [Sri Lanka] out of Kilindini Harbour, Mombasa [Kenya]. While approaching Addu Atoll in the Maldives, on February 12, 1944, the vessel was attacked by a Japanese submarine. Struck by two torpedoes, the Khedive Ismail sank in two minutes. Gandar-Dower was among a death toll of 1297.
For all his top-level sports achievements, his flying, adventuring and exploring and writing, the thing Gandar-Dower is probably best known for today is that in 1937 he introduced cheetah racing to greyhound tracks in his native England.
Gandar-Dower was born in Regent's Park, London, on August 31, 1908, and educated from 1922-27 at Harrow School, where with Terence Rattigan he wrote for The Harrovian. He went on to Trinity College, Cambridge, and won varsity blues in billiards, tennis, Real Tennis, Rugby Fives (in which he was described as a "kangaroo") , Eton Fives and rackets [squash], edited Granta magazine and chaired the debating society.
Gandar-Dower, left, about to meet the great American champion Don Budge on the Centre Court at Wimbledon on June 20, 1938.
In tennis, Gandar-Dower was known for his fine tactical awareness, excellent footwork and anticipation. He represented England against Scotland at lawn tennis and squash in 1932 and 1939 respectively. He also competed at Wimbledon and in the French championships. He was nicknamed "The Undying Retriever" for his ability to run large distances during matches. He once beat the great Australian Davis Cup coach Harry Hopman, perplexing Hopman "with his unorthodox game and the number of astonishingly low volleys from apparently impossible positions". 
 Gandar-Dower the cricketer
Gandar-Dower also won the British squash championship and continued to play cricket competitively throughout the 1930s. In Real Tennis he had a reputation for getting to the net as quickly as possible and volleying everything in sight. Traditionalists said he "disrupted the game for a while".
Gandar-Dower finished fourth in a de Havilland DH.80A Puss Moth monoplane in the King's Cup Air Race in 1932 and "soon became one of the most colourful aviators of his era", making one of the first flights from England to India. In 1934 Gandar-Dower led an expedition to Mount Kenya and the Aberdare Range in an attempt to capture a Marozi, a spotted lion rumoured to exist.
Gandar-Dower returned to England in 1937 with 12 cheetahs. After six months' quarantine and six months adapting the cheetahs to changed climatic conditions, the cheetahs began to race whippets at Romford Greyhound Stadium, disproving the belief that greyhounds were the fastest animals in the world. But the cheetahs were not competitive, uninterested in pursuing a mechanical hare and couldn't negotiate tight bends.
Gandar-Dower caused uproar at the Queen's Club when he brought a two-year-old male cheetah called Pongo into the bar on a leash.
Gandar-Dower left more than £75,000 in his will. Two of his elder brothers, Eric Leslie Gandar-Dower (1894–1987) and Alan Vincent Gandar-Dower (1898–1980), sat as Conservative Members of Parliament.
For more detail on Gandar-Dower's life and adventures, download a PDF here.

Anyone Who Had a Typewriter

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With the typewriter-laden Ian Fleming (The Man Who Would be Bond) miniseries sadly already gone from our TV screens, I am looking forward to another British program starting on ABC TV tonight. Cilla is the story of the typist who first brought a female voice to the Merseybeat in the early 1960s. One of Cilla Black's biggest hits was Anyone Who Had a Heart, which was a No 1 for her in Britain. Indeed, with 800,000 copies pressed, it was Britain's biggest-selling single by a female artist in the 1960s. In the US it was a Top 10 hit for Dionne Warwick. Cilla didn't fare too well in the US, where her biggest hit was You're My World (Il Mio Mondowhich reached No 26 in 1964 (it was a No 1 in Australia). But elsewhere in the world she was pretty well known.
Sheridan Smith plays Cilla Black in the TV seriesCilla.
She is seen here using a Remington SJ standard manual typewriter, built in Glasgow under Alex Ferguson's supervision. Almost all of her workmates/fellow actors use Imperial 65s.
Priscilla Maria Veronica White was born in Liverpool on May 27, 1943, grew up in the Scotland Road area and attended St Anthony's junior and secondary schools before beginning a shorthand typing course at Anfield Commercial College at age 15 (Anfield is famous as the home of the Liverpool soccer club). At 20 Cilla was working as a full-time Dictaphone typist in the typing pool at British Insulated and Callender's Cables Ltd on Stanley Street, Liverpool, just around the corner from The Cavern. She supplemented her wages from BICC by working her lunch hours as a hat-check girl at The Cavern. A friend of Ringo Starr, then with Rory Storm and The Hurricanes, she soon got a gig on stage at The Cavern, and in time was championed by The Beatles.
(My eldest son, Simon Messenger, also later appeared on stage at The Cavern in Liverpool, in a group called The Cut).
Stanley Street
 Below, the real Cilla Black moonlighting in a poultry factory in 1960.

Graduating with Honours: Singer Portable Typewriters (Made by Royal in Holland)

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The Singer Graduate portable typewriter, a relabelled Royalite made for Singer by Royal in Leiden in Holland, arrived in Australia in September 1963 and was sold for 39 guineas (close to £41). By the time Australia switched to decimal currency in February 1966, that would have been close to, if not more than, $100.
In September 1963, Singer was selling vacuum cleaners at 47 guineas, motor mowers at 49 guineas, transistor radios at 29 guineas and sewing machines at 65 guineas, so I guess the 39 guineas for such a neat and reliable little typewriter was pretty reasonable. 
At about the time Brian Sarno asked me about Remington portables made in Den Bosch in Holland, a Canberra lady brought over her Singer Graduate for me to service. She had bought it for a mere $10 and was assured by the previous owner that it "hadn't been used for many, many years". The signs of some neglect were there, all right.
Once I had taken it apart and cleaned the flora and fauna off the base plate and out of the mechanics, then cleared decades of hardened gunk from the segment slots, I was able to test type with the Graduate.
And I was quickly reminded of how much superior the Leiden machines are to the Den Bosch portables.
Factoring in size, weight and sturdiness, the quality of the materials used, the workmanship and the excellent mechanical (Halberg) and mask (Laird Fortune Covey) designs, and finally the typeability, the Dutch Royals are far, far better value for money than the Dutch Remingtons of the same period.
From time to time one can run into minor problems with the Royalites, such as the tight-fitting typebar clipping or getting stuck under the front part of the mask, and I have also encountered carriage lever breakage. But those were freak things which resulted from a lack of care by owners, not the manufacturers. All in all, it's hardly surprisingly these Royalites sold so well - as they also did for Nippo as the Atlas. The keytops are close together, but at least they don't wobble around like the Remington keys.
The history of the Singer Corporation and typewriters stretches back to the earliest days of typewriters in the mid-1870s, when Remington, lacking an established foreign sales network to match that of Singer, approached Singer to sell the typewriter overseas. Singer refused.
Almost 85 years later, in mid-October 1961, Singer started to sell its own typewriters in the United States - its own, that is, but made by Remingtonand Royal in Holland. The first Singer Graduate, which reached the US market in November 1962 at a cost of $79.95, was a Remington, and a very good, solid one too. It's the later, plastic Dutch Remingtons which are a problem, not this model, which started out in 1961 as the Monarch or Envoy:
The earliest Royal Singer models had come out 13 months earlier, and were the first-model Royalite, which had been around since the mid-50s, with a raised top plate on the Singer to distinguish it from the same Royal machine. They were sold as the Singer Scholastic:
Given that at this time the Royal Diana was selling for the same price, at $49.95, a flimsy Dutch Remington or a solid little Czech Consul sold for $39.88 in the US, the then new Royal Futura 800 was $99.50 and Olivetti-Underwood portables ranged from $68-$98, the price of the Singer might have been seen as being slightly on the high side. 
After Litton took over Royal, Singer had its portables made more cheaply by Silver-Seiko in Kashiwazaki, Japan, and by Smith-Corona-Marchant in West Bromwich, England. (There was also a Royal Safari-style Singer, which in 1967 sold for $88.)
The SCMs, also Scholastics, are simply awful - their prices reflected undue pressure placed on the manufacturers to reduce production costs to match Japanese prices, and a lack of quality control. 
The Silver-Seiko Singer reached Australia for Christmas 1979 and sold for $99. It was the same model which had sold as a Royal Mercury in the US - aimed at a pre-high school market - for under $50 in 1967.
But in the late 70s in Australia, a Nakajima KMart sold for $55 and an Olivetti Lettera 32 for $135.
By early 1980 the price had dropped by $14 and the target market was, as in the US 12 years earlier, school children.
Silver-Seiko
Silver-Seiko
Nakajima

Typewriting's First Great Ball of Fire

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To mark my 1800th post (and my own return to newspaper print) I want to salute the newspaperman who first embraced the typewriter and set it alight, Asael Othell Bunnell.
Within 18 months of the typewriter first reaching the market, American newspapers were reporting:
The Wyandott Herald, Kansas City, December 30, 1875
Asa Bunnell
In 1902, John A. Sleicher, editor of Leslie's Weekly, New York City, wrote, "No newspaperman in the state of New York, and probably none in the United States, is more widely known and more generally loved than A. O. Bunnell, the editor of the Dansville AdvertiserFor over half a century the smell of printer's ink has been upon his garments."
Asa Bunnell was born in Lima, Livingston County, New York, on March 10, 1836. He moved to Dansville at the age of 14 and at 16 became a printer's apprentice at the Dansville Herald (which would eventually become the Genesee Country Express).  In 1860, aged just 24, he founded the Dansville Advertiser, and remained its owner, editor and publisher for the next 48 years.
"The paper typifies the man. It is a beautifully printed paper — clean and wholesome in its contents, elevated in its moral tone, and powerful in its widely exerted influence," wrote Sleicher. "Mr Bunnell has never sought public preferment. The love of his profession has kept him loyal to it. In the congenial atmosphere of the printing office, as boy and man, he has taken his greatest delight and realised his highest ambitions."
Bunnell was secretary-treasurer of the New York Press Association for 34 years, having become a member on its reorganisation after the Civil War, in 1865. In July 1894 he was elected president of the National Editorial Association, representing 20,000 newspapermen across the nation.
Bunnell died in Dansville on December 1, 1923, aged 87.
Bunnell started using a Sholes & Glidden typewriter when the machine was still in its infancy. The coming of its advent was heralded in a "New York Letter" which appeared in the Bucks County Gazette in  Bristol, Pennsylvania, on September 25, 1873:
There were no news reports of its actual launch on the market, on July 1, 1874, and initially no mention of its inventor, Christopher Latham Sholes. Indeed, credit for it was in March 1874 given erroneously to Western Union's chief operator in Atlanta, Georgia, English-born George Albert Gustin (1842-1905; birth surname Peacock). Gustin, who had worked with General Robert E.Lee while in the South, moved to Washington and became stenographer and secretary to President Rutherford B. Hayes, the first president to have a typewriter in the White House. Gustin was also private secretary to four Postmaster-Generals. 
The Galveston Daily News, Texas, March 3, 1874
In May 1874, the Missouri Granger in Macon and the Red Cloud Chief in Nebraska credited James Densmore, the typewriter's chief promoter, with its invention. Its appearance at a Boston Exhibition of Art and Industry was announced in August.
Advertisements for the "greatest invention of the 19th Century" began to appear from early March 1875:
This large ad appeared in the New York Sun on December 16, 1875:
A fortnight later in, Dansville, New York, Asa Bunnell, whose creative surges had so inflamed his Sholes & Glidden, allegedly found the typewriter just "to hot to handle!"
"Bless the world"
The Holt County Sentinel, Oregon, Missouri, December 4, 1874

Facts About Typewriters - From 100 Years Ago

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 Published 1914
Typewriters described in this booklet:
Underwood Nos 4 & 5
L.C.Smith Nos 2 & 5
Remington Nos 6 & 7
Remington Nos 10 & 11
Smith Premier Nos 2 & 4
Smith Premier No 10
Oliver No 3
Oliver No 5
Blickensderfer Nos 7 & 8
Blickensderfer No 6
Blickensderfer Home Model
Royal Standard Nos 1, 3 & 5
Monarch No 3
Hammond No 12

Being Rob Messenger

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EVER NOT WANTED
TO BE SOMEONE ELSE?
- with apologies to Charlie Kaufman
These are some of the saddest and sorriest days in Australian political history. Not since the Australian Labor Party self-destructed almost precisely 60 years ago - ensuring 23 years of Conservative rule, 17 of them under a man dubbed Ming the Merciless and Big Iron Bob -  has there been such mindless turmoil.
Back then Australians couldn't break wind without vice-regal approval. Now you'd swear our chambers comprise 226 mad farts. The Federal Parliament is a rabble, the Senate a shambles. Not one of our politicians seems capable of enunciating a properly constructed sentence. The Prime Minister keeps repeating the predicate of his sentences, as if we didn't get it the first time. Oh we got it all right, worse luck. It's embarrassing.
No doubt he's frustrated. He can't enact legislation, so he keeps on breaking election promises. Things are so bad, Australians have asked for a swap. Some Americans might even agree to go along with it.
This appeared on Facebook.
In the latest prevarication, he's lashed out at the Australian Broadcasting Corporation and the Special Broadcasting Service, slashing funding to the only outlets which might offer even occasional sanity. He's been provoked, admittedly, by the ABC's response to accusations of Left-Wing bias - by having so-called "interviewers" shout even more loudly and rudely at politicians, for fear that viewers might actually get to hear what these people have to say. You never know, there might be a wise one in there somewhere.
Worse still, this is not a good time to be living in Australia with the name Robert Messenger. There are more than one of us, and one of them, I'm afraid to say, might never have used a typewriter, let alone owned one. What's more, this Rob Messenger is sitting smack bang in the middle of the one of the messiest and most pointless political confrontations going on in Australia right now.
Where's the typewrier?: Lambie, left, and Messenger
This Rob Messenger is the chief of staff for a Tasmanian politician called Jacqui Lambie, who was elected to the Senate on the ticket of the Palmer United Party. Journalists soon dubbed Clive Palmer's party "PUP", but since taking their seats, these newcomers to Canberra have been far from united - more like a pack of rabid, in-fighting mongrel dogs. Consequently, Palmer United is only contributing to dividing the nation.
Confusion about the two Rob Messengers started out as a bit of an in-joke among my friends. Now it's got serious. People are stopping me in the street asking whether I am that Rob Messenger. To which, invariably, I reply in song:
It ain't me, babe,
I said a no no no,
It ain't me babe,
It ain't me you're looking for, babe
This Rob Messenger once promoted a documentary called Suffering in Silence, which I find I can no longer do. So before this confusion spreads even further, let's get it straight. This Rob Messenger is NOT ME!
He was born in Bundaberg, Queensland, a place I have only occasionally visited, usually to play rugby in the early 90s (although I was once in the psychiatric ward at Bundaberg Base Hospital getting my head sorted out). He was born on October 26, 1962, 14½ years after I was born, a very great distance away in Greymouth, New Zealand. He became an electrician and was a National Party and later a Liberal Party member of the Queensland Legislative Assembly, which is to say that politically he was a red rag to my red flag bull.
The only vague connection I can find between us is that we both had Townsville-based girlfriends, although he married his (Fern). He was also engaged to a rock chick (Tarni Stephens), which I never managed:
After losing his seat as an independent in 2012 Queensland state election, he joined PUP in May last year and in April this was appointed Lambie's chief of staff. He was expelled from the party earlier this month, after Lambie became embroiled in disagreements with Palmer. Palmer is a billionaire, with iron ore, nickel and coal holdings, who, as a sort of hobby, in having an exact-size replica of the Titanic built in China.
Australo Politicus: As News Ltd cartoonist Bill Leak sees Mr Palmer, who has his own Jurassic Park, called "Palmersaurus".
So, what I am objecting to in being confused with this other Rob Messenger? Well, name confusions can have serious repercussions. Five years ago one of my then very young sons was illegally ambushed by a bailiff with a summons addressed to a Robert Messenger on the Sunshine Coast in Queensland. I was living in Canberra, and have never lived on the Sunshine Coast. The summons concerned the purchase of two Aboriginal paintings worth $3000. Naturally, I took the prosecuting solicitors to the Victorian Law Association.
In this case, my opposition is to a name association with what I consider to be a bunch of reactionaries, people who are doing nothing to help sort out Australia's political morass, but are merely adding to it. As one friend wrote today, "Have you any idea how relieved I was to learn that you are not the brains behind La Lambie?" It's a typical sample of the reactions to my "It ain't me, babe" cry, one of dozens I've received these past few weeks.
Imagine me being tied up with a political party which has this logo:
Typospherians should be well aware by now of my feelings about having a Union Jack of anything Australian. The other night, watching a news item on Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi's address to thousands of admirers in Sydney, I was enraged to see hundreds of these T-shirts:
Mr Modi (along with Barack Obama) was actually visiting Australia for the G20 meeting in Brisbane. He wasn't in Britain, as these T-shirts indicate. The trouble with our flag is that, when used in this way, all one can see is the Union Jack. Mr Modi's address was relayed to the masses in India, where tens of millions would have thought he was in London, not Sydney. Same goes for Mr Obama's talks in Brisbane:
Spot a distinctly Australian flag here? No? If there was ever an argument for taking the Union Jack off our flag, the G20 gathering unquestionably provided it. Even The Big Bang Theory is about to take the mickey out of our flag (although it must be said that Sheldon Cooper thinks the koala is a bear, and he's supposed to be smart!):
As I said, it's all too excruciatingly embarrassing! (Thank goodness they're ending the tired old "Fun with Flags" joke.)

Olivetti Lettera (Pluma) 22 - Carriage Not Gripping at Left Margin

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As I've said before, it's hard trying to help someone fix their typewriter from thousands of miles away. It's harder still when we don't talk to same lingo.
Yes, we've had a few language difficulties, but bit by bit Francisco Pérez (country unknown to me) and I seem to be getting the problems with Francisco's grandfather's Olivetti Lettera (Pluma) 22 sorted out.
I think Francisco did a pretty good job fixing the mainspring and drawband, having taken the mainspring off the machine, opened its casing and (admittedly with the use of four hands) succeeded in getting the spring operational again.
But after putting the mainspring back on, re-attaching the drawband and replacing the mask, Francisco ran into another road bump. This is the one he filmed (above) - that is, of the carriage not gripping at the left margin.
Having watched the video, and after much thought (and based on past experience), I came to the suspicion that Francisco, in reassembling the Pluma 22, might have inadvertently created this new problem.
I think I've covered this before on this blog, but one has to be very careful when reassembling an early Lettera 22, to ensure these original margin release and tabulation mechanisms don't inherit some impediments in the process. (Olivetti changed this mechanism as the Lettera 22 advanced toward the Lettera 32.)
It's a fairly tight fit at the back of the mask, and experience tells me it's easy to upset these settings when fitting the mask back on.
I've suggested to Francisco that he take the mask off again and check the margin release and tabulation mechanisms against the photos I have sent him. Fingers crossed, he will find what is causing the problem of the carriage not gripping at the left margin.

Benton Halstead: Cincinnati's Inventor of 'The First Typewriter'

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Nineteen years and nine days afterChristopher Latham Sholes had passed away in Milwaukee (on February 17, 1890), New York and Washington DC newspapers reported the death of the "inventor of the first working typewriter".
Confused? Well, so obviously were the newspapers which reported on the death of Cincinnati's Benton Halstead in Washington on February 26, 1919:
Washington Times, February 27, 1919
Washington Herald, February 27, 1919
 New York Tribune, February 27, 1919
Washington Times, February 28, 1919
The Colonies and India, February 7, 1891
Now, the Halstead claim is worth considering. At least two of his typewriters were made, in Atlanta, Georgia, before the burning of the city in September 1864. Halstead didn't patent his "improvement in type-writing machines" until 1872, but it seems certain his typewriters did beat Sholes's in being built by at least six years.
Halstead assigned his first typewriter patent to the famous Cincinnati Commercial journalist, chess writer and war correspondent Captain Joseph W. Miller (1838-1925), and it was Miller who would later take one of Halstead's brass typewriters with him to the St Louis Globe-Democrat, when Miller became its editorial writer in 1892.
German typewriter historian Ernst Martin, who also dates the Halstead machine to 1864, mentions that one of them was on display at the St Louis Globe-Democrat, as does a family historian, William Leon Halstead, in his 1934 book The Story of the Halsteads in the United States.
Martin adds that another machine, which he says was owned by Halstead's widow, Rowena Halstead, was intended for the National Museum in Washington. However, it would seem it never made it there.
Martin says the Halstead typewriter was completed in Atlanta on July 21, 1865, and was "used in his [law] office in Cincinnati, at 68 West Third Street". Halstead lived in Riverside.
Interestingly, Typewriter Topics did not mention Halstead's death in 1919, nor the inventor in its 1923 history of the typewriter. But a sister journal, Office Appliances: The Magazine of Office Equipment, did report his death, saying Halstead "was among the early inventors who worked on the problems of the typewriter." It also said his passing "had brought forth recollections" of "How one typewriter model developed".
Michael Adler described Halstead's typewriter as a "downstrike machine with a semi-circle of typebars at the rear and a piano keyboard at the front". "Typebars printed down on a flat paper carriage, weight driven, through a ribbon, and spacing was by means of a stirrup."
What neither Martin nor Adler mentioned is that Halstead applied for an unassigned second typewriter patent five years after the first, in March 1877:
Benton Halstead was born at Paddy's Run, outside Cincinnati, on March 11, 1834.  As a colonel in the Civil War, he led a regiment of the Ohio Volunteer Infantry.
Murat Halstead
His brother was Murat Halstead (1829-1908), a famous Cincinnati journalist, author and publisher who joined the Commercial in 1853, became its editor in 1865 and its president when it consolidated with Gazette in 1883. He wrote 3000-500o words a day, sometimes for 100 days consecutively during presidential campaigns. He moved to New York City and became editor of the Brooklyn Standard Union.
Benton Halstead's son Brigadier General Laurence Halstead DSM (1875-1953) was instrumental in developing the finger printing method that is used today for identification of criminals. Father and son are both buried in Arlington National Cemetery.

The Burlingame Telegraphing Typewriter: The $15 million 'Famous Fake'

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In fact, it was
downright crooked
Note that "Burlingame Telegraphing Typewriter" has been superimposed on this engraving. In reality, it never appeared on any device.
Burlingame's "invention" was actually based on Adolph Schaar's Tel-Autoprint.
This booklet was part of the promotional campaign launched in California in 1908 for the highly-fraudulent Burlingame telegraphing typewriter enterprise. The contents came nowhere telling the truth about Burlingame and his fake machine. The real invention, by Adolph Schaar of Oakland, California, was illegally acquired in the first place. Robert Cleveland was commissioned to write and put his name to this nonsense.
Elmer Allah Burlingame did prove his ability to transmit words from one place to another, in LaPorte, Indiana, as early as November 29, 1903. He was "pronounced to be of the devil", but he didn't use a telegraphing typewriter for this purpose: 
By the genius of Elmer Burlingame, a LaPorte boy, the sermon preached Sunday by the Reverend Dr D. H. Cooper, pastor of the First Baptist Church, at Peru, was heard in Logansport, Wabash, and by dozens of people in Peru. Previous to the meeting no announcement of the innovation was made. A transmitter was placed in front of the pulpit and connected with the Home Telephone Company's exchange, where Burlingame was waiting to ascertain the success of the experiment. When it was learned that the arrangement was working satisfactorily, friends in Peru and other cities were called up. It is said that the clergy are alarmed at this but they need not be. They fear that such inventions will increase the habit of non-church-going which is already so prevalent. But there is a power of sacrament and an atmosphere of worship which cannot be transmitted over telephone wires, and which can be received only by one's personal presence in the congregation, and this will come to be understood.
- LaPorte Argus-Bulletin, December 2, 1903
And the telegraphing typewriter he took from San Francisco back to LaPorte five years later was far from being entirely his own work.
In the interim, Burlingame had had more than a little help from his West Coast "friends". Those "friends" had used illegal means to incorporate Burlingame's work with that of a Californian inventor, Adolph Schaar. Schaar's invention used a Hammond typewriter keyboard and received messages by tape, Burlingame's used a Stearns Visible typewriter and received messages in page form. But the Burlingame only worked from room to room, not over truly long distances, like the Murray.
The modus operandi of the Burlingame company's directors, led by "Blind Boss" Chris Buckley and his cohorts, was to take one man's invention and profit from it unlawfully, when they weren't entitled to any share of the proceeds. Even putting royalties to one side, Schaar got almost none of the subsequent credit for the telegraphing typewriter, Burlingame was given far too much of it.
In the end, it didn't really matter. Neither the Schaar nor the Burlingame machines ever went into full production. It's the fraudulent behaviour of the Burlingame company that counts.
J.J.Montgomery discovered the electric rectifier while working on the Schaar-Burlingame telegraphing typewriter.
After Buckley and crew employed aviation pioneer John Joseph Montgomery (1858-1911, "The Father of Basic Flying") to get the Schaar-Burlingame machine working, and in the process Montgomery inadvertently stumbled upon the electric rectifier, the Burlingame mob tried to cash in on Montgomery's discovery, at half the going price ($500,000). (A rectifier converts alternating current [AC], which periodically reverses direction, to direct current [DC], which flows in only one direction.)
How innocent was Burlingame in all of this? Well, maybe some of the sins of San Francisco stuck. Five years after the telegraphing typewriter jig was up, on January 7, 1914, Burlingame was sent to jail for two-and-a-half years and fined $10,100 for another fraudulent business activity, across the other side of the country in New York. He had helped swindle investors in the Radio Telephone Company out of millions of dollars. Now that was an act of the devil!
The Burlingame telegraphing typewriter was launched on the market in California in April 1908. The subsequent advertising campaign for it in the Eastern States, starting in October 1908, was extraordinary. The cost of almost daily full-page adverts, mostly containing endorsements for the machine from around the country, must have cost a large fortune - let alone the wide supply of Stearns typewriter-fitted machines, assembled by the US Wireless Printing Telegraph Company in San Francisco, to be endorsed in the first place.
Not all that many of these virtually worthless $10 shares were actually sold from May 1908 to January 1910.
These enormous initial outlays weighed down Burlingame's "invention" before it had even had a chance to get off the ground in the marketplace. Some sales might have helped justify the vast amounts involved in what was listed as a $15 million concern. Indeed, 120,000 of 150,000 $10 shares had been "sold", so at least on paper the Burlingame fraud reached $12 million. As it turned out, no Burlingame machines were ever sold.
The subterfuge included establishing a stock-selling company called Burlingame Underwriters, which allegedly owned 62,000 of the shares. But in real hard cash terms these realised just $82,323 - in other words, less than $1.33 for each $10 share. By the end of 1910, Burlingame shares were worth a mere 20 cents!
Long before then, events had exposed the awful truth, that the Burlingame enterprise was a fake, and thus worthless. The Burlingame company's "stock-jobbing" had become a US-wide scandal. ("Stock-jobbing" is the speculative short-term buying and selling of securities with the intent of generating quick profits. The term is largely used in reference to the South Sea Bubble - an 18th-century stock that literally wiped out the savings of many British citizens.)
The venture was founded on the illegal transfer of the rights to a real "teletyper", the Schaar Tel-Autoprint, itself doomed by these business manipulations to be another Californian flop.
Burlingame had acquired the backing of an Indiana real estate "capitalist"John W.Flinn (1865-), but pretty quickly the illegal means by which the enterprise was being put together and funded, and the machines assembled, started to unravel. It turned out the Burlingame Telegraphing Typewriter wasn't by any means Burlingame's original invention, but was based on a Tel-Autoprint invented by Los Angeles telegraph reporter  Adolph H. F. Schaar (1870-1940), of Oakland, California, in 1906. Schaar sold the rights to the USWPTC in 1907, and that's when the misdeeds related to his invention began.
Schaar's "Tel-Autoprint"
The first sign of "trouble at mill" came in mid-February 1909, when USWPTC stockholder Edmund Burke sued San Francisco's infamous "Blind Boss", Christopher Augustine Buckley (1845 -1922), Flinn, Burlingame and other directors for $500,000, claiming Buckley had fraudulently sold all the assets of this company to Flinn and Burlingame's venture without proper authorisation. (Vilified as "what men call  a crook", Buckley was routinely accused in newspapers of corruption, bribery and even felonious crime.) 
Buckley tried another similar stunt when he got Professor Montgomery of Santa Clara College to work on the Schaar machine. Montgomery discovered an electric rectifier in the process and Buckley and his Schaar project cohorts claimed partnership in an invention valued at $500,000. In 1911 the courts found in Montgomery's favour. 
"Blind Boss" Buckley was not blind to the possibilities of a rort.
The USWPTC assets which Buckley had manipulated away from the Tel-Autoprint investors included the rights to Schaar's invention and the company's factory site in Los Angeles, secured to make the Tel-Autoprint in June 1907 (when advertising for the machine started to appear in the San Francisco Call). 
As early as August 1907, one of the team of directors who had joined Flinn and Burlingame in the Buckley scam, one W.H.Valentine, had claimed in Reno, Nevada, that the machine was his invention. This ruse was quickly exposed by the Arizona Republican in Phoenix, which correctly credited Schaar.  As well, the Republican corrected the impression that multi-millionaire Californian Clarence Hungerford Mackay (1874-1938) hadn't already approved the Schaar machine for use by the Postal Telegraph & Cable Corporation, which had just laid a cable between New York and Cuba. Mackay, who took over as Postal president upon the death of his father in 1902, also supervised the completion of the first trans-Pacific cable between the US and the Far East in 1904.
Postal boss Clarence Mackay backed the Schaar invention.
One way or another, strenuous efforts were made by the Burlingame enterprise directors to deny the fact that Schaar had invented the device, including an April 1908 Los Angeles Herald article which gave credit for the Tel-Autoprint to Burlingame:
"His" Tel-Autoprint? Los Angeles Herald, April 3, 1908, before the jig was up.
The first advertisement for the Burlingame machine appeared in the Los Angeles Herald in April 1908 and acknowledged Schaar's invention. Subsequent advertising, in both California and the Eastern States, did not. 
The Tel-Autoprint was also variously referred to in late 1907 as the "Teletype" and the "Telewriter", the former using a Hammond typewriter (as did the Schaar). 
However, it is easy to confuse this work with that started in the same period by the Krums of Chicago. Charles Lyon Krum (1852-1937) and his son Howard Lewis Krum (1883-1961) took up the work of Frank Dillaye Pearne (1876-1927) and developed a teleprinter with Joy Morton (1855-1934) and his son Sterling Morton (1885-1961). Krum machines used Oliver and Blickensderfer typewriters, but were also influenced by the Hammond keyboard.
The first Eastern States advertising for Burlingame's machine appeared in October 1908:
After Edmund Burke had taken Chris Buckley to court in California and exposed the Burlingame sham for what it was, in February 1909, Burlingame himself hightailed it to New York, looking for other ways to amuse himself with his ill-gotten gains, such as investing in an aircraft.
Burlingamemay have been the first American to fly a monoplane.
But he also got involved in another fraudulent business deal, and this time the law soon caught up with Burlingame. In early 1914 he was jailed for two-and-a-half years, as well as being fine $10,100.
There are plenty of Elmer Burlingame profiles online, many asking what became of him and his company post-1910. Not one of them mentions he was locked up from 1914-16.
By 1912, after the Consolidated Printing Telegraph Company of New York had taken over the stock of the Burlingame company and listed itself as also being worth $15 million - but had promptly gone bankrupt in June 1911 - Munsey's Magazine was calling the Burlingame enterprise "notorious". (Consolidated, by the way, announced it had also acquired the patents, among others, of the perforated typewriter paper device that Gustaf Swenson, of Pittsburgh, had originally assigned to Underwood, the printing telegraph system of New Jersey's Frank B.Rae, assigned to the "New Burlingame Telegraphing Typewriter Company", and the printing telegraph, telegraph transmitter and printing machine of John C. Barclay of New Jersey.) Only at this late stage were there promises of "perfecting a machine"! Sure enough, a machine was produced and it did work. But it didn't save Consolidated from its inevitable fate. The enduring bad vibes from the Burlingame enterprise quickly killed it off. Investors, nonetheless, were still keen to get their hands on the wide range of patents relating to a telegraphing typewriter and an American Printing Telegraph Security Company was formed, with more modest capital of $100,000 ($10 a share). Consolidated shareholders got no purchase in the later company. 
In outlining the sordid history of Burlingame's "once famous fake", Munsey's said each dollar invested in it and Consolidated ("hopelessly bankrupt ... dead and gone") was a "total loss".
Dreaming of a dark future? A young Elmer Burlingame in Aderdeen, Dakota Territory, with his father Freeborn Wanton Burlingame and mother Isabelle Ann Larkin Burlingame.
So who was the man behind the Burlingame fiasco? Was he simply an inventive, ambitious young man who innocently got caught up with a bunch of criminals? Or was he a knowing party to all this?
Elmer Allah Burlingame was born in Green Lake, Wisconsin, on June 13, 1879. The family moved to LaPorte, Indiana, in 1895, where Elmer graduated from LaPorte High School and in 1899 started work for the LaPorte Telephone Company. 
After the collapse of his fake telegraphing typewriter project, in 1910 he moved to Norfolk, Massachusetts. After being released from jail, in 1917 Burlingame was working as a machinist for tin platers Wimslow Brothers in Chicago. He later moved to Gary, Indiana, to rejoin his parents, and in 1930 he was back in business on his own, running an electrical shop. This didn't survive long, either, and Burlingame followed his parents to Long Beach, California, where he died in San Pedro on January 23, 1939, aged 59. 
An obituary stated Burlingame“lost his patents to [his] invention to a large company which ultimately developed the device and made a large fortune from it, although he himself never received the reward entitled to him.” This is patently untrue. Any real rewards were actually due to Schaar. And he got none, as there were none to distribute.
As for Burlingame being, as one biographer had it, "a combination of Tesla, Edison, Steinmetz, Einstein, Alger and Bell", I don't think so.  The biographer himself added, "It was pretty putrid stuff."

John Adams Payne: Cincinnati's Pioneer of Typewritten Wire News

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In a grave at the Spring Grove Cemetery in Cincinnati lies the pioneer of typewritten wire news copy, John Adams Payne. Nashville-born Payne died in Cincinnati on May 23, 1924, aged 64.
An 1882 Caligraph, just like the one John A. Payne used. This one comes from the Martin Howard Collection.  Martin lives in Toronto, Canada, but was born  (in 1959) in Durham, England, just south of where the Taltavall brothers were born, in North Shields. Martin found this Caligraph in 1989, "high upon a shelf in a cluttered junk shop, a very dusty but intriguing item", and instantly became hooked on collecting typewriters.

The full story of how this happened appeared in The New York Times on June 8, 1924:
John Payne had another claim to lasting fame:
The other main players in Ernest V.Chamberlain's New York Times story include:
Thomas Ronald Taltavall, born North Shields, England, May 30, 1855; died Mahwah, New Jersey, September 2, 1918:
His brother, John Bartholomew Taltavall, born North Shields, England, January 21, 1857; died East Orange, New Jersey, May 27, 1926.
Addison Charles Thomas, born Richmond, Indiana, July 14, 1851; died Oak Park, Illinois, January 23, 1923:
Edward Payson Porter, born Sag Harbor, New York, 1834; died Ashbury Park, New Jersey, April 26, 1916. One of the very first men to test a prototype of the Sholes & Glidden typewriter, in the summer of 1868. He was the proprietor of a school for telegraphers in Chicago at the time.
I have failed to find any information on A.M.Barron.
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