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President Obama used Wite-Out!

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President Barack Obama was last week asked about his use of typewriters at the Anacostia Library in Washington, DC. During question-and-answer session with very young students from around the country, Mr Obama demonstrated his typing action. A student had asked him about the kind of technology he had in school. Mr Obama said he wasn’t a fan of using typewriters. "You had to get this thing called Wite-Out," he said. "You guys don't even know how good you've got it."
No Wite-Out in sight, thank goodness.
I hate Wite-Out. I used to use it, occasionally, back in the day. But now, when I service typewriters and find traces of Wite-Out on platens, feed rollers and card holders, I curse the day it was ever invented. To me it is worse than paint, and can only be erased with vigorous rubbing using non-smearing Shellite.
Wite-Out dates to 1966, when George Kloosterhouse, an insurance company clerk, sought to address a problem he observed in correction fluid available at the time: a tendency to smudge ink on photostatic copies when it was applied. Kloosterhouse enlisted the help of his associate Edwin Johanknecht, a basement waterproofer who experimented with chemicals, and together they developed their own correction fluid, introduced as "Wite-Out WO-1 Erasing Liquid". In 1971, they incorporated as Wite-Out Products Inc. The trademark "Wite-Out" was registered by the United States Patent and Trademark Office on February 5, 1974. (The application listed the date of "first use in commerce" as January 27, 1966.) Early forms of Wite-Out sold through 1981 were water-based and hence water-soluble. While this allowed simple cleaning, it also had the problem of long drying times. The formula also did not work well on non-photostatic media such as typewritten copy. The company was bought in 1981 by Archibald Douglas. Douglas, as chairman, led the company toward solvent-based formulas with faster drying times. Three different formulas were created, each optimised for different media. New problems arose: a separate bottle of thinner was required, and the solvent used was known to contribute to ozone depletion. The company addressed these problems in July 1990 with the introduction of a reformulated "For Everything" correction fluid. In June 1992, Wite-Out Products was bought by the BIC Corporation. BIC released a number of new products under its newly acquired brand, including a Wite-Out ballpoint pen (November 1996) and dry correction tape (1998).
A more common form is Liquid Paper, a brand of the Newell Rubbermaid company that sells correction fluid, correction pens and correction tape. Mainly used to correct typewriting in the past, correction products now mostly cover handwriting mistakes.
Bette and Mike
In 1951, Bette Nesmith Graham (1924-1980; mother of Michael Nesmith of the 1960s band The Monkees) invented the first correction fluid in her kitchen. Working as a Texas Bank and Trust executive secretary, she looked for a way to correct typing mistakes. Starting on a basis of tempera paint she mixed with a common kitchen blender, she called the outcome fluid Mistake Out and started to provide her co-workers with small bottles on which the brand's name was displayed. By 1956, Graham founded the Mistake Out Company and continued working from her kitchen nights and weekends to produce small batches of correction bottles. She was fired from her typist job after she made a mistake by typing in her company name instead of the bank's. She decided to devote her time to her new company. The inventor offered the product to IBM, which declined. So Graham sold the product from her house for 17 years; the name was changed to Liquid Paper in 1958. By 1968, the product was profitable, and in 1979 the Liquid Paper Corporation was sold to the Gillette Corporation for $47.5 million with royalties. In 2000, Liquid Paper was acquired by Newell Rubbermaid. In some regions of the world, Liquid Paper is now endorsed by Papermate, a widely known writing instruments brand (also owned by Newell Rubbermaid). Nesmith was the primary heir to his mother's fortune.
Nesmith with Remington portable 
Nesmith with a typewriter in 1983
Current MSDSs list Liquid Paper as containing titanium dioxide, solvent naphtha, mineral spirits, resins, dispersant, and fragrances. Liquid Paper came under scrutiny in the 1980s, due to concerns over recreational sniffing of the product. The organic solvent 1,1,1-trichloroethane was used as a thinner in the product. Liquid Paper using this thinner was thought to be toxic and a carcinogen, but later studies have shown that although the thinner used was toxic there was no evidence of carcinogenicity. There were a number of studies linking fatalities to the trichloroethane contained in correction fluids, including Liquid Paper. In 1989, Gillette reformulated Liquid Paper in such a way that it did not use trichloroethane. This was done in response to a complaint under California Proposition 65.
 Other Monkees with an Oliver
Another Monkee with an Oliver
All Monkees with typewriters
All Monkees with a typewriter
Other monkeys with typewriters

Type Out, the Hit Single

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Jet, June 7, 1979
In 1955, world champion speed typist Cortez W.Peters Sr typed on a Royal while June and Joy Gaskins danced to the beat of his key strokes. Could they dance to Type Out? June C. Gaskins Davis, born in Winchester, Virginia, in 1934, worked in the federal government and private industry before working on Wall Street for a decade, retiring from Merrill Lynch, Pierce, Fenner & Smith in 1989 as assistant vice-president, financial consultant. Joyce (Joy) A. Gaskins Jordan was her older sister by a year.


ention of Wite-Out this morning got me thinking - don't ask me how - about one of my great ambitions, one of many that I'm now bound to take to my grave, completely unfulfilled. For years I've toyed with the idea of using the 1963 surfie guitar instrumental hit Wipe Out (I'm a huge fan of early 60s surfie guitar instrumentals, of which Bombora is the best) and replacing Ron Wilson's paradiddle drumming with the pounding of a typewriter, for a track called Type Out. After all, it's almost 65 years now since Leroy Anderson's The Typewriter first came out, so it's way past time we had another typewriter tune on the charts.
Warning: original Boston Pops version with BAD language!
Now, the idea here is to start the movie then wait six seconds and start the silent typing movie. Does it work for you? It does for me.
My youngest son Martin is pretty handy with an electric guitar and knows all about overdubbing. But who would do the fast-paced typing? We could get Jasper Lindell perhaps? Good combo - maybe we could call them the Typharis. But could Jasper maintain the keyboard rage for a whole 2min 12sec? Someone from the Boston Typewriter Orchestra might be more experienced at this sort of thing.
One man who could match the drummer's 300 plus beats a minute was the last officially recognised world speed typing champion, Cortez Wilson Peters, who even at the time Wipe Out was recorded by the Surfaris could still bang out upwards of 140 words a minute, or 15 keystrokes a second. But he died in 1964.
Jet, December 14, 1961
Jet, December 24, 1964
His son, Cortez Wilson Peters Jr, then claimed the title, but by that time official world championships had long since ended. Anyway, Cortez Jr himself passed away in 1993.
That's Cortez Jr in the back row, fourth from left, in this 1980 photo, taken in San Francisco. Cortez Jr had claimed a world record of 225 words a minute without a single mistake (an average of 18.75 keystrokes a second). 
None of which was mentioned in the all the publicity that Ronald Todd Mingo was grabbing around this time, not so far away in Oakland, California. Mingo's top speeds were said to be 168 words a minute on a manual typewriter, 180 words a minute on an electric typewriter and 225 words a minute on a computer.
Still, Ron Mingo might be a candidate for our Type-Out band. At least (unlike, I think, Jasper) he has typed to music. And as far as I can tell, he's still alive (he was born on September 1, 1948, 21 months later than Wikipedia, which got the wrong Ron Mingo, would have us believe). Mingo was last heard from playing for the Tri Valley Giants in the Men's Senior Baseball League World Series not so long ago. The 6ft 3in, 225lb Mingo was also once a sparring partner for the likes of George Foreman and Ken Norton.
A 16-year-old Ron Mingo as a staff reporter on the John C. Fremont Senior High School (South Central, Los Angeles) newspaper The Pathfinder in 1964. That's one thing he does have in common with Jasper.

Ron Mingo in 2013.
 There are numerous YouTube vides showing Ron typing. Here are a couple:

Mingo played alongside Willie Crawford in the Fremont baseball team which won the 1963 Los Angeles City championship - the last inner city, south LA team to win a big-division city title. 

Fun With Fonts: Mr Times New Roman

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Laura James, partner of my youngest son Martin, has been studying typography and having some fun with Times New Roman. Like the TNR Owl, all I can say is, "Yes!"The New Yorker will probably love these too.

O Misery! Paul Sheldon Goes Electric, Royal 10 Dies Soft

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The Royal 10 gets shoved under the bed
Bruce Willis has taken his Smith-Corona electric portable typewriter into Paul Schweitzer for servicing at the Gramercy Typewriter Company at 174 5th Avenue, New York City, ahead of him playing the part of Paul Sheldon in Misery on Broadway.
Wot? No Royal 10? asks Paul
Willis will make his Broadway debut in the Warner Brothers Theater Ventures’ stage adaptation of Misery, appearing in the play alongside Elizabeth Marvel as Annie Wilkes.
The new "No 1 fan" looks a bit like Sheldon Cooper's mum
William Goldman, who wrote the screenplay for the 1990 movie adaptation of the Stephen King novel (starring James Caan and Kathy Bates), has written the script for the Broadway production. Will Frears will direct.
Electrified Sheldon?
The original and the best

Happy Mother's Day

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Five-year-old Jayne Marie Mansfield types a Mother's Day message for her mother, actress Jayne Mansfield (1933-1967) at their Hollywood home in 1956.  Jayne Marie is using a Berwin Superior toy typewriter. Her father was Jayne's first husband, Paul James Mansfield (1929-2013).

Inside the Olivetti Typewriter Factory, Glasgow, Scotland

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In August 2013 we were given a rare insight into the Remington Rand typewriter factory on the Hillington Industrial Estate in Glasgow, by Scottish-born historian Mary Doland, a Victorian lady whose father Jack O'Brien had been a shop steward at the plant in the 1950s. Now we are able to get an even more extensive tour, of the Olivetti typewriter factory on the Queenslie Industrial Estate in the same Scottish city, again in the 50s and again from a child of a factory manager. 
"Big" John Brady tests out an Olivetti Lexikon 80 in 1957. Mr Brady, manager of the Olivetti factory in Glasgow in its last years, was the father of our correspondent John J.  Brady, who now works for Dell in Britain.
John J.Brady, global account director for Dell in Britain, is the son of "Big" John Brady, who worked at the Olivetti plant from its establishment in 1949 and managed it its last few years of operation. It was sold to Smith-Corona to make daisywheel typewriters in 1981 (the factory closed in 1983 and was demolished in 1989). 
John Jr has become so enthusiastic with his memories of Olivetti's days in Glasgow, revived after he came across a photographic brochure of the Scottish plant, that he has gone out and bought himself a lovely Lexikon 80, a fine example of the type of machine his dad worked on. A brochure page with a photo of his father is in the platen.
John Jr says that, at its height, the Olivetti factory employed more than 900 people, "most of whom lived within the immediate surrounding area, in the city's East End council estates, one of the poorest parts of Glasgow."
John Jr's post on the Lost Glasgow Facebook pages drew an enormous response from people who had worked at the plant, or had had family members employed by Olivetti. One, for example, was related to Franco Marco, who was sent from Ivrea in Italy to get the factory started. 
So here are the pages John Jr sent us:
The guy front left is drawing a segment.
Swaging is a forging process in which the dimensions of an item are altered using dies into which the item is forced. A reamer is a type of rotary cutting tool used in metalworking. Precision reamers are designed to enlarge the size of a previously formed hole by a small amount but with a high degree of accuracy to leave smooth sides. The process of enlarging the hole is called reaming.
Segments were made in full circles, sliced in half and machine grooved.
These more familiar photos are not from John Jr's brochure but were taken at the Olivetti Glasgow plant two years earlier, in 1955:

Q: What Links a Pommy Princess with a Portland Pub? A: An Aristocratic Typewriter, of course!

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In the first week of May, a royal princess was born in England and a typewriter-festooned hotel opened in Portland, Maine. The baby is called Charlotte Elizabeth Diana Mountbatten-Windsor, and the hotel is called the Press, because the building 
















is the former home of the The Portland Press Herald newspaper. In the first week of May 1949, this Maine newspaper ran the following item at the top centre of page 6:
"Little Prince Charles" is still, 66 years later, Prince Charles, but he's now old enough to be the grandfather of Princess Charlotte. "Some day" has yet to come. The "Princess Elizabeth" in this story has at least since stepped up one rung on the royal ladder, and has been since 1952 the Queen, Charlotte's great-grandmother.
The gold-plated portable typewriter in question was an Empire Aristocrat, made by the British Typewriters Company in West Bromwich, England. The model had been launched the previous year. Here is how The Sydney Morning Herald covered the story, on the same day (May 6) as the The Portland Press Herald. Note Charles's mother thought giving the typewriter to a five-month-old to learn the alphabet was "a good idea". Well, he was a week off turning six-months-old!
Jim (at typewriter): "Let's make big moolah by converting an old
newspaper building into a hotel and decorating it with typewriters."
Charlie: "I love it!"
From The Portland Press Herald, 1949
From The Portland Press Herald, 1949
Typewriters (though not, it seems, an Empire Aristocratare mounted to a wall in the main lobby area of the Press Hotel and typewriter cases adorn another wall near the entrance. The "soaring assemblage of antique typewriters" (sic) was created by students at the Maine College of Art, which is one of the hotel’s partners. Developer Jim Brady has "branded" the history of the Portland Press Herald and newspaper journalism throughout the hotel.
Standing at the corner of Exchange and Congress streets in Portland’s Old Port neighbourhood, the 1923 building was empty for two years. After the newspaper relocated in 2010, an interim owner gutted the seven-story brick building, leaving its plastered ceilings and long staircases intact. Brady bought the building and spent $10 million converting it from an empty landmark to a 110-room boutique hotel.
The Portland Press Herald was founded in 1862 on Congress Street. Its most famous journalist was the widely-travelled columnist and political writer May Craig. By coincidence, although Craig is photographed at her home below with a Royal 10 standard typewriter, it was with the Empire Aristocrat's mother machine, the Hermes Baby portable, that she so extensively globetrotted, filing columns for the Press Herald from parts far and wide in the late 1940s.
Elisabeth May Adams Craig (born December 19, 1889, at Coosaw Mines, South Carolina; died July 15, 1975, in Silver Spring, Maryland) covered World War II and the Korean War as well as US politics. She wrote her "Inside Washington" column for almost 50 years. She took on leadership roles within the Women's National Press Club and Eleanor Roosevelt's Press Conference Association, both organisations supporting women in journalism. 
Given typewriters have now been returned to the Press Herald building, it is interesting to see how often typewriters were mentioned in the newspaper's pages in 1949, when Prince Charles was given his Empire Aristocrat:
Henry Alston Milliken (1907-) was a lifelong Mainer and avid hunter. He wrote stories ranging from a description of his first lessons in ruffed grouse hunting all the way to pursuing deer in the deep woods of Maine as an experienced hunter. He was born and raised in the Hancock County area of Downeast Maine. His father was a farmer and woodsman, as well as an avid hunter. It appears that Milliken spent much of his adult life in the Freeport, Maine area, taking regular forays into the woods to hunt. He hunted grouse, woodcock, pheasants, deer, bear, bobcats, raccoons and other game.
Portland Press Herald newsrooms:
Maine typewriter cartoons:
And one for Mother's Day:

VE Day and the Remington Noiseless Typewriter

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"What are you doing?" British Prime Minister Winston Churchill prepares to make his VE Day broadcast to the British public in the Cabinet Office at 10 Downing Street, London, at 2.30pm on May 8, 1945.
In the past few days the 70th anniversary of VE Day has been celebrated across the world. The Pacific War continued for more than three months, until August 15, 1945.
The public announcement that World War II had ended in Europe came from British Prime MinisterWinston Churchill at 3pm on Tuesday, May 8, 1945. At 2.30, Churchill began to prepare for his victory speech in the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street, London. Outside the room, a large number of typists eavesdropped on Churchill's rehearsal for his broadcast to the British people. "What are you doing?" they heard the PM bark at a BBC engineer.
"They are just fixing the microphone, Sir."
Sitting behind a Remington Noiseless Model 10 standard typewriter on his desk, Churchill announced that hostilities would officially finish at one minute past midnight.
At 9am Washington DC time on May 8, US President Harry S. Truman addressed the American people from the White House. There wasn't a typewriter in sight.
Gathered around to hear him, from left, were: Elmer Davis (hand to head); Secretary of Commerce Henry A. Wallace; Major General Philip Fleming; Representative Joseph Martin; General of the Army George C. Marshall; J. Leonard Reinsch; Colonel Harry Vaughan; John W. Snyder; Mrs Truman; Margaret Truman; and Secretary of War Henry L Stimson. In the centre foreground looking at the camera is Fred M. Vinson.
Margaret Truman
Typist Myra Collyer spent the final days of World War II in Churchill's Cabinet War Rooms under Whitehall in London. In August 2009, aged 85, she returned to her Imperial 50 standard typewriter:

House of the Falling Fluff

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As if things weren't already bad enough, I got a send-off from this large female redback spider while cleaning out Elizabeth's garden shed. The redback (Latrodectus hasseltii) is a species of venomous spider indigenous to Australia. The adult female is easily recognised by her spherical black body with a prominent red stripe on the upper side of her abdomen. Females have a body length of about 10 millimetres. The redback is one of the few spider species that can be seriously harmful to humans, and it has been responsible for the large majority of serious spider bites in Australia. The venom gives rise to the syndrome of latrodectism in humans. An antivenom has been available since 1956, and there have been no deaths directly due to redback bites since its introduction.
For me and my closest friend, these are very sad days indeed. This house, in which I have spent many happy hours, and which was once home to many beautiful old typewriters, is now locked up. It's about to be demolished. Why? Because in 1968 a get-rich-quick bastard called Dirk Jansen poured deadly asbestos fibre into its walls and roof spacings, selling it as insulation against Canberra's cold winters. 
Canberra Times advertisement, March 1968
Calling himself "Mr Fluffy", Jansen is now the direct cause of considerable anguish, not to mention massive cost and potential premature death among Canberra citizens. The house above is just one of more than 1000 that are about to be demolished in the national capital and its surrounds. The home owners are being reimbursed by the Australian Capital Territory at a total cost of more than $1 billion, which the territory has had to borrow from the Federal Government, despite the Australian government's responsibility in allowing all this horror to happen.
A mock S & G in the front garden of the soon-to-be-demolished Deakin house.
The affected house owners have had to find new homes. In many cases, the reimbursements don't even begin the cover the huge amount spent on home improvements or the total costs of buying new houses and moving. The reimbursements are based on the value of the land for future redevelopment, after it has been reclassified and remediated, not what value the dispossessed owners might put on what have been literally their castles for up to 47 years.
This typewritten letter from 1968 clearly proves that the authorities were warned of the dangers of Mr Fluffy way back then. But they chose not to act. Now good people are paying dearly for this official inaction and ineptitude.
The house above is a classic example of the upshot. It was long a family home, with considerable expenditure being outlaid over a period of 18 years on extensions, decks, rain water tanks, gardens and upkeep. And that's not even taking into account stained Jarrah libraries and the like. 
An unsuccessful "clean-up" job.
It was one of the houses which were "treated" with loose-fill asbestos fibre insulation from 1968. At that time, the Federal Government had legislative and administrative control of the Australian Capital Territory. A Commonwealth clean-up program between 1988 and 1993 was "thought" to have fixed the problem in 1049 homes, but fibres have since been found in most if not all of these houses. Home owners have been living amid the very grave risk of mesothelioma and other asbestos-related diseases for all these years.
Dirk Jansen, born in Amsterdam, Holland, on July 9, 1923, was given the chance of a new life for himself and his wife and family when he immigrated to this country in October 1952, arriving as a bricklayer at Fremantle on the Johan Van Oldenbarnevelt. In the early 1960s he was a builder in Yass, then moved to Canberra as a builder and plasterer. He repaid this welcoming city by becoming "Mr Fluffy" - a dealer in death. For him, Asbestosfluf was just another of the entrepreneurial endeavours he pursued from his luxurious home on Olympus Way in Lyons. He started a company called D. Jansen & Co in July 1966.
The next year he became the ACT agent for Asbestospray Corporation of Australia. Specialising in fireproof, thermal and acoustic insulation treatments, patents suggest these products contained the same two types of amphibole asbestos, amosite and crocidolite, that Jansen would use a year later for insulating homes. Jansen bought a second-hand insulation pumping truck in Sydney and established Asbestosfluf Insulations, a subsidiary of D. Jansen & Co. The material was usually amosite, produced by EGNEP, the South African mining subsidiary of Britain’s Cape Mining Company that had tellingly closed its last British asbestos factory the same year. Long before the proverbial hit the insulation fan, Jansen died in a Canberra nursing home from a heart attack, on November 25, 2001.
Happier times 1: Sydney typewriter collectors Richard Amery, centre, and Terry Cooksley visit the typewriter collection in the soon-to-be-demolished Deakin house.
While many Typospherians probably think I've been very slack with correspondence and other responsibilities these past several months, I have actually been flat strap most of that time helping my dear friend Elizabeth deal with the problems she has had to face. It is her home which is to be demolished.
Happier times 2: Elizabeth celebrates "Typewriter Day" by typing on a Fox No 24 standard in her dining room.
Since September last year, she has had come to terms with all this, finding the additional funding for a new house and organising the removal of what she could take from her asbestos-filled home. To be frank, the whole exercise has been a prolonged nightmare - obviously much more so for her than for me. But even now that she has found, bought and moved to a new house, the sadness of emptying the "Mr Fluffy"-affected home as been absolutely heart-wrenching. It's been a most distressing experience.
 Two town houses directly opposite where I now live have been abandoned and locked up by the government because of Mr Fluffy insulation.
Obviously many other innocent Canberrans have had to go through this same torture. Money alone can never compensate for what they have been forced to endure, or for what they have lost. Another lady who found herself having raised a family in a "Mr Fluffy" house was Karen Rush, below, who so kindly facilitated the gift of my favourite portable typewriter, my "go-to" early model Bijou 5, from Ruth Landau while I was living in the soon-to-be-demolished house in Deakin.
Happier times 3:

1¾ Million

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This blog reached 1¾ million pages just now. It's been averaging more than 1700 views a day for the last two years and more than one page view a minute every day for almost three years. The counter reached 250,000 on September 30, 2012, half a million on May 6, 2013, three-quarters of a million on November 30, 2013, one million on March 25 last year and 1.5 million on December 26. My Google+ page says 32.3 million views, but I have no idea what that means - simple spam fodder I assume. What I do know is that the interest in typewriters is still out there, though what I've been posting has been pretty trivial stuff. I'm hoping to encourage Christopher Long in Normandy, Richard Amery in Sydney and Michael Klein in Melbourne to join the Typosphere in the coming months, and look forward to a more serious approach from them than I've been able to muster on the subject of typewriting in the 21st century. Meanwhile, I'm thinking of starting a new blog, on sports history. Not that I expect the sporting waters to be any less shark (or spam) infested!

'Typewriter Spotting' on the "Canberra Typewriter Tour'

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Given Canberra was once the typewriter capital of the Southern Hemisphere, that there are so few typewriters to be seen at its various national institutions is a disgrace. Friends keep telling me, "There's a typewriter here" or "There's a typewriter there", and from time to time I check out what's been added to exhibits. But it's generally a disappointment. Last week's catch-up tour of the city was no exception.
At the National Museum's "Home Front" exhibition, this was the one measly offering:
Someone texted me and suggested I should see the Smith-Corona at the National Library. Imagine my let-down when this is what I found:
If this is the best our National Library has to offer, representing the machine which probably produced more than 85 per cent of the works in the library, then we are in a bad way.
Needing a bit of uplifting, I made my way across the road to Old Parliament House.
Other than typewriters, one thing I always show visitors when I give them the "Typewriter Tour of Canberra" is this door at Old Parliament House. I've been visiting and writing about Old Parliament House for more than 15 years, yet no one has yet been able to tell me why "Nepal Inquiries" is on the door of room M104. I hasten to add it has nothing to do with the devastation visited on Nepal in the past few weeks. It's been there a very long time.  And it remains a mystery.
Old Parliament House is invariably the high point of the "Typewriter Tour of Canberra" and occasionally there are additions to the Prime Minister's Suite or Press Gallery. But I was annoyed to see this Olivetti Lexikon 80 the way it is, with the carriage jammed to the far left. I tried to lean over the restraining rope to straighten the carriage up, but to no avail.
This is an Australian Associated Press cast-off - an Adler perhaps?
The PM's Suite is also good fun for "typewriter spotting" and has had an influx of IMB Selectrics from somewhere:
 Is that a little Silver-Seiko hiding up there in the corner?
The original Australian House of Representatives mace is still in Old Parliament House, and it's a fine piece of work:
Finally, upstairs to the Press Gallery exhibition, which I can never resist:
And there is always, of course, Charles Bean's Corona 3 at the War Memorial:

The Newspaperman's Ideal Typewriter: The Olympia SM9

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All of these typewriter-related newspaper clippings are from The Canberra Times, 1932-1972. I'm afraid these photos aren't really doing it justice.

The Blickensderfer 5 Super Typewriter and the Arab Super Sports car

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Imagine owning both of these? Better still, imagine being able to not just own and admire both of them, but to type with a Blickensderfer 5and drive an Arab Super Sports car? Antony Brian Demaus was able to do both because he was still using his Blick 5 into the 1980s, and because he had fully restored his Arab.
On March 1, 2011, I posted on an exchange of letters which had appeared in the British magazine Motor Sport in August and September 1961 - not, as one might expect, regarding vintage sports cars still in use, but vintage typewriters still being used. This flurry of correspondence had been sparked by the passing mention of a 1893 typewriter which remained in good working order.
Little did I know at the time of posting about these 1961 letters that the 1893 typewriter was a Blick 5 owned by vintage sports car expert Brian Demaus. Or that Demaus had continued to use his Blick 5 for at least another 20 years.
Last Friday I was digging through the Australian National Library's Trove collection of digitised newspapers, looking for typewriter-related stories from The Canberra Times from 1932-72 with which to print on transfer paper and decorate an Olympia SM9 (previous post).
Lo and behold, to my considerable surprise, I came across this image from The Canberra Times of June 9, 1980:
It turns out The Canberra Times had been holding on to this photo for a very long time, because the image was taken in February 1975 and The Ottawa Journal had covered the accompanying story (without the photo) on its page 2 on April 7, 1975:
When Demaus won this competition, he was a science teacher at St Michael's College, Tenbury Wells, an independent international boarding school in Worcestershire, England.
Brian Demaus teaching science at St Michael's College.
But his CV extended away beyond teaching science. Born on Boxing Day 1923, he had served in the Royal Navy toward the end of World War II and was a much-published author on subjects ranging from naval to motoring history. Last heard from, he was living at Stagbatch Farm, Leominster, in the Welsh Borders, an area he had known for more than 80 years, since 1932.
Demaus's 1926-27 Arab 2.0-litre low chassis Super Sports car was auctioned by Bonhams at Weybridge in December 2011 and was expected to fetch between $200,000 and $240,000. Bonhams rated it one of the world’s rarest cars, and said it was one of only two known survivors of the first low chassis Arab (there were no surviving high chassis Arabs). It was designed by Reid Antony Railton (1895-1977), who called the car Arab in the belief it shared the characteristics of an Arab portrayed in T.E. Lawrence’s The Seven Pillars of Wisdom (1922) - a proud, honourable and fearless warrior. The year Lawrence's book came out, Arab Motors was founded by Railton, with two members of the Spurrier family, in Letchworth, Hertfordshire, following his departure from Leyland Motors, where he had assisted the company's chief engineer, J.G. Parry-Thomas, on the design of the Leyland Eight luxury car. Letchworth Garden City was laid out as a demonstration of the principles established by typewriter inventor Ebenezer Howard. As one of the world's first new towns and the first garden city, it inspired other projects around the world, including Canberra.
During his ownership of this model, Demaus restored the Arab to its original specification of 1929, retaining Thomson & Taylor’s original coachwork and rebuilding the engine and gearbox. It was originally completed with engine number EA 12 but in 1936 was fitted with EA 20 from one of Railton's earlier racers, the Spurrier Railton. 
Returning to the 1961 editions of Motor Sports, reference to Demaus's Blick 5 first brought a response from a reader who “regularly uses an 1896 Remington Standard No 7, which has cost only 9 shillings for replacements in 13 months, these being a new ribbon and a new fabric band connecting the spring to the carriage”. “All the keys produce letters and all the mechanics work as they are meant to … I certainly would not part with it for any modern machine; I consider the £5 it cost well spent.”
The following month, similar claims were made about five other typewriters. F.B. Humphrey of Ipswich wrote in praise of his Oliver No 9, “bought for £1 twelve years ago. It was made in 1913 … The conclusion is that vintage machinery is completely practical and reliable and far more economical to ‘run’ than present-day tinware.” James B. Nadwell of Dumfries in Scotland was still using a 1919 vintage “Corona Folding Portable which I purchased for 60 shillings”. It had originally been sold by Dodge & Seymour (China) Ltd. “I consider my expenditure on the 692 parts which make up this machine a very good investment.” R. Michael Dawe of Highgate, London, was using a Blickensderfer No 7. “The mechanics of this machine are a joy to behold – and all for 2 shillings 6 pence at a jumble sale. It has not been used much so would you advise raising the compression-ratio and fitting Webers; this should improve performance, because having a repertoire of 84 symbols it takes rather a time to isolate the one desired!” Thirteen-year-old Peter Marx of Ferndown was writing on an Empire portable with a patent date of March 29, 1892. “It has given me reliable service for a year, since purchased at an auction, together with a carpet sweeper, for the princely sum of 10 shillings.” Finally, H.N. Holden of Bath wrote about a Remington Standard No 2 bought at auction by his father for 10 shillings. “The key-bed is in the form of a well and the rods connecting the keys to the letters are made of wood for part of the way, followed by metal wires about as thick as bicycle-wheel spokes …” 
Below, the image of Brian Demaus as it appeared in The Canberra Times in 1980:

Make Typewriters, Not War

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Ban Barmy Bishops, Not Typewriters
The typewriter peace sign
Was this Blighty’s Biggest Buffoon?
-class clown, Archbishop Fisher
Pius XII in 1949
While Pope Pius XII typed on the pontiff's Olivetti Studio 42 portable in the Vatican City, at Lambeth Palace in London a goofball Archbishop of Canterbury pointlessly pontificated – on typewriters, the H-Bomb, Catholics, Communism, divorce, Sunday afternoon jaunts in the country and wide American roads.
And in each case, that archbishop, a feebleminded fool called Geoffrey Francis Fisher, made a complete and utter idiot of himself.
Of typewriters, this ignoramus told the British Council of Churches in March 1955 “the dangers of a world war would be reduced if typewriters are abolished”.
Yes, Typospherians, that's right – throw away your typewriters now, or risk the threat you pose to world peace!
According to a page one story in The Canberra Times on March 19, 1955, Fisher Gump went on, “If typewriters were abolished tomorrow, there is a general feeling that a great mass a vapid thought, which goes on between human beings, would be vastly reduced and the danger of war would be vastly deceased.
“Everybody is so busy talking about things and circulating memoranda and having meetings, that a great deal of truth is lost at the bottom of the well.”
The real truth here is that this blockhead bishop was as nutty as a fruitcake and completely lost at the bottom of the well of intellect.
Dolt of the Year
In case one is wondering - yes, this blunderer really was being serious, and yes he was living in the 20th century - right in the middle of it, no less. But thinking? No way, Jose …
The world has moved ahead, even if ever so slightly, in the past 60 years. What one of the world’s two most influential religious leaders could get away with in 1955 nobody would be so stupid as to think they could say today.
Utica Daily Press, March 18, 1955
According to the novelist Roald Dahl, Geoffrey Fisher was a sanctimonious hypocrite who took far greater pleasure from beating to a bloody pulp the naked backsides of Repton schoolboys than he ever did from gently tapping the keys of a typewriter. Dahl remained adamant about the joys Fisher got from smoking a pipe while flogging a bare adolescent bum.
Australian newspaper headline
Fisher Gump was the duffer who, after being a headmaster at Repton, became the Archbishop of Canterbury – and thus the symbolic head of the worldwide Anglican Communion – from 1945 to 1961. In those 16 years, this klutz cleric’s proudly and openly expressed opinions probably did more harm to the Church of England than any other single person had done since Bloody Queen Mary in the mid-16th Century.
Fisher was a slow-witted, thick-skinned dunderhead who in one year alone – 1955 - expressed some of the most extraordinarily reactionary, bigotted and insensitive statements ever uttered by a church leader in the 500 years of Protestantism. More than any other Archbishop of Canterbury before or since, this bonehead exemplified the man who - while whatever passed for a brain inside his moronic head remained strictly in neutral - opened his mouth and put his slippered foot fairly and squarely in it. This act became, for Fisher, truly an art form.
Where's me blessed glasses?
Fisher's statements in 1955 alone –
Archbishops were frequently maligned “and I don’t give two hoots”.
The hydrogen bomb: “At its very worst, all that it could do would be to sweep a vast number of persons at one moment from this world into the other and more vital world, into which, anyhow, they must all pass at some time.”
Wipe ' em out, bish ...
Communism: “Our statesmen and country must, under God, take every possible political step to to deliver us from the threat of Communism.”
Progress: “Mankind as a whole has bitten off more than it can chew, and instead of helping man forward, every invention and discovery really lands him in more of a mess.
Roman Catholics: “The greatest existing hindrance to the advance of the Kingdom of God among men”.
Divorce: “The Church of England will not tolerate divorce under any circumstances.” Britain’s divorce rate was as “beastly as the Mau Mau”. (He said that in Kenya!)
Support for Princess Margaret to marry Peter Townsend: “A popular wave of stupid emotionalism”.
People who go on Sunday afternoon drives in the countryside: “The greatest enemies to Britain.”
The real enemy
Commercial TV: Freedoms extended the press (“for good or evil) are out of the question for television.”
Newspapers: Offer “journalistic exploitations of sex”.
Race: “Although all men are equal within the love of God, they are not equal within the sight God.” “The colour bar is not the sort of thing we should get excited about or fanatical over.
United States roads: “I would much rather have our [British] roads, where at least we only kill each other one by one.
Very funny, Fish ...
Frankly, even now, I find these Fisherisms offensive in the extreme, and not in the least bit amusing.
Here are a few from other years to be going on with:
"The long and distressing controversy over capital punishment is very unfair to anyone meditating murder."
"Who knows whether in retirement I shall be tempted to the last infirmity of mundane minds, which is to write a book."
"I have asked myself once or twice lately what was my natural bent. I have no doubt at all: It is to look at each day for the evil of that day and have a go at it, and that is why I have never failed to have an acute interest in each morning's letters."
"There are only two kinds of people in the modern world who know what they are after. One, quite frankly, is the Communist. The other, equally frankly, is the convinced Christian. The rest of the world are amiable nonentities."

Bin Laden and the Balmy Typewriter-Banning Bishop

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Within 24 hours of me posting about the archaic Archbishop of Canterbury Geoffrey Fisher and his 1955 bid to ban typewriters, the US Government revealed that Osama bin Laden was studying Fisher in his hideout in Pakistan when US Navy Seals raided the compound in May 2011.
The loopy Fisher, right
My post on the crazy British cleric came four years too late to be of any use to bin Laden, of course. Nonetheless, it might help to explain to the mystified US Office of the Director of National Intelligence, at least in part, why the al-Qaeda leader would have kept profiles of Church of England bishops at his compound. The commandos found a document entitled "Profiles of the bishops in the Church of England" among a stack of English-language files amassed by bin Laden.
US authorities did not release the actual profiles of the bishops bin Laden was interested in, and simply listed the document among 10 other religious files the seals found. Given bin Laden earnestly plotted to send the world back to the Dark Ages, however, it might well be assumed he would have agreed with Fisher's antiquated ideas.
These included:
. Typewriters could cause wars.
. Sunday afternoon drivers were the Britain's greatest enemies.
. At worst the H-Bomb would send a whole bunch of innocent people on their way to another world.
. Although all men were equal within the love of God, they were not equal within the sight God.
. If you weren't a Christian or a Communist you were an amiable nonentity.
. Arguing about capital punishment was very unfair to anyone thinking about murdering someone.
. Authors had succumbed to the last infirmity of a mundane mind.
And yes, Nick Bodemer, he was being serious ...

Atatürk, the Sultan, his Harem, the Remington 7 Arabic-Ottoman Typewriter and its Role in a Zionist Charter for Palestine

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No typewriters shall pass this door. A eunuch guards the harem of Sultan Abdülhamid II, photo by Russian journalist Vlas Mikhailovich Doroshevich (1864-1922).
One of the more disturbing revelations (at least for me) to emerge from events last month marking the centenary of the Anzac landings at Gallipoli concerned the Turkish reinterpretation of the 1915 conflict as a holy war. The Australian politely described the move as contrary to "Gallipoli tradition". 
The real hero of Gallipoli: Mustafa Kemal Atatürk in 1923
Apparently young Turkish students are being taught the revised version of their history, to the neglect of Gallipoli hero and avowed secularist ­Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, the army officer, revolutionary and first President of Turkey who is credited with being the founder of the Republic of Turkey.
Such teachings are being guided by Turkey’s Islamist President Recep Tayyip Erdogan, whose push to view Turkey’s military triumph at Gallipoli as a victory for Allah reflects growing tensions between ­Islamists and secularists in his country. Erdogan's shift towards Islamism includes an ambivalence towards ISIS, terrorists who have no apparent regard for history. One Australian newspaper said the rise of the "new Turkey" was "scary".
Whatever the Prophet Muhammad's influence on the defence of Gallipoli, it was the more immediate impact of Atatürk and his resolute forces which won the undying respect of Australians and New Zealanders, and not just the Anzacs.
Following the defeat of the Ottoman Empire in World War I, Atatürk led the Turkish National Movement in the Turkish War of Independence and established a provisional government in Ankara. He then embarked upon a program of political, economic and cultural reforms, seeking to transform the former Ottoman Empire into a modern and secular nation-state. Under his leadership, thousands of new schools were built, primary education was made free and compulsory, and women were given equal civil and political rights, while the burden of taxation on peasants was reduced. The principles of Atatürk's reforms, upon which modern Turkey was established, are referred to as Kemalism.
One of the more notable events reflecting Atatürk's modernisation of Turkey came on November 1, 1928, when he introduced the new Turkish alphabet and abolished the use of Arabic script. The new alphabet was a variant of the Latin alphabet, its adoption was quick, and literacy rose from 10 per cent to more than 70 per cent within two years.
As a direct result of this change, Atatürk was in 1929 able to lift the ban on the importation of typewriters. The ban had been put in place in 1901 by the 34th Sultan of the Ottoman EmpireAbdülhamid II, following the arrival in Turkey of a consignment of 200 US-made typewriters. The Turkish Government announced that its customs department had blocked their entry on the grounds that, armed with a typewriter"anyone would be able to type seditious writings without fear of comprising himself". The department erroneously believed there was "no characteristic about typewriting by which the authorship can be recognised - there is no distinct feature about it, as with handwriting, by which the person who used the machine can be traced". The US Embassy tried unsuccessfully to convince Turkish authorities to "take a more reasonable attitude".
Sidney Nowill
From 1919 the Remington Typewriter Company's agent in Turkey was Englishman Sidney John Payn Nowill (1894-1956), based in Moda outside Constantinople (now Istanbul). But typewriter sales were at that time still limited to foreign companies with branches in Turkey and to missions. With the introduction of the new alphabet, the Turkish Government's equipment supply department, the Devlet Malzeme Dairesi, immediately set about importing 4000 Latin alphabet typewriters. Nowill negotiated the deal for Remington, allowing little mark-up for himself on Remington's cut price offer. Remington rewarded its agent with 100 free typewriters, a rare act of generosity by this notoriously frugal company. The US Government also used Remington and Nowill as go-betweens with Leon Trotsky, who from February 1929 until 1933 was in exile at Büyükada off the coast of Constantinople.
This background leads us to the saga of the one-off 1901 Remington Model 7 Arabic-Ottoman standard typewriter.
The intriguing and hugely involved story has been difficult to piece together, because of its many divergent parts. The slender threat holding it all together is this single typewriter.
Robert McKean Jones
The typewriter was specially designed for the Ilion company by Robert McKean Jones, with the linguistic aid of American Semitic scholar and Zionist Richard James Horatio Gottheil. Remington made the typewriter at the request of Austro-Hungarian journalist, political activist and writer Theodor Herzl. It was basically aimed at being a bribe to induce the 34th Sultan of the Ottoman EmpireAbdülhamid II, to allow Herzl to attempt to negotiate with the Sultan for a Zionist charter of Palestine. Herzl's continued offers of the typewriter to Abdülhamid II failed in their objective. According to Anglo-Jewish Zionist leader Israel Cohen in his 1959 book Theodor Herzl: Founder of Political Zionism, a work which closely follows the long-running tale of the Ottoman-Arabic Remington 7, it was ultimately rejected by Abdülhamid II,  much to Herzl's annoyance. Certainly, Herzl's bid to establish a Zioinist charter for Palestine was unsuccessful. However, according to A Global Middle East: Mobility, Materiality and Culture in the Modern Age, 1880-1940,  edited by Liat Kozma, Cyrus Schayech and Avner Wishnitzer and published by I.B. Tauris this year, this Remington 7 "was rediscovered during a thorough search of the Sultan's belongings at the Yildiz Palace following his dethronement" [in 1909]. The book goes on to say that the Remington Typewriter Company featured this particular machine as an opening topic in its first issue of Remington Notes, in 1907.
Is the typewriter still here?: Opulence in the Cihannuma Kiosk of the Yildiz Palace. It appears not to be, but there is a Remington No 92 in the museum of palace collections, the Saray Koleksiyonları Müzesi in Istanbul:
McKean Jones was a typewriter historian, linguist and typographer with Remington. In the 1920s he became the manager of Remington's development department. He was born in Wirral, Cheshire, England, in July 1855. McKean Jones is best known for his Japanese (katakana) and Chinese ("chu-yin tzu-mu") phonetic alphabet typewriters (adaptations of existing Remington typewriters). Henry Harper Benedict said McKean Jones was "the most prolific writer on typewriter topics and perhaps the best authority [on typewriters] in the world".  With William Ozmun Wyckoff, McKean Jones wrote a history of the typewriter in (Johnson's) The Universal Cyclopedia of 1900. McKean Jones died in his winter home in Stony Point, New York, on June 19, 1933. 
An inaccurate article (at least in terms of who ordered the change to the Turkish alphabet) on McKean Jones appeared in The Brooklyn Daily Eagle on June 16, 1929.
Syrian artist Selim Shibli Haddad (1864-) patented this Arabic type for a typewriter while living in Cairo, Egypt, in 1899. His machine is said to have been made by Smith Premier in 1904. It followed McKean Jones's 1901 Remington 7. Arthur Rhuyon Guest and Ernest Tatham Richmond, of London, England, also patented Arabic type, later in 1899. In the following years, attempts to design Arabic language typewriters were made by Charles E.Smith for the Union Trust (1912), Vassaf Kadry of Constantinople for Underwood (1914), John Henry Barr and Arthur William Smith for Remington (1917) and Friedrich Wilhlem Müller in Dresden, Germany (1925).
Another claim for an Arabic typewriter, made by Royal, came from Palestinian-American literary theorist Edward Wadie Said on behalf of his father, Wadie Said, a businessman in Jerusalem in the British Mandate of Palestine. Said senior served in the US Army component of General John J. Pershing's Allied Expeditionary Force in World War I. He and his family were granted US citizenship due to his military service and moved to Cleveland before returning to Palestine. In 1919, Wadie Said established a stationery business in Cairo. He was a Protestant Christian.
Kadry
Barr and Smith
Müller
Theodor Herzl (1860-1904) was one of the fathers of modern political Zionism. He formed the World Zionist Organisation and promoted Jewish migration to Palestine in an effort to form a Jewish state. In Constantinople in June 1896, Herzl gained the assistance of Count Filip Michał Newleński (Philip Michael Nevlenski), a sympathetic Polish émigré with political contacts in the Ottoman Court, in an attempt to present his solution of a Jewish State to Sultan Abdülhamid II. Herzl was able to put his proposal to the Grand Vizier, Khalil Rifat Pasha: the Jews would pay the Turkish foreign debt and attempt to help regulate Turkish finances if they were given Palestine as a Jewish homeland under Turkish rule. Five years later, on May 17, 1901, Herzl did meet with Abdülhamid II, but the Sultan refused Herzl's offer to consolidate the Ottoman debt in exchange for a charter allowing the Zionists access to Palestine.
Sultan Abdülhamid II
In his book, Israel Cohen said Herzl's many subsequent letters to the Sultan remained unanswered. In December 1901 "he sent still a further letter to inform the Sultan that the Zionist Congress would be meeting again in a few days' time, that he would dispatch a message of homage at the opening of the proceedings, and would be grateful to receive in reply an expression of his Majesty's goodwill. To make as sure as he could of a favourable response, he informed [Turkish statesman and administrator Cihangirzade] İbrahim Bey, in a covering letter, that he had obtained a typewriter with Turkish-Arabic letters, specially made in America for the Sultan, and that it would be tried out in Europe for the first time at the Turkish Embassy in Vienna." Cohen wrote that Herzl was annoyed that his gift was not accepted.
Abdülhamid II (1842-1918) was the last Sultan to exert effective autocratic control over the fracturing Ottoman Empire. He ruled from August 31, 1876, until he was deposed shortly after the 1908 Young Turk Revolution, on April 27, 1909. Although expected to be a progressive ruler before his coronation, Abdülhamid II suspended the short-lived Ottoman constitution and parliament in 1878 and seized absolute power, ending the first constitutional era of the Ottoman Empire. Often known as the Red Sultan or Abdul the Damned, Abdülhamid II became more reclusive toward the end of his reign as his worsening paranoia about perceived threats to his personal power and life led him to shun public appearances.
No typewriters for these lassies: A few of Abdülhamid II's harem with their eunuch guards before a trip to Vienna. Another member was apparently a Michigan dancer, Stella Murphy (1878-), who joined the Sultan's "59 other wives" in his "garden harem" in 1893.
These phobias led to Abdülhamid II banning typewriters from his harem, and to this story appearing in The New York Times on May 20, 1901, just before Herzl's attempt to give his Remington Model 7 to the Sultan:
Richard Gottheil
Herlz's assistant in the typewriter project was Richard James Horatio Gottheil (1862-1936), an English-born American Semitic scholar, Zionist and founding father of Zeta Beta Tau Fraternity. From 1898 to 1904 he was president of the American Federation of Zionists and attended the second Zionist Congress in Basel, establishing relationships with Herzl and Max Nordau. From 1904 he was vice-president of the American Jewish Historical Society and from 1901 one of the editors of the Jewish Encyclopedia. He wrote the chapter on Zionism which was translated into Arabic and published by Najib Nassar in his newspaper al-Karmil.
San Francisco Chronicle, November 25, 1923

Typewriter Honeymoon

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Who seeks out typewriters on their honeymoon? My darling ad dutiful son Danny and his lovely wife Emily, that's who. With friends and family coming from England and the US and many parts in between for their memorable wedding on November 1, Danny and Emily didn't get the chance for a honeymoon back then. Wedding guests who had traveled such vast distances to be here stayed on for a few days and Emily and Danny wanted to spend some time with them. But with their baby due in a little more than three months' time, they have now been able to avail of the opportunity to escape Canberra's chilly climes and head south to a somewhat sunnier Melbourne.
The first typewriter they came across down there didn't bode well for future finds:
But things improved considerably when they went to Museum Victoria's Melbourne Museum The Melbourne Story: Spinning a Yarn exhibition in Carlton yesterday. They immediately identified the pick of the crop, an 1875 Sholes & Glidden (serial number 1202) with a striking gold, red-white-and-turquoise crest on each side. :
It hasn't all been typewriters on their travels, however. They also visited the aquarium, where Danny got closely acquainted with a penguin:
Meanwhile, back in Canberra, I have been taking good care of their charming kitten Magnus:
But back to typewriters ...
This Caligraph, by the way, was donated to the museum by The Argus newspaper, where it was used in the 1880s.
It's a shame these beautiful typewriters remain permanently in Victoria, as I feel their historical value is wasted on Melburnians, so avowedly disinterested in typewriter history. I first saw Museum Victoria’s magnificent typewriter collection at Scienceworks in Spotswood during the 2011 I Am Typewriter Festival, and revisited it with Danny in late October 2012, when the museum gave me a Salem Hall and some other valuable old typewriters. (The museum kept at least one Hall, obviously, as it can be seen in the image at the top of this post.)
Scienceworks'Sholes & Glidden was sold to the Victorian museum on July 14, 1923, by Mary Jane Belton (1871-1941), of South Yarra. I believe she asked and got a figure in excess of £400 for it, which would have been a vast amount for the state government to spend on just one item back then.
At the time I first saw it, more than four years ago, those were the only details I had about the museum's acquisition of this typewriter. Since then, however, its provenance has become apparent. I had assumed, in a sexist sort of way, that Mrs Belton had inherited the typewriter after the death of her husband, the colourful Melbourne character Samuel Philpotts Belton (1861-1928), an English-born hotel broker. But of course Sam Belton had been declared bankrupt in 1894 with 10 shillings in assets – so it wasn't him who owned a typewriter which was, even back then, so valuable.
It turns out Mrs Belton actually inherited the Sholes & Glidden from her late father, Thomas Bookless (1834-1910), a Scottish-born Gippsland-based horse importer and breeder who arrived in Australia in 1862.
Bookless went to California on business in the late 1870s and brought back with him horses, Californian quails and this Sholes & Glidden.
Apart from typewriters, Museum Victoria holds some really interesting typewriter-related items, including these old Underwood pamphlets donated to the museum by Stott & Hoare (from 1912 jointly owned by Underwood):

Emma D. Mills: Inventor of the Typewriter. Emma Who?

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One young student, earnest and eager to assist with a college Powerpoint presentation addressing a previously unheralded female contribution to mechanical invention, boldly declared: "Emma D. Mills invented the typewriter." Under these startling words she placed a photo of an Olympia SG1.
Well, Emma D. Mills certainly, it seems, did invent something, and that something was related to the typewriter.
But what that something was we may never know. The best clue we have is that it was a governor of some kind.
Scientific American, April 4, 1903
Although, from 1889 to 1903, US publications from Scientific American down credited Mills with patenting typewriter inventions, there is no surviving evidence of any such thing to be found anywhere. Apart from as a witness on other, non-typewriter-related patents, Emma D. Mills comes up in no patent search.
And that pretty much goes for Mills' whole life - almost nothing is known about her.
Yet clearly, given that she was declared by newspapers across the US in 1890 as the "founder of typewriting as a profession for women in New York." and "one of the pioneers in the typewriting business", Emma D. Mills deserves to far more widely recognised for her efforts in promoting use of the typewriter.
Mills was, one US newspaper declared in March 1890, "the mother of typewriting as a profession for women".
For once, I have to confess I am stumped. Days of research have failed to unearth anything but the most rudimentary facts about Emma D. Mills.
1886
1889
1890
1893
All that is known is that Emma D. Mills was born in Pennsylvania in 1857, that her father came from Connecticut and her mother was English. Was Mills her birth surname, her maiden name, or was it her married name? Are her patents in her single name, perhaps?
1903
From at least 1900 she was a widow. Before that time, US newspapers usually referred to her as "Mrs Emma D. Mills". After 1900 she was more commonly called "Miss Emma D. Mills". In writing one of her two typewriter books (A Typewriter's Conquests, 1897), she called herself "A. Backhander".
I cannot say when Emma D. Mills died. She lived most of her adult life in Brooklyn, and by 1920 was employed as a school teacher. Before that she had run her own publishing company (Manas) and had been a public and bank notary and commissioner of deeds (then extremely rare for a woman) and as such was a regular witness for patent attorneys. But she was perhaps best known as a stenographer, a typing instructor, and for owning her own franchised copying businesses.
Mills' first book, published in 1895, had a title far longer than any known biography of her. It was called The Mills Book of Typewriter Forms, comprising a complete series of legal and business forms of every brand of typewriting work; also, a complete table of abbreviations of American, English, Scotch, and Irish law reports; a complete list of Latin words and phrases; rules for the use of capital letters and punctuation; a list of abbreviations and signs in common use, and printers' proof marks.
1895
Some things we DO know about this particular Emma D. Mills:
SHE WAS NOT Emma DeLong Mills (1894-1987), the Stamford, Connecticut-born American philanthropist and activist for the Chinese Nationalist cause and a close friend of Madame Chiang Kai-shek (seen with Mills above). This Emma D. Mills did, nonetheless, complete an intensive sub-professional engineering course before working on the Manhattan Project.
SHE WAS NOT the Brooklyn Heights, New York-born socialite and "goodwill ambassador" Miss Emma Mills (1876-1956), the lecturer and critic who was a book and play "expert":
SHE WAS NOT Cairo, Michigan-born Emma Douglas Mills (1877-1956), who married a man called Ruttan.
SHE WAS most certainly NOT, as suggested by Autumn Stanley in Mothers and Daughters of Invention: Notes for a Revised History if Technology (1993), E. Deloss Mills. This E.D. Moss, born in 1845, was a New Jersey boot and shoe dealer and a sometime inventor. He was, in fact, a man, the son of Andrew and Marilla Mills and, long before same-sex marriages were thought of, the husband of a woman called Louise.
But I readily confess I could do no better than Autumn Stanley did 12 or more years ago in tracking down Mills's patents, or anything more substantial about her life for that matter:
NOR SHOULD SHE be confused with Emma Mills Nutt (above, 1849-1926) the Rockland, Maine-born woman who became the world's first female telephone operator, when on September 1, 1878, she started working for the Edwin Holmes Telephone Dispatch Company in Boston. Wikipedia would have us believe this Emma Mills was born in 1860 and died in 1915, both of which are way off the truth. But she did give us EMMA, a synthesised speech attendant system created by Preferred Voice Inc and Philips Electronics NV. And September 1 is commemorated annually as Emma M. Nutt Day.
Typewriter enthusiasts would definitely commemorate a Emma D. Mills Day, if only we knew a little more about her! Can anyone help me here?

Invisible Quadrat Sent Alice Back to Wonderland

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Barbara Blackman was the muse for Alice in her ex-husband's (Charles Blackman's) famous series of paintings based on The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland.
Barbara Blackman as she is today. Now 86, she has been completely blind for more than 60 years. But she still writes memoirs and essays using a computer, which is why she asked me to fix her printer problems.
It's more than 30 years now since I had the extreme good fortune to be trained in digital typesetting and compositing by people who knew what they were talking about when it came to typography and newspaper production. So few trainers today do - or could care less. And why should they? It's an already lost art. But the lessons I learned back then still hold good. They came in use just yesterday.
Computer language and the techniques of formatting for typesetting were a lot different in the early 1980s, when I first used computers to lay out pages and set copy. For one thing, it was far more basic and one could actually see on screen what formatting was being used. Much of the coding and methods we used then are now as outmoded as typewriters. For example, one Canadian system was so basic that, in order to typeset in italics, one had to insert "alt-f9" (forward nine degrees) and "alt-f0" before and after the words to be italicised. Antiquated? Yes, but at least we knew for certain what we doing and how the copy would be set.
Original use of quadrats
One word which had stayed locked in the back of my mind - until yesterday - was "quad", which is short for quadrat, originally a metal spacer in the days of letterpress printing. Later, in Unicode, "quad" was extended for phototypesetting and digital typesetting to be a keyboard command which aligned text with the left or right margin, or centred between them, as quad left, quad right or quad centre.
All at sea with the printer
Yesterday I went to visit a close friend, Barbara Blackman, who had a problem with her printer. Barbara, who turned 86 last December and has been completely blind for more than 60 years (she was diagnosed in 1950 with optic atrophy), still writes memoirs and essays using a computer. The tower is a bulky 1987 "no name" model, the printer an almost equally antiquated Brother (HL-1240) and in between she has a Dell keyboard with a Accent text-to-speech (TTS) synthesiser system. No Braille for Barbara! And no monitor for me to see exactly what was going on - what the tower was telling the printer to do.
Barbara is an author, music-lover, essayist, librettist, letter writer and patron of the Arts. The former wife of renowned painter Charles Blackman (they were married from 1951-1978), she worked for many years as an artist's model. She was born in Brisbane in 1928 and as a teenager was the youngest member of the Barjai group of writers. In 2004, she pledged $1 million to music in Australia: funds have since been distributed to Pro Musica, the Australian Chamber Orchestra, the Australian National University's School of Music and the Stopera Chamber Opera Company,  among other groups. 
Anyway, back to her printer problem ... when Barbara printed out her essays, just one line, including the heading, sub-head, byline and first few words, appeared repeatedly line after line for 20 pages. Nothing else. 
First I was able to ascertain that the printer was working fine. But in the absence of a monitor, I had no idea what was happening as Barbara wrote - how did she create a document? How did she save it? How did she find and correct errors? And how did she print it out? The TTS sounded like Stephen Hawking with his testicles in a monkey grip - I couldn't make head nor tail of what it was telling Barbara.
Finally, something caught my eye - the letters "qq" attached to and before the first word of the essay. As I pondered this curiosity (as Alice might call it), the word "quad" came back to me from the depths of my brain.
Barbara used the letter "q" in combination with a command key to instruct the computer and printer. Somehow, in her blindness, she had mistakenly used it twice without the proper command key. The printer, not knowing quite what to make of this instruction, went haywire. It had simply ignored all other "quad" directions and printed, repeatedly, just one line of copy.  "Quad queer" one might say!
Anyway, after removing the "qq" from the story, the printer returned to normal and started printing perfectly. Was I glad I could recall the word "quad", and what it meant in Unicode? And still be able to use very old skills to fix a very modern problem!

Double Dipping into the Well of Joy

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After a string of mornings on which I had had to get up in minus five degree temperatures, to cat-sit my absent son's kitten, I was looking forward to a sleep-in when life returned to normal. But the very next day I was woken at 7am (minus six degrees this time) by a persistent knocking on my front door. To my considerable surprise it was a parcel deliveryman. I was busily telling him I wasn't expecting a parcel from anyone, when I looked at the sender's name: Herman Price. And slowly, through the fog in my head, came the realisation of what was in the box. 
Back on April 30, I was included in an email from Herman telling fellow ETCetera board members that their copies of issue No 108 had been posted. Herman's email said "Special mailing to Robert", which I just assumed to mean my copy was coming post haste to Canberra via air mail. So for three weeks I eagerly checked my mailbox, only to be daily disappointed that the familiar envelope had not arrived. Enviously, I read the emails of other board members, saying how much they had enjoyed reading issue 108. Where was my copy?
Herman, of course, hadn't used a large box just to send my one copy of ETCetera. There was something else in it.
I can't say which was the greater thrill - receiving the news that Typex editor Mike Brown and I had won the 2014 QWERTY Award, or receiving the wall plaque in the real mail. We'd celebrated the announcement in Canberra back in October, and my friends went to a lot of effort to cover for the absence of the plaque back then. But now that the actual plaque is here, it feels like I've double dipped into the well of joy.
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