Minus One

By Gordon Hopkins No. Nope. No way. No thank you. Sorry, but I am not going to write about a certain incident at a certain over-promising and under-delivering awards show that everyone has been talking about for the last week. I didn't even watch the dumb thing and I still can't get away from it. Instead of following the pack, I am going to write about something altogether more arcane. You may already have noticed this is another column written on a typewriter. I realize reading about such outdated technology is not everyone's cup of tea, but it's my column, so there. Don't worry. I get back to writing about my cats soon enough. This column was written on another portable manual, a 1959 Smith-Corona Sterling. The chassis is army tank green metal, with cream-colored keys. The Smith-Corona logo is missing but there is a Smith-Corona shaped hole where it used to be. It has a few dings and scuffs and there is a panel on the back that keeps falling open, but it still works pretty good, as you can see. Remarkably for it's age, the letters on the keys are still very clear. Every keyboard I've ever used on a regular basis, be it computer or phone or even the keys on my TV's remote control, eventually get worn off. I have to count every time I want to change the channel. In this planned obsolescence world where I have to by a new laptop every three years and cars self-destruct the second the warranty runs out; I cannot help but be amazed when I find an old machine that still functions as it was designed. There is something really sad about that. It may go a long way to explaining my interest in these out-of-date contraptions. It is a portable, so it came with a case that my cats love to sit in. It must have been in storage for a very long time before I bought it. When I first opened the case, it smelled like a barn. (The seller was in Kentucky.) I had to air it out for several days before I dare bring it into the office so I could type the very column you are reading. When I first started using it, I discovered something I was unaware of when I bought it: there is no number one key. I don't mean it was broken or missing. I don't mean there was some manufacturer's error. I mean the machine never had such a key and was never intended to. A little research explained why. It turns out, a lot of old-timey typewriters didn't have number one keys. If you have ever looked inside an old typewriter, you will have noticed just how crowed it is in there. Each letter is on the end of a hammer, which strikes the paper and leaves a letter-shaped mark of ink. The hammers crowed against each other and if you type too fast, as I sometimes do, the hammers may collide and get stuck. As I mentioned before, this is a portable typewriter, meaning it has to be small enough and light enough to carry around. So, anything that could be eliminated would reduce bot the size and expense. But what if I need a number one? Well, I've got a couple of options. Some folks used the capital “I” as a one. If you read the top line of a certain famous bit of paper written in 1776, you will notice the “I” and the one in the date look identical. Another option is to use a lower-case “L” (l), which is what I'm doing here and it works just fine. It does occur to me, though, that a more obvious solution would be to use a letter “O” as a zero. But, for whatever reason, typewriter manufacturers didn't go that route. Oh, by the way. In a lot of these old type-writers, there was also no exclamation point. You have to create one by typing an apostrophe, then backspacing and adding a period! Oh, by the way. This typewriter also types in red. I don't know when I would have the need to type in red ink, but at least I have the option.

(Expletive Deleted)

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