Today we’ve got a little student noir on the Writing Center BAROP. You never know what you’ll find, or what I’ll post because…
Monda’s got a new phone that takes great photos and cool video just like (snap) that. The perfect mix of tech and no-tech. It’s a beautiful thing.
You know Margaret Mitchell. Gone With the Wind is a classic both in print and in film and she had her fingers on the typewriter keys for both. This post is not a tribute to this Southern scribbler, there are tributes aplenty across the internet and mine wouldn’t do her justice. Fine Literature? Not really, but she wrote an irresistible story.
I accidentally found this picture of her at Born Today as I cruised the net for something else. I find a lot of fine things that way, but this one stopped me cold. Bless her heart, Margaret’s not much to look at in this photo. It’s the brooch she’s wearing that nearly killed me outright.
I. Must. Have. It.
Meet Melinda Parker. Sometime between 1936 and 1940, armies of writers and photographers with the Federal Writers’ Project and the Folklore Project were sent all over the U.S. to collect personal histories. Some are strictly informational while others, like this one, contain recorded narrative. Sometimes the interviewers are identified, but not this one. Melinda Parker’s voice is the only one we hear.
From American Life Histories: Manuscripts from the Federal Writers’ Project, 1936-1940, housed in the Library of Congress. The collection is vast, containing
“2,900 documents representing the work of over 300 writers from 24 states. Typically 2,000-15,000 words in length, the documents consist of drafts and revisions, varying in form from narrative to dialogue to report to case history. The histories describe the informant’s family education, income, occupation, political views, religion and mores, medical needs, diet and miscellaneous observations. Pseudonyms are often substituted for individuals and places named in the narrative texts.”
Not all of the documents are online. Not all of the states are represented, including Arkansas. I have managed to find a small collection of WPA/Federal Writers’ Project documents house at the University of Arkansas as “WPA: Early Settlers’ Personal Histories of African Americans in Arkansas.” Sadly, most of these are thin on narrative and heavy on “report.”
I’m just thankful Mrs. Parker’s voice was recorded in these anonymously typed pages.
Just found an interview with Dennis Baron, author of A Better Pencil: Readers, Writers, and the Digital Revolution. Yes, the interview was in Inside Higher Ed, and yes, it has an academic edge. But just look at this portion of the interview:
I’ve always loved writing and its technologies. My earliest memories of writing include typing on an old Remington portable on the floor of the living room when I was 5 or 6. I can still see the ink-clogged e’s and o’s. I also remember my first fountain pen, a marbled-maroon Esterbrook that I got for my 8th birthday. I remember the smell of the ink when I filled the pen (no cartridge refills back then), tangy, metallic, kind of like blood. And my first ball point, a Paper Mate in two-tone green, the same colors as my parents’ 1955 Chevy (I later inherited that car, and while I always hated the colors on the car, on the pen they were magical).
You can read the rest of Serena Golden’s interview with the author here.
Clearly, we need a book club. I hope a few more of you snag a copy of this soon, because this looks like it warrants discussion.
The Old Remington Quiet-Riter has a new home and a special purpose. The Writing Center at the University of Central Arkansas now has corner dedicated to the Retrotech Arts, complete with a B.A.R.O.P. There’s also a suitable vintage table and chair, courtesy of my good friend Jennifer, whose lot in life is to keep the Writing Center tutors knowledgeable and fresh.
I have it on good authority that the paper roll is full of daily poetry, cryptic messages, and mysterious intrigues. All this despite the fact that not one of the tutors is old enough to remember typing up footnoted term papers on the real clanking deal.
This is the first of many projects planned this year using the manual typewriter/B.A.R.O.P. combination, so stay tuned.
I’ve got a lot more typewriters, a whole box filled with Big-Ass Rolls of Paper, and students who aren’t afraid to use them.
So I thought I’d slip in a little poem, just to try it out.
It’s called Word Perhect (no, that’s not a misspelling) and I dare you not to get on it right this minute. Just take a look at the screenshot below. Oh, yes.
Clearly, my luck has taken a sad turn. I can’t seem to catch an Ebay break. So, instead of sharing with you the fabulous goodies I snagged for a song on Ebay, I’ll let you peek at the Big Ones That Got Away.
First up, the glorious red Corona typewriter above. I was convinced no one but me saw this beauty languishing around the $10-$15 price range. I was wrong. The bidding took a frantic turn and left me with my pocketbook hanging open. Craving this typewriter brought me nothing but heartache and the understanding that no, I cannot run with the big dogs.
What are these? I’ve never seen anything like them before, and can only assume they’re little pillow-like attachables to make slamming the keyboard a little less, well, slammin‘. I can’t decide if these were a good idea, or a terrible mess. Did the typist have to dodge flying cushions when (not if) they detached mid-memo? And why “Park Avenue”? I’ll never know. A badly-timed phone call yanked my attention away at precisely the wrong moment. Bye-bye, key cushions.
This perfect collection of vintage stationery began at around $10. Who else on the planet needs this worse than I do? No one, I tell you. Not one soul. I would have won these, too, if my computer hadn’t chose the last half-minute of the auction to do its weekly virus update. Pop-ups stole my Ebay stationery, and I may never recover.
Unlike the stationery fiasco, I’m fairly certain the person(s) who drove up the price of this vintage paper are people I know. Scallywags, all of them. Just look at that box – couldn’t you die? I’m dying a little every time I think about it.
This bizarre piece of political history needs no explanation. You know why I wanted it. It would be fascinating, though to know who the four bidders were, because it’s always comforting to know there are others out there functioning just a half-bubble off center. I have no idea why I missed this one. Just looked away for a second and it was gone.
I‘m not bitter about losing these Ebay auctions. Well, not all of them. I’d like to find the old bidding mojo again, though, because all this losing is beginning to make me look bad. I fear for my Ebay street-cred, and with good reason.
When my typewriter friends post elegant Hiawatha-watermarked typecasts, don’t worry. I’ll put on a brave face.
I figure ol’ Hephaestus for a typewriter man. In another time, he might have made a fine repairman of all things bent and broken, an artist in iron and steel. Why, there’s no telling what kind of machines we’d be knocking on.
Maybe he needed a little anger management training. Maybe he wouldn’t have been quite prepared for the women’s movement. I’ll bet he could fix fix a few of my typewriters, though. There’s that.
And Aphrodite? She could hold her own.
No Telling 
