The Typewriter

            Blake bought it for me that Christmas back in 1981. It was a 1922 Remington Rand. He purchased it from a dealer who fixed typewriters. The dealer was located on Sepulveda Boulevard in Mission Hills, California. I don’t know how much he spent, but the dealer said he would fix it for about twenty dollars – maybe less. I believe it was less since I remember thinking either the guy was crazy or just a really, really nice man.

            Blake, who, like our brother, Todd, was not known for ingenious gift-giving. But this was different. He knew that I loved old things. Oh how I did love that machine! Practically the day after Christmas I took that typewriter –case and all – to this dealer. He fixed it within the promised couple of days – even cleaned it. My, the work was impressive.

            These old typewriters have keys that are high. The keys are not easily pushed down. The fine, small muscles in the fingers are soon strengthened by all the work.

            Six months later found me enrolled in college. In order to obtain decent grades one had to turn in typed papers. My instructors insisted this had to be but turned their heads because I did not have one. I did not have a modern typewriter. Reluctantly I pulled out that old 1922 Remington Rand and began typing out my papers. The weak, fine muscles in my fingers hurt! It was frustrating not being able to type at a flowing pace! I used so much “white-out” correcting fluid to fix my mistakes. Gradually, the papers were accomplished.

            During this time my Uncle Dean gave me an idea. He had a small notebook from the early 1950’s. While serving a mission for the LDS Church, he collected different sayings and quotes from every source that he could. When I saw his impressive work, I wanted to copy it. Dean simply asked me to create my own. He was concerned about letting it go. Understandably, I was disappointed, but the advice was given in such loving tones. How was I to create the same type of work that he had? Life has a way of working out. Create your own.

            I had been collecting church programs from our LDS wards. Wards in the Church are local congregations that typically hold anywhere from three hundred to seven hundred members. The programs listed the speakers, short snippets of upcoming events, jokes or seasonal word games. Usually listed was a quote and purposeful story relating to a particular value. Each week contained something new. That poor old typewriter was again put to use as I began typing out my favorites onto 3 x 5 inch cards. The cards would fit into recipe boxes and were categorized alphabetically. They were later used while I, too, served a mission for the Church. As a result of that simple advice to create my own, I have many boxes and binders of sayings and quotes.

            Electrical typewriters were becoming popular, but students learned on the manual styles while I was in high school It took longer to type. Again, the fine muscles were developed and then, when one switched to an electric machine, typing went much faster.

            Through the years, the typewriter has sat on the shelf or under stuff in storage. Keyboards used for typing have become easier on our fingers. Less effort is needed and correcting fluid is also used less frequently.

            Blake grew up. He gained a family. I grew up and gained a family. Life happens. One Sunday morning just after Thanksgiving, I was looking at the case containing the typewriter. The scene outside was white due to the blowing snow. My now teenaged kids and I took it out. They fingered it. They asked if the handle on the return carriage was the equivalent of the computer key for “enter.” It had been a while since bringing it out. While putting it away, I put it together wrong. My mechanically-inclined son had to show me how to put that old machine together correctly.

            Christmas was in the air. I remembered Blake and that Christmas now long ago. So many feelings and thoughts surrounded me because of that typewriter. Everything has a story. This old box certainly has one. But this is just one story about this typewriter. When I would type out the characters on that old machine I often wondered what other life this typewriter had. Who owned it before me? What was their story? Was it part of a business or did it belong to a want-to-be-famous writer?

            In 1985 I was privileged to serve a mission for my religion. We were expected to memorize many valuable verses daily. The purpose was to help us remember our reasons for this service. However, the one verse that has stayed with me the longest was spoken by a thin, strong-minded man whose widowed mother raised him under trying circumstances. Heber J. Grant is quoted as proclaiming:

“That which we persist in doing becomes easier; not that the nature of the thing has changed, but that our ability is increased.”

And so it is with the typing, the writing of papers, the ability to face change and difficulty. At first our mental muscles are weak, unchallenged. They need the strengthening that comes from the trial of endurance. Our ability to face these things becomes easier. A simple lesson from an old fashioned typewriter. Who would have known?

~Kelli McDonald 5/22/2012