Shiftless typewriter spawns keys

I’ve been on a typewriter buying fast since last year. I’ve even come to think of myself as a typewriter “archivist” rather than a “collector.”

But earlier this month while on vacation, I fell off the wagon. I could not pass up a Smith Premier No. 10A typewriter in an antique mall in Coos Bay, Oregon.

Here, staring me in the face, was a keyboard to die for. This massive piece of Industrial Age work has 89 keys arrayed in seven rows. The octagonal keys come in three colors.

The Smith Premier had no shift key, which pretty much explains the horde of keys.

I haven’t found the serial number yet (suggestions?) but these machines date from 1908 to 1921 according research done by renowned Will Davis. The “A” being a later version, this machine probably came from near the end of the run.

Question. Will or anybody: how does the 10A differ from the 10?

Will mentions some of the features about the No. 10A that struck me right away, including the easy to remove carriage (it lifts straight out), the odd location of the side-by-side ribbon spools in the back, a ribbon selector key and, of course, that massive double keyboard.

The machine is in good shape. The only problem is that the space bar spring needs to be replaced.

I paid $58.50, down from the asking price of $65. The clerk asked whether I needed help carrying it to my car. I said I didn’t, but I was wrong. A fork lift would have been handy.

Selectric guy meets the Olivetti twins

If Ettore Sottsass' Olivetti 36 has an architectural look,
it's because Sottsass was an architect
as well as a brilliant designer. For more about him go here.

Steve Collin, a retired IBM repair guy and a whiz with all things mechanical, drove himself, his 2008 ultra-Hog Harley and his wife (Cousin Ellen) up from Sparks, Nevada, for the weekend.

Of course I had to show Steve my two Selectrics. He "skinned" a Model II in 10 seconds flat, then gave me a tour of its organs.

I'm sure he knew that I was pretending to understand what he was saying. Cams, releases, pressure plates, gears without end.

Okay. Right. Check. Got it.

Thank God there was no quiz.

After the Selectric excursion, we fed him, and I put my two Olivetti 36s under his nose. Screw driver in hand, Steve delved into their Italian innards. His diagnosis was that the dead keys on the machine with the good belts were beyond repair (see previous post). Off came the belts. In five minutes he had the rubber teethed loops on the other machine.

It was only a matter of adjusting a tension wheel before it was safe to hit the "on" switch. The electric motor whirred to life. Steve's fingers tested the keys corn-row style, left to right. (He never learned to touch type. In fact, he hates writing.). The keys all worked although one needed nudging. We swapped ribbons between the two machines as well.

I now have an operating, if slightly noisy, Olivetti 36. Nice.

After the typewriters, we moved on to the computers. But that's another story and one you don't want to hear.