Would love to hear typewriter keys singing again

I was flipping through old newspapers the other day and came across a 1972 Office Center advertisement offering a $5.95 back-to-school special to “bench clean, oil, and make minor repairs, plus install new ribbon on any make portable or standard typewriter.”

I have absolutely no idea how one would “bench clean” a typewriter, or even what that means, but it made me realize how long it is has been since I have heard the distinctive clack of a manual typewriter.

It was part of the soundtrack of my childhood.

The first typewriter in our house belonged to my mother.

I retrieved it from the top corner of a closet shelf this week. It’s a lovely little Remington Quiet-Riter, olive green with dark green keys, neatly boxed in a sturdy square suitcase.

I wish I knew its origin, but I do know that Remington started manufacturing this model in the early 1950s, so my mom may have brought it with her when she moved here in 1957.

It spent at least 15 years on a small desk in our living room where my mother was regularly stationed with keys flying.

The completion of each line was marked with the soft ding of the built-in-bell. When the carriage was returned to the right and advanced up one line using the manual return lever, it made a most satisfying rewind sound.

(I realize that younger readers are completely lost at this point. Let me also assure you that you could probably not begin to use one of these things. The required finger power has been bred out of subsequent generations.)

My brothers and I got to “play” on it now and again, but with the strict reminder that it was “not a toy.”

Our mom was a skillful typist and an avid correspondent, not only with her far-flung friends and family members, but also with companies that she felt deserved a pat on the back or a nudge of correction.

After buying a pack of toilet paper that she believed had inadequate perforations between squares, for example, she rolled a length of that bathroom tissue into this typewriter and fired off a letter of concern to the manufacturer. She was rewarded a thoughtful reply and a fistful of coupons for her creativity.

Besides toilet tissue, she burned through reams of typing paper and always had a pack of onionskin paper on hand allowing her to write multiple pages to her international friends while keeping postage costs to a minimum.

She was also a pro at ribbon replacement, a skill which I fear I might not have inherited.

I saw that ad in the 1972 newspaper with more than a little wistfulness.

I’m still not sure if my bench needs to be cleaned, but oil, minor repairs, and a new ribbon for only $5.95?

Yes, please. I’d love to hear those keys singing again.

Betty Williamson may be clacking and dinging soon. Reach her at:

[email protected]