Meet the family

It’s been a running joke for the last few years in my bio—the sentence or two that accompanies every blog post, podcast, and publication I put out into the world. You know the line: Jonny Eberle lives in Tacoma, WA, with his family, a dog, and three adorable typewriters. The joke, of course, is that the adjective “adorable” should probably be applied to my family or at least my dog (who is incredibly cute), and not a hefty steel writing machine from the middle of the last century. The line usually elicits a smirk or a chuckle, which is entirely the point, but it also telegraphs a real fondness I have for manual typewriters.

I do the vast majority of my writing on a computer or smartphone. I like the ease and convenience of having access to my work anywhere and everywhere—and I especially like the ability to delete my mistakes. But there is an undeniable appeal to the typewriter. Sure, they’re heavy and loud and less efficient than a modern word processor, but efficiency isn’t always the point. A car is a faster way to get from point A to point B, but sometimes it’s nicer to walk. I want to feel the keys under my fingers, watch the words dance across the page and hear a happy “ding” from the bell when I reach the end of the line.

Typewriters are also just nicer to look at than most of today’s office appliances. They harken back of an age of craftsmanship and reliability that sadly has gone by the wayside in pursuit of making things quicker and cheaper. A well-maintained typewriter will last a century or more in nearly perfect working order. Meanwhile, I’ve gone through three smartphones in a decade.

When I want to slow down, cut out the distractions, channel some inspiration, and really focus on the words, I reach for one of my typewriters, because that’s what a typewriter does. And it does it extremely well. Don’t even get me started on the ease with which you can type a label, or address an envelope with one of these. There’s simply no contest.

Today, I’d like to introduce you to three adorable typewriters. Let’s begin.

1939
Underwood Ace

The Champion. 10cpi Pica typeface. Carriage shift.

The crown jewel of my very small collection is also the first typewriter I ever bought. This beautiful machine caught my eye at Bookmans, my favorite bookstore in Flagstaff, AZ. It was 2009 and I was browsing the shelves when I saw it tucked away in the art section with sticker on its case advertising the low, low price of just $30. I have rarely reached for my wallet so fast.

It was as if the planets had aligned. I knew I wanted to be a writer. I was already the kind of person who owned a fedora and had an Edward Hopper painting on my wall. I was primed to be intrigued by typewriters and all that they represented. It seemed that if I really wanted to be a writer, I needed a machine whose sole purpose was to translate thought into words on paper. And there it was.

The Underwood is a true classic. If you close your eyes and picture a vintage manual typewriter, this is probably the one you’re thinking of. From the musty smell of ink to the soft sheen of its black crinkle paint to the glimmer of its glass-top keys, this typewriter undeniably has style and sophistication. Now, none of my typewriters are museum pieces. They have their quirks. This one has crumbling rubber feet, spots of rust, and a sticky E key (perhaps unsurprisingly, as E is the most commonly-used letter in the English language). When the typebar moves up to strike the ribbon, it nearly always gets stuck there, requiring the typist to pull it back down before proceeding. This limits its usefulness for any sustained writing, but I’m sure I could get it fixed if I wanted to or learn to do it myself. It probably just needs to have seven decades of gunk cleaned out of the segment.

The Underwood is in contention with the next typewriter on my list for the heaviest machine I own. It takes a lot of effort to punch the keys, but throw in a daiquiri, you start to look just like Ernest Hemingway.

From a purely aesthetic standpoint, this one is probably my favorite. Don’t tell the others.

1947
Smith-Corona Sterling

The Contender. 12cpi Elite typeface. Segment/basket shift.

The second addition to my collection was this postwar Smith-Corona, which was gifted to me by the filmmaker Chris Gunn after we wrapped production on his documentary Changing Gears: Flagstaff and the Mountain Bike, where I served as a camera operator and creative consultant.

A typewriter is meant to be used and this one certainly has been. There are a few dings and scratches and the paint is flecked with spots of correction fluid—sure signs of a machine that was put to good use. But it works well, from the action of the mechanical keys (a few of which are a little sticky) to the featherlight “floating” basket shift that allows you to type capital letters without straining a finger. It also has the most features of any of my typewriters, including a ribbon reverse switch, touch control, and the ability to set tabs. Sadly, the bell doesn’t ring, but I suspect a little elbow grease is all it needs to sing like it did in its heyday.

Like the Underwood, the Smith-Corona is a portable typewriter, meaning it was meant to be used at home or by writers on the go, like journalists and students, rather than the larger, heftier standard models, which were designed for heavy use in an office setting.

What I love most about the Smith-Corona is how it fuses classic design with solid engineering and reliability. It retains a lot of what I love about the older Underwood while adding more practicality. I love the way the matte black paint on the frame contrasts with the glossy black pinstripes, the way the light, slightly concave keys cradle your fingers, and the feeling that this machine has stories to tell.

I don’t generally believe in ghosts, but if you told me that one of my typewriters was haunted, I would guess it was this one.

1981
Brother Charger 11

The Rookie. 10cpi Pica typeface. Carriage shift.

This is the only typewriter I own that could potentially qualify as “portable” though were all marketed that way. It’s also the easiest to actually write on. Unlike the others, which have stuck keys and grinding carriage returns, the Charger continues to charge ahead, unfazed by the years. Its a youngster, of course, if you couldn’t tell by the snap-on carrying case and robin’s egg blue paint job. Whereas the Underwood debuted at the peak of the typewriter’s reign and the Smith-Corona as it was reaching the pinnacle of mechanical perfection, this Japanese machine represents the last gasp of the manual typewriter before it was replaced first by the electric typewriter and finally by the personal computer.

This was a graduation present to myself. I found it in that same bookstore and was drawn to its bold color, compact design, pristine condition, and how easy it was to type on. This is a so-called ultra-portable, a small, no-frills typewriter you can travel with, set up in a small space, and get to work on almost as easily as you could a modern laptop. It’s a fast typer, but some of the keys are misaligned, which lends a quirky charm to whatever you’re working on with a few letters drunkenly set below the line of type. And because it’s so light, it tends to wander around smooth writing surfaces since it lacks the mass to keep it firmly in place.

I love the vintage aesthetic of the Underwood and the feeling I get with the Smith-Corona of connecting with past generations of writers. With the Brother typewriter, I feel something else—like witnessing the continued evolution and innovation of these venerable machines even as the era of analog typing was coming to an end. And it hints at what might have been if computers hadn’t come along.

Why I Love a Good Typewriter

Someday, I’d love to have a place of honor for these adorable machines, or at least carve more time in my writing schedule to pull them out and take those dusty keys for a spin. There is something special about writing on a typewriter that I don’t experience when writing on a computer or scribbling longhand. There’s something tactile and romantic about writing the old fashioned way. You feel more connected to your thoughts and free from the pressure of producing perfect work as typos and missed spaces creep in. There is no second-guessing yourself on a typewriter, you’re forced to keep going.

And who knows? Maybe someday, I’ll try my hand at composing a short story or a novel entirely on one of these machines. Generations of writers worked this way and some have continued to eschew digital technology well into the 21st century. Cormac McCarthy famously penned his novels on a secondhand Olivetti Lettera 32 and wrote 5 million words over the course of 50 years on it before it finally bit the dust in 2009—the same year I encountered my first typewriter.

As much as I love my MacBook, it is not a single purpose machine. It has access to the Internet, which is constant distraction, trying to lure me away from writing. And it needs software updates and electricity to function. It is capable of so much, but it can’t keep going forever. It has an expiration date, a point beyond which it will cease to function and become a very expensive paperweight. A good manual typewriter, on the other hand, will keep going for decades or maybe even centuries with the right care.

Typewriters are a relic of the past—and yet, the past has a way of coming back. Much like vinyl and Polaroids, typewriters are finding a niche not only among collectors but among people who love to write. There is an element of nostalgia, but also of rediscovery, as a new generation unlocks the simple joy of putting ink on paper with a typewriter.

The encouraging sound of the bell when you reach the end? That’s just a bonus.

— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a writer, podcaster, and storyteller. He lives in Tacoma, WA with his family, a dog, and three adorable typewriters. His writing has been published in Creative Colloquy, Grit City Magazine, and All Worlds Wayfarer. You can listen to his audio drama, The Adventures of Captain Radio, and his writing podcast, Dispatches with Jonny Eberle, wherever you enjoy podcasts.

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Notes & Extras

• Got a vintage typewriter in your attic and want to know more about it? The Typewriter Database is a fantastic resource for determining your typewriter’s manufacture date and jump-starting your research.
• Interested in getting back to basics and writing on a typewriter? Daniel Marleau has a great list of the 10 best typewriters for writers on his website, The Typewriter Review. He also has a helpful primer on basic typewriter care and maintenance.
• I mentioned that these machines are not all in perfect working order. I hope to find time (eventually) to work on them and I hope that a good cleaning is all they need to get back into tip-top typing shape. If not, there are still a few typewriter shops in the region, including one in nearby Bremerton, so I may be need to stop in to see what magic they can work. All three of my typewriters have some issues, but the Underwood and the Smith-Corona are the ones most desperately in need of care. There is rust to be removed, keys that stick, rock hard platens to be addressed, and feet that need to be replaced before they completely turn to dust (though I am also considering buying 3D printed replacements). I have no idea when I will do this, but it’s fun to think about nebulous future projects.
• I’m not looking to expand my collection anytime soon, but if I were looking to swap out one of my typewriters, I might have my eye on a German model from the late 1950s, like a Torpedo 18, an Olympia SM3, or maybe a Voss ST24—widely considered some of the most well-engineered typewriters ever built. I could see one of those dethroning the others as my go-to machine.

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