In Memoriam: Meg Jones | Reporter | Raconteur | Friend to Many

 

Meg Jones with Skyriter Typewriter
Photo by J.A. Jablonski (c) 2018

Two years ago Meg Jones, reporter for the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, and I met up at a coffee shop on Milwaukee's East Side. I had something to give her: a typewriter. Not just any typewriter, a Skyriter. The Skyriter was popular with journalists and war correspondents due its small size, portability (only 9 lbs including its metal case), and reliable action. In the 1970s, the case was updated to a soft-sided thing so that reporters, writers, and travel writers could tuck it under their airplane seats.

Meg Jones was both journalist and war correspondent. I admired the heck out of her and regular read her stories in JSOnline. I wanted her to have her own "reporter's typewriter." Five years before she'd already typed on the very machine I gave her, though she might not have remembered it that day in January 2018.

Meg Jones typing on a Skyriter Typewriter in 2013
Photo by J.A. Jablonski (c) 2018

I used to collect typewriters. In 2013, Meg contacted me. Somehow she'd heard about me and these machines. I posted about that interview here. This is how I described how it came about:

"She googled typewriters AND Milwaukee, and my post about last year's Summer Solstice Type-In came up.  Like any reporter worth her salt, she tracked me down and asked if she could call.  And like a good librarian, I said, "Sure, I have lots of info you could use for a story." 

Meg called, we talked for about 30 minutes.  Then, offhandedly, she asked, "So how many typewriters do you have?"  "Well," I says, "about 25."  Then came that amusing nano-second pause and Meg asked, "Would you mind if I came over to your house to see them? Oh, and could I bring a photographer?"

It was a lovely afternoon's conversation. Meg was delightful and completely interested in everything. Talking to her was like talking to an old friend. She said she liked to make her own short report videos on her phone and might I please type something for background noise. (That's her typing at the end with me holding her phone over her shoulder.)

Her JS Online Video

From 2013 on we'd run into each other now and then, usually on the way in to a Brewers game at Miller Park. She was a serious fan. She'd stop for a friendly chat but then promptly motored off with great intent. She wanted to see everything game-related: batting practice, pregame, everything! One got the feeling that life itself was that to her: to be seen in total.

She was so excited to receive the Skyriter--wanting to know where it came from, if anyone had used it for writing before her. I had to admit that I'd gotten it via eBay and didn't know. We followed each other on Twitter then, and exchanged snail mail addresses to correspond, and for the couple years since she sent me her holiday letters. They were a blast to read! She SO enjoyed her work, her travel, and the people she met. They were travelogues in and of themselves.

Back in September Milwaukee's own Boswell Books hosted Iranian novelist Salar Abdoh for a conversation about his latest book Out of Mesopotamia, in which Abdoh discussed the "endless war" from a Middle Eastern perspective. Meg Jones was the host for the conversation, and oh my, was it fascinating. I've watched a lot of book launch interviews and this was anything but. Abdoh and Jones were of a kind and clearly respected each others' war reporting experiences.

Salar Abdoh Virtual Event for Boswell Book Company
Host: Meg Jones | Runtime: 59 min

Not too long ago I got another of her letters. She told me what she'd been doing and where she'd been of late. Then she thanked me again for the Skyriter. She had it on display in her guest bedroom, she said.

Meg Jones' obituary is here. You can hear her vibrancy, her joy, her professionalism throughout. And you can hear how much she will be missed by her colleagues and friends.

Rest in Peace, Meg. Rest in Power. Thank you for what you gave us all. How you will be missed.

Last Run of Typewriters in the Wild

With the 2015 NaNoWrimo adventure winding down to its last 48 hours, it seemed a good time to post a run of images I took over the course of the year. These are various typewriters I found for sale in local antique stores. I only bought one (the Lettera 33) as it is the only machine I really still wanted. The others were just fun to see.

I've stopped actively collecting these lovely mechanical creatures and have sold or given away most of the 25 machines I so happily amassed. The ones I've kept are older models which I still enjoy using on a semi-regular basis.

If you are local, the two places these machines were found are Antiques on Pierce (formally Antiques on Second) and the Riverview Antique Market. As these images were taken in late Spring, it is highly unlikely that any of these machines are still available.

 Brother portable

 Mystery portable
(I didn't get the label in this pic. Can anyone ID this for me?)

 Olivetti Studio 45

 Petite Elite

Royal desktop

Royal "woodgrain" portable

Smith Corona Super Correct (electric)

Underwood desktop

Webster portable 

Lettera 33

(Exceedingly good condition, too, with all the original pamphlets & brushes.)

Professor Remington's Rummage Sale & Type-In

After a long and very hard winter, our neighborhood was almost giddy this weekend. One the first Saturday of June we hold our giant, all-households rummage sale.  It was a most perfect day: sunny and with a slight breeze.

I had thought this might be a good time to move out a smaller portion of my typewriter collection; machines I don't use too often. And since typewriters are such a curious (and inexplicable!) thing to most folks, I decided that my alter ego, Professor Remington might need to make an encore appearance to explain and inspire (here was her first appearance).

I sorted through my machines. It was almost bittersweet. There is a core set of older machines which I love and use often. But even those I don't use as often, I had good memories of: of their finding, of the person who'd given them to me, even of the letters I'd written using them. (Yes, Typospherians can be a most sentimental lot.)  In the end, I culled about half for the sale, 12 machines in all.

I priced them from $10 to $80. I wasn't looking to make money but neither did I want to undervalue them. Plus, I wanted to make sure kids could afford some of them them since it always seems to be the younger ones who are most intrigued by these beasties.  The 1930s-era desktop LC Smith (from my 93 year-old Auntie B!) was priced highest. It needs a cleaning but, remarkably, everything works!

The event opened at 8am and there were people at my table from the very first moments!

The first sale of the day was to this gentleman, who already owns one machine. He likes to write with them, he said. He left with the Facit TP1.

Children were the most excited. It was especially fun when a Mom or Dad would take over showing them how the machines worked. They were so excited to share a bit of their past (and their know-how) with their kids.

One Dad bought a machine (an Underwood Leader) for his 12 year old daughter. "I don't know what it is," he said, "but she finds them fascinating!" Methinks this is one Dad who will be Number One Dad for awhile. I sure hope so! It was a very cool thing for him to do.

This lady and her children were very excited to get a family machine. (I am not sure who was more keen on it though, Mom or kids!)  We talked a long time about how to use it and I gave them a basic rundown on how to care for their new word-maker.  And they were very kind to let me take their picture.*

A few other families held mini type-ins as part of their day.

By mid-afternoon, a total of 6 machines had found new homes. Each buyer was formally welcomed into the Typospherian Community, provided with a 3-page handout on how to care and maintain their new machines, and given a Professor Remington business card.  A very good Saturday indeed.

 

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* NOTE: It is the policy of this blog not to post the faces of children unless their parent(s) have given me permission to do so.

Typewriters in the Wild

Image source/credit

Friend and creative colleague Hoja and I made a pilgrimage recently to Antiques on Second here in Milwaukee. This turn of the century brush factory boasts "37,000 square feet on three floors showcasing items from one hundred and fifty dealers." 

While my need to amass more typewriters has quieted, the joy of seeing the machines has not. And a recent acquisition of a newish smartyphone with a much better camera than its predecessor has made it possible to cheer my Typospherian's heart with mere images. 

Here's what we saw. Except for the modernish something peeking out of its case, priced at $45, all the machines were consistently priced at $69.95. Apparently this is the going rate in Milwaukee these days. 

I must confess the orange one did tempt me as it was small and solidly built. But not the color . . . no, not orange, not for me.  And there was something else. Not a typewriter and I know not what it was. It's last on the page here. If anyone knows what it is, please comment?

 

 

Looks like a machine to record on wax cylinders,
but too modern somehow. Anyone know?

A Leader Among Typewriters

From the Cincinnati Chamber of Commerce website

I was here (above) while Beloved Spousal Unit was here (below). 

From the Fuel Milwaukee website.

Though, more specifically, he was at one of these (below).

Image source/credit

And while I was giving an all-day seminar on the wonders and beauty of controlled vocabularies, my True Love was out acting as my Typospherian Enabler.  He has a wonderful eye, having found these two gorgeous machines for me already.

So it was very exciting to get his text message that day during a break: he had found this 'neat old machine' for me (for a mere ten bucks!).  A quick phone pic whetted my interest, but it wasn't until I got home that I was able to take a closer look.

The case, except for the old paper sticker, is in remarkably good condition. It has a swirling, embossed pattern. The lighting and the red of the carpet don't do justice to its color, which is a lovely malachite green.

 

The machine is an Underwood Leader.  Will Davis, commenting on Alan Seaver's Machines of Loving Grace site, has this to say about this model:

"Yet another Leader, and it should be apparent by now that application of the "Leader" name to an Underwood portable indicates a very basic machine."

He speaks truth. This typer is very simple in its accouterments.  I am not even sure it has a Margin Release key.  (The color of the machine is closer to a grey-taupe than the pinkish hue you are seeing here. The red of the carpet affected the camera, I'm afraid. The keys and shift bar are dark green.)

What is interesting is the variation in lettering styles on the logo and labeling.  The Underwood logo on the the front is of a silvery metal.  The machine's name -- Leader -- is painted on with the letters more widely spaced, the e, r, and d echoing the typeface of the logo.  The company name on the back is more staid, with those funky elbow-shaped brackets kinda, maybe, sorta reflecting the logo's flair.

The interior is quite clean and there is no musty smell, which is surprising given its 1950s origin when cigarette smoking was pretty much the norm in most households.  But since the spools are plastic and not original, perhaps the machine has had a cleaning at some point.

The crisp and snappy typing action (reminiscent of the Smith Coronas of that time) reveals a plain pica typeface.  The only real mechanical problem  is the carriage arm which appears to need a new spring. It works but has clearly seen some aggressive return action!

I am sorry to say that I did not get to meet fellow Typospherian Richard Polt (of Writing Ball and The Classic Typewriter Page).  We had planned to meet up for a twosome type-in but post-seminar work issues forced a cancellation.  What a disappointment that was.  I was looking forward to hearing more tales of his recent trip to Great Britain. 

In his honor, I include the complete poem from the above typed excerpt.

To Cincinnati
By Edward A. M'Laughlin

City of gardens, verdant parks, sweet bowers;
Blooming upon thy bosom, bright and fair,
Wet with the dews of spring, and summer's showers,
And fanned by every breath of wandering air;
Rustling the foliage of thy green groves, where
The bluebird's matin wakes the smiling morn,
And sparkling humming-birds of plumage rare,
With tuneful pinions on the zephyrs borne,
Disport the flowers among, and glitter and adorn:

Fair is thy seat, in soft recumbent rest
Beneath the grove-clad hills; whence morning wings
The gentle breezes of the fragrant west,
That kiss the surface of a thousand springs:
Nature, her many-colored mantle flings
Around thee, and adorns thee as a bride;
While polished Art his gorgeous tribute brings,
And dome and spire ascending far and wide,
Their pointed shadows dip in thy Ohio's tide.

So fair in infancy--oh, what shall be
Thy blooming prime, expanding like the rose
In fragrant beauty; when a century
Hath passed upon thy birth, and time bestows
The largess of a world, that freely throws
Her various tribute from remotest shores,
To enrich the Western Rome: here shall repose
Science and art; and from time's subtile ores--
Nature's unfolded page--knowledge enrich her stores.

Talent and Genius to thy feet shall bring
Their brilliant offerings of immortal birth;
Display the secrets of Pieria's spring,
Castalia's fount of melody and mirth:
Beauty, and grace, and chivalry, and worth,
Wait on the Queen of Arts, in her own bowers,
Perfumed with all the fragrance of the earth,
From blooming shrubbery, and radiant flowers;
And hope with rapture wed life's calm and peaceful hours.

Oft as the spring wakes on the verdant year,
And nature glows in fervid beauty dressed,
The loves and graces shall commingle here,
To charm the queenly City of the West;
Her stately youth, with noble warmth impressed,
Her graceful daughters, smiling as the May--
Apollos these, and Hebes those confessed--
Bloom in her warm and fertilizing ray,
While round their happy sires the cherub infants play.

So sings the Muse, as she, with fancy's eye,
Scans, from imagination's lofty height,
Thy radiant beaming day--where it doth lie
In the deep future; glowing on the night
From whose dark womb empires unveiled to light:
Mantled and diademed, and sceptred there,
Thou waitest but the advent of thy flight,
When, like a royal Queen, stately and fair,
The City of the West ascends the regal chair.

The Cincinnati Skyline

Image source/credit

City of gardens, verdant parks, sweet bowers; Blooming upon thy bosom, bright and fair, Wet with the dews of spring, and summer's showers, And fanned by every breath of wandering air; Rustling the foliage of thy green groves, where The bluebird's matin wakes the smiling morn, And sparkling humming-birds of plumage rare, With tuneful pinions on the zephyrs borne, Disport the flowers among, and glitter and adorn: Fair is thy seat, in soft recumbent rest Beneath the grove-clad hills; whence morning wings The gentle breezes of the fragrant west, That kiss the surface of a thousand springs: Nature, her many-colored mantle flings Around thee, and adorns thee as a bride; While polished Art his gorgeous tribute brings, And dome and spire ascending far and wide, Their pointed shadows dip in thy Ohio's tide. So fair in infancy--oh, what shall be Thy blooming prime, expanding like the rose In fragrant beauty; when a century Hath passed upon thy birth, and time bestows The largess of a world, that freely throws Her various tribute from remotest shores, To enrich the Western Rome: here shall repose Science and art; and from time's subtile ores-- Nature's unfolded page--knowledge enrich her stores. Talent and Genius to thy feet shall bring Their brilliant offerings of immortal birth; Display the secrets of Pieria's spring, Castalia's fount of melody and mirth: Beauty, and grace, and chivalry, and worth, Wait on the Queen of Arts, in her own bowers, Perfumed with all the fragrance of the earth, From blooming shrubbery, and radiant flowers; And hope with rapture wed life's calm and peaceful hours. Oft as the spring wakes on the verdant year, And nature glows in fervid beauty dressed, The loves and graces shall commingle here, To charm the queenly City of the West; Her stately youth, with noble warmth impressed, Her graceful daughters, smiling as the May-- Apollos these, and Hebes those confessed-- Bloom in her warm and fertilizing ray, While round their happy sires the cherub infants play. So sings the Muse, as she, with fancy's eye, Scans, from imagination's lofty height, Thy radiant beaming day--where it doth lie In the deep future; glowing on the night From whose dark womb empires unveiled to light: Mantled and diademed, and sceptred there, Thou waitest but the advent of thy flight, When, like a royal Queen, stately and fair, The City of the West ascends the regal chair.
Read more at http://www.blackcatpoems.com/m/to_cincinnati.html#E0XduxryleBWFs7M.99

To Cincinnati by: Edward A. M'Laughlin (1798-?) City of gardens, verdant parks, sweet bowers; Blooming upon thy bosom, bright and fair, Wet with the dews of spring, and summer's showers, And fanned by every breath of wandering air; Rustling the foliage of thy green groves, where The bluebird's matin wakes the smiling morn, And sparkling humming-birds of plumage rare, With tuneful pinions on the zephyrs borne, Disport the flowers among, and glitter and adorn: Fair is thy seat, in soft recumbent rest Beneath the grove-clad hills; whence morning wings The gentle breezes of the fragrant west, That kiss the surface of a thousand springs: Nature, her many-colored mantle flings Around thee, and adorns thee as a bride; While polished Art his gorgeous tribute brings, And dome and spire ascending far and wide, Their pointed shadows dip in thy Ohio's tide. So fair in infancy--oh, what shall be Thy blooming prime, expanding like the rose In fragrant beauty; when a century Hath passed upon thy birth, and time bestows The largess of a world, that freely throws Her various tribute from remotest shores, To enrich the Western Rome: here shall repose Science and art; and from time's subtile ores-- Nature's unfolded page--knowledge enrich her stores. Talent and Genius to thy feet shall bring Their brilliant offerings of immortal birth; Display the secrets of Pieria's spring, Castalia's fount of melody and mirth: Beauty, and grace, and chivalry, and worth, Wait on the Queen of Arts, in her own bowers, Perfumed with all the fragrance of the earth, From blooming shrubbery, and radiant flowers; And hope with rapture wed life's calm and peaceful hours. Oft as the spring wakes on the verdant year, And nature glows in fervid beauty dressed, The loves and graces shall commingle here, To charm the queenly City of the West; Her stately youth, with noble warmth impressed, Her graceful daughters, smiling as the May-- Apollos these, and Hebes those confessed-- Bloom in her warm and fertilizing ray, While round their happy sires the cherub infants play. So sings the Muse, as she, with fancy's eye, Scans, from imagination's lofty height, Thy radiant beaming day--where it doth lie In the deep future; glowing on the night From whose dark womb empires unveiled to light: Mantled and diademed, and sceptred there, Thou waitest but the advent of thy flight, When, like a royal Queen, stately and fair, The City of the West ascends the regal chair.
Read more at http://www.blackcatpoems.com/m/to_cincinnati.html#E0XduxryleBWFs7M.99

To Cincinnati by: Edward A. M'Laughlin (1798-?) City of gardens, verdant parks, sweet bowers; Blooming upon thy bosom, bright and fair, Wet with the dews of spring, and summer's showers, And fanned by every breath of wandering air; Rustling the foliage of thy green groves, where The bluebird's matin wakes the smiling morn, And sparkling humming-birds of plumage rare, With tuneful pinions on the zephyrs borne, Disport the flowers among, and glitter and adorn: Fair is thy seat, in soft recumbent rest Beneath the grove-clad hills; whence morning wings The gentle breezes of the fragrant west, That kiss the surface of a thousand springs: Nature, her many-colored mantle flings Around thee, and adorns thee as a bride; While polished Art his gorgeous tribute brings, And dome and spire ascending far and wide, Their pointed shadows dip in thy Ohio's tide. So fair in infancy--oh, what shall be Thy blooming prime, expanding like the rose In fragrant beauty; when a century Hath passed upon thy birth, and time bestows The largess of a world, that freely throws Her various tribute from remotest shores, To enrich the Western Rome: here shall repose Science and art; and from time's subtile ores-- Nature's unfolded page--knowledge enrich her stores. Talent and Genius to thy feet shall bring Their brilliant offerings of immortal birth; Display the secrets of Pieria's spring, Castalia's fount of melody and mirth: Beauty, and grace, and chivalry, and worth, Wait on the Queen of Arts, in her own bowers, Perfumed with all the fragrance of the earth, From blooming shrubbery, and radiant flowers; And hope with rapture wed life's calm and peaceful hours. Oft as the spring wakes on the verdant year, And nature glows in fervid beauty dressed, The loves and graces shall commingle here, To charm the queenly City of the West; Her stately youth, with noble warmth impressed, Her graceful daughters, smiling as the May-- Apollos these, and Hebes those confessed-- Bloom in her warm and fertilizing ray, While round their happy sires the cherub infants play. So sings the Muse, as she, with fancy's eye, Scans, from imagination's lofty height, Thy radiant beaming day--where it doth lie In the deep future; glowing on the night From whose dark womb empires unveiled to light: Mantled and diademed, and sceptred there, Thou waitest but the advent of thy flight, When, like a royal Queen, stately and fair, The City of the West ascends the regal chair.
Read more at http://www.blackcatpoems.com/m/to_cincinnati.html#E0XduxryleBWFs7M.99