No, thanks Tom, but I like to type, type, type on a computer

This Sunday there was an article in our paper by Tom Hanks titled, "I am TOM.  I like to TYPE.  Hear that?" that was originally published in the New York Times.  It wasn't until I turned the page to follow the second half of the article that I realized that the article was by the actor Tom Hanks, which then had me changing the images I had in my head of this poor smuck who wrote about his love for typewriters, all of them, from the sounds they made to the look of the words on the paper.  As I read the article, a slow warmth of horror began seeping through my body.  I, for one, do not agree with Tom Hanks.  I do not miss typewriters.

I suppose my dislike of typewriters began in high school in typing class with Norma Jean Rogers, she of the red hair and blue, tortoise shell glasses that she wore on a chain wrapped around her neck.  She was the stereotypical typing teacher clad in vintage dresses with ruffled collars, stockings, and what my mother referred to as "sensible" heels, and she marched up and down the rows of typewriters moving her hands like a conductor directing a symphony.  She knew the sounds of the class typewriters so well that she could hear a mistake from three rows away with her back turned to the culprit, and her tsking was an art form, her brows arched into her perfectly coiffed bun.  I made sure I was seated in the very back of the room, my back against the wall, a mistake I realized too late.  She distrusted those of us in the back, rightly so since this was the dawn of the electric typewriters and slip in/slip out correction paper, and her laser eyes were always upon us.  I would sweat profusely during the timed tests as she always began her march in the back row.  Up and down she marched in her clickety, sensible shoes.  Up and down, conducting us as we clacked out the rhythm of "the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog" over and over. 

I also didn't like the whole idea of typing because I loved pens, and pencils, and handwriting.  I liked the swirls and the way the ink rolled off the ballpoints.  I liked that I could change my script, and I spent hours imitating other's styles of handwriting, scribbling the same phrase or name over and over.  I loved Kelly's handwriting, the smallness of it, the way she held the pen.  I still can remember my friend Lisa's signature with the big looping L's that began both her first and last name, and sometimes when I doodle now I still practice her name.  My father's handwriting was the prettiest.  I have yet to find anyone, man or woman, with as nice handwriting as he had.  It was an art to him as it was to me. 

 

Typing took away from that.  And it was slower.  I felt I could write faster then I could type, and when I mentioned this to Norma Jean (we called her that of course behind her back) she stopped in front of me, raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow high into her hairline, and stared me down silently.  The sweat rolled down my back, I lowered my eyes, and got back to typing.  I learned to be a great typist thanks to Norma Jean Rogers, something I didn't realize until later in life when it was too late to thank her of course, but her expertise did nothing for my love of typewriters.

I hated the old typewrite, the one we had at home with the arm that had to be pushed to swing the carriage so that I could type a second line.  I hated having to use carbon paper to erase my mistakes as it was messy to the fingers as well as the nice white paper.  The invention of the electric typewriter and the small correction paper was better, but the hum of the typewriter eventually would drive me crazy.  I hated having to try to line up the paper to make corrections after having zipped the paper from the machine thinking I was finished only to discover the error.  On those rare occasions when I did line it up correctly the satisfaction never lasted long because there was always another one further up or further down that refused to line up and the page would have to be retyped because no teacher would accept a paper with letters over the top of letters or HORROR xx across the word.

For my birthday I received an electric typewriter to call my own.  By then I was a writer in my own mind and writers needed typewriters to turn in manuscripts.  I was horrified to find that the pretty blue one my father had purchased me was not the correct type; pica instead of the elite of our school typewriters and those of professionals.  I didn't want to hurt my parents feelings, but seriously?  Pica was huge compared to elite.  How could they not have known this?  I blame this on my not being published back then as agents, magazines and publishing companies required manuscripts with twelve characters per inch.

I learned to love that typewriter as I entered college because it meant I did not have to spend hours in a library on a borrowed machine.  Progress meant teachers did not accept handwritten essays or papers and having a typewriter of my own made life easier in some ways despite the irritation of the machine itself.  I have many papers from that era (yes, Tom I know that is one of your reasoning for typewriters, and I'll give you paper last-ability), and I can attest to the fact that I sucked at typing on a typewriter.  The invention of the computer, however, saved me.

My first computer in 1986

Work computer

Finally, a machine that allowed me to be as quick as I wanted (thanks Norma Jean!) with the ability to move a cursor up and over to a mistake that then could be erased with the punch, punch of a backspace button.  I liked the whirling noises the computer made when first turned on because, unlike the humming of my Smith Corona, that noise disappeared after the initial start.  I liked that I could choose my font size and style.  "The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog" take that typewriter!  The addition of a mouse made life even more simpler and no longer did I have to poke, poke, poke the up or over arrows to get to my places of errors.  I could type, type, type ten pages of material before going back to my errors.  Why?  BECAUSE THEY WERE UNDERLINED FOR ME.  How great is that?  And don't even get me going on spell check, or the addition of the Apple products.

So, Tom Hanks, you can keep your collection of FITT FITT and CHALK CHALK, CHALK typewriters that are music to your ears.  This girl?  This girl is quite happy with modern technology, and when it really comes down to it, still prefers using pen and paper.