Phoenix Typewriter from YouTubeTurns out, it was exactly my issue and the pieces had “frozen up”. A quick clean out and we’re back in business in under 20 minutes.
Some how it felt sacrilegious to post it to Goodreads.com and not to type my status update for Richard Polt’s poetic paean to typewriters.
The kicker on this typewriter model for me, beyond the general beauty of this era of Royals, was reading that Henry Dreyfuss (1904-1972), one of the most influential industrial designers of the 20th century, had produced a model of the QDL for Royal in 1948. In my opinion, it’s one of the prettiest in the entire Royal line, and possibly in the pantheon of typewriters in general. Really, who could resist the textured crinkle gray magic paint, the hint of yellow in the lettering, with just enough black and shiny chrome, combined with metal wrapped glass keys that lovingly cup your fingertips?
Also intriguing to me was that Dreyfuss had lived, until his death in 1972, in South Pasadena, California seven tenths of a mile from my old apartment on Orange Grove Boulevard and less than 7 miles from my current home in Altadena, CA. It seems very apropos to have a neighbor’s typewriter in the house.
For those who are unaware of his name, you’re surely aware of his work which included the design of iconic products which included the Western Electric Model 500 telephone, the Princess phone, and the Trimline phone; several John Deere tractors; the ubiquitous round Honeywell T87 thermostat; Polaroid’s SX-70 camera; the Westclox Big Ben clock; Hoover’s model 150 vacuum cleaner, and the New York Central Railroad’s streamlined Mercury train as well as their Hudson locomotive for the 20th Century Limited.
It could easily fit into a dark academia setting and might be the typewriter you could imagine Cary Grant, George Clooney, or Jude Law would have on their desks.
Henry Dreyfuss’ Royal QDL certainly meets both of William Morris’ criteria when he instructed “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” As the brief typewriter manual touts, the machine “will add grace to any room or setting.” It is not wrong. This machine is both handsome and dapper all at once. If a typewriter were to wear a business suit bordering on formal, this model would be the life of the cocktail party wearing a debonair hat.
The serial number on the machine is A-1927573 which the Typewriter Database dates to 1949. Based on the spread of serial numbers from that production year, this was likely manufactured in December of 1949. This means that this machine will celebrate its 75th birthday this coming Winter. I intend to give it the 75th year it richly deserves.
I bought this in an online auction with very little information to go on, but things have turned out exceedingly well for just a few dollars. The typewriter came with the original case, a small 14 page manual describing it as “Gray Magic”, and a Royal typewriter brush. The machine itself has almost no external flaws or scratching. It definitely shows some signs of use and age, but the exterior cleaned up very well.
All the keys worked well aside from one or two which may need some minor attention for borderline stickiness. The machine’s shift keys were binding when I pressed them, but I couldn’t see anything obviously causing any issues. A quick trip to Phoenix Typewriter’s YouTube channel identified the problem and a fix that was done in about two minutes of simple adjustment by properly forming a small metal tab.
The variable spacer on the left platen knob also seems to have an issue, but I can easily get around it functionally until I have a few minutes to figure out what might be causing the problem. I’ll also have to do a quick clean out of the insides to remove some built up oil and dust and give it a quick service. The rubber feet and the platen have certainly seen better days; I’ll get around to replacing them shortly.
The ribbon it came with, a standard black and red on the original (universal) spools, still has some reasonable life left in it.
The case which has a predominantly yellow and black flecked tweed wrap has seen some action but is in generally good shape for its age. The interior seems near mint while the exterior has a few minor discolorations and one small stain. One of my favorite upcycle recommendations: “With the Portable removed,” as stated in the manual, “the case may be used as an ideal overnight bag.” I could almost imagine that Roger O. Thornhill in North by Northwest (1959) wished he’d had such a case when embarking on his escape on the Twentieth Century Limited from Grand Central Station with Eve Kendall. In fact, I’d almost swear that a brunette version of Eva Marie Saint is on the cover of the typewriter’s manual.
The Royal earns the “De Luxe” portion of its name with the lush keys alone. While many newer typewriters of its era were converting to less expensive mass manufactured plastic keys, the QDL went with somewhat square keys with a domed top. Some might describe them as “tombstone” keys, but their subtle roundness provides a memento mori that makes you elated to be alive and using them. The letters are a very light yellow against a black background with the yellow hints being picked up again in the numbered hashes on the paper table scale. Over the keys are polished glass which is indented slightly. The manual calls them “Finger-Flow Keys” which are “designed to cradle your fingertips.” The tactile experience is sublime.
The 49 key keyboard is a standard American typewriter set up without any frills like a “1” or an “=”. The usual back space and margin release (labeled “Mar Rel”) are present along with both left and right “Shift Freedom” shift keys and a shift “lock” key on the left side. (The typewriter has a basket shift rather than a carriage shift.) A “tab” key sits in the top right of the keyboard next to the */- key on the top row.
The front of the keyboard features an ample black Bakelite space bar which forms the front edge of the machine. It’s presence helps to ground the machine and balance out the black Quiet De Luxe badge and platen at the top of the machine. This design prevents one’s thumbs from hitting a front metal frame of the typewriter, which happens on some poorly designed models in which the spacebar doesn’t sit above the frame with enough clearance.
This is the first machine I’ve had with an adjustable or disappearing card finger which one can move down out of the way with a quick pivot. This pivot is useful for more easily switching ribbons, but given the number of index cards I go through, it’s likely to stay in the up position most of the time.
I’ve never previously had a typewriter with a Magic Margin™, but this one has got a small metal switch on the back left of the machine which allows one to set the left margin quickly and easily with a tiny pull. Of course one can flip up the paper table behind the platen to expose the two metal margin set mechanisms which can be set manually. I love how Dreyfuss has cleverly hidden this functionality. I’d have to take a look at the margin set mechanisms to ensure the escapement would be protected properly, but when storing the typewriter, one could quickly center the carriage and set the margins for the center character as a pseudo-carriage lock.
Unlike later typewriters of the mid to late 1950s which had an almost infinite number of tab stops, this Royal Quiet De Luxe is equipped with a bar on the back of the carriage with five individual stop mechanisms which can be set as desired by sliding them into place.
Just above the keyboard, almost functioning like the cummerbund of the typewriter’s tuxedo, sits a subtle band of chrome with two small, elegant but somehow substantial horizontal switches. The left switch manages the direction of the ribbon. On the opposite side is the traditional slider with red, blue and white for switching between the bottom (red) and top (blue) of the ribbon or choosing the stencil setting (white).
The case has a clever hinge lock that can be actuated with one finger while sliding the top of the case right with respect to the bottom to remove it from the hinge posts. The case also has a convenient clip for the brush as well as for the manual and any other papers one might wish to take. Also mounted in the top of the case is a carriage protector meant to keep the carriage in place while in transit as the machine doesn’t have a carriage lock.
The bottom of the case has two black rails with four silver metal pins and black metal thumb locks. The pins fit into the bottom of the typewriter’s feet and the thumb locks slide easily to lock the typewriter into the case.
The pitch on this machine is 10 characters per inch (pica). The full platen is 94 characters wide with 6 spaces coming before the ‘0’ marker.
Tortured poets Dylan Thomas and Patti Smith both used typewriters. I still use several too.
In chapter two Mr. Brooke, the uncle, asks for advice about arranging notes as he has tried pigeon holes as a method but has the common issue of multiple storage and can’t remember under which letter he’s filed his particular note. [At the time, many academics would employ secretarial staff to copy their note cards multiple times so that a note that needed to be classified under “hope” and “liberty”, as an example, could be filed under both. Individuals working privately without the support of an amanuensis or additional indexing techniques would have had more difficulty with filing material in the same manner Mr Brooke did. Digital note takers using platforms like Obsidian or Logseq don’t have to worry about such issues now.]
Mr. Casaubon indicates that he uses pigeon-holes which was a popular method of filing, particularly in Britain where John Murray and the editors of the Oxford English Dictionary were using a similar method to build their dictionary at the time.
Our heroine Dorothea Brooke mentions that she knows how to properly index papers so that they might be searched for and found later. She is likely aware of John Locke’s indexing method from 1685 (or in English in 1706) and in the same passage—and almost the same breath—compares Mr. Casaubon’s appearance favorably to that of Locke as “one of the most distinguished-looking men I ever saw.”
In some sense here, we should be reading the budding romance, not just as one based on beautiful appearance or one’s station or even class, but one of intellectual stature and equality. One wants a mate not only as distinguished and handsome as Locke, but one with the beauty of mind as well. Without the subtextual understanding of knowledge management during this time period, this crucial component of the romance would be missed though Eliot later hints at it by many other means. Still, in the opening blushes of love, it is there on prominent display.
For those without their copies close at hand, here’s the excerpted passage:
“I made a great study of theology at one time,” said Mr Brooke, as if to explain the insight just manifested. “I know something of all schools. I knew Wilberforce in his best days. Do you know Wilberforce?
“Mr Casaubon said, “No.”
“Well, Wilberforce was perhaps not enough of a thinker; but if I went into Parliament, as I have been asked to do, I should sit on the independent bench, as Wilberforce did, and work at philanthropy.”
Mr Casaubon bowed, and observed that it was a wide field.
“Yes,” said Mr Brooke, with an easy smile, “but I have documents. I began a long while ago to collect documents. They want arranging, but when a question has struck me, I have written to somebody and got an answer. I have documents at my back. But now, how do you arrange your documents?”
“In pigeon-holes partly,” said Mr Casaubon, with rather a startled air of effort.
“Ah, pigeon-holes will not do. I have tried pigeon-holes, but everything getsmixed in pigeon-holes: I never know whether a paper is in A or Z.”
“I wish you would let me sort your papers for you, uncle,” said Dorothea. “I would letter them all, and then make a list of subjects under each letter.
“Mr Casaubon gravely smiled approval, and said to Mr Brooke, “You have an excellent secretary at hand, you perceive.”
“No, no,” said Mr Brooke, shaking his head; “I cannot let young ladies meddle with my documents. Young ladies are too flighty.
“Dorothea felt hurt. Mr Casaubon would think that her uncle had some special reason for delivering this opinion, whereas the remark lay in his mind as lightly as the broken wing of an insect among all the other fragments there, and a chance current had sent it alighting on her.
When the two girls were in the drawing-room alone, Celia said—
“How very ugly Mr Casaubon is!”
“Celia! He is one of the most distinguished-looking men I ever saw. He is remarkably like the portrait of Locke. He has the same deep eye-sockets.”
—George Eliot in Middlemarch (Norton Critical Edition, 2nd edition, Bert G. Hornback ed., 2000), Book I, Chapter 2, p13.
I saw hundreds of images of the eclipse today, but none remotely similar to mine. While thinking back on how I imaged the eclipse with my “pinhole colander camera”, I realize that so much of my life is informed not only by science, but the science of cooking. 
I’d mentioned that my Steelcase card index came without the traditional card stops/follower blocks at the back of the drawers. Needing a solution for this, I’ve discovered that my local Daiso sells small, simple bookends for $1.75 for a pair and they’re the perfect size (7 x 8.9 x 9.2 cm) for the drawers. These seem to do the trick nicely, though they do tend to slide within the metal drawers without any friction. Giving them small rubber feet or museum putty from the hardware store for a few cents more fixes this quickly.
Yesterday, the typewriter arrived, and today I took a short break to open it up and give it a short test drive. In addition to the fantastic news that the machine is in stunning shape, its color is about as perfect a match to the pen and the desk as one could ask!
The overall condition was beyond my dreams for this vintage and with some plastic portions. The typewriter only has a few signs of use and wear with some paint worn off at the corners of the back and on the right hand side where the platen knob meets the body. A bit of the “R” on the top Remington logo is worn off and seems to be thermally printed on, so I wouldn’t recommend heavy scrubbing, harsh abrasives, or caustic chemicals when cleaning the bodies of these for fear of removing the logo all together. These small flaws gives the machine some nice patina and the street cred of some reasonable use as a portable. There’s some small wear to the plastic hood where the two position return lever has rubbed against it. Otherwise it is in about as good a condition as one could hope.
All the keys worked with some severe stickiness on the “L” key. The smallest of tweaks on the head of the typebar remedied the issue without resorting to cleaning. The margin release wasn’t operating properly, but only because an obvious and easily re-mounted tension wire had become unhooked.
There is some minor grime and dust inside the body which could stand some cleaning, but it’s in great shape right out of the box. I’ll try to spend some time blowing it out and cleaning it up internally while I await some replacement ribbon.
The typewriter itself is has a metal chassis which is permanently screwed into a slightly darker plastic green base. This base dovetails with the plastic lid to create a case with a rubber-like plastic handle. Sadly the lid of the case was badly cracked and splintered into a dozen or so pieces in shipping, so I’m going to consider the lid a total loss. I’ll have to fashion some type of cover to keep the dust (and more importantly the German shepherd fur) out of the internal mechanisms.
On this model, the serial number is imprinted on to the black metal bottom chassis between the “U” and “J” keys when looking down at the typewriter from above. The serial number on my particular machine is AX 16 74 89. Sadly, the Typewriter Database doesn’t have serial numbers for this model or the late 60s or early 70s timespan in which these were made. One model in the database is dated to 1969 with a serial number starting with CX so it’s possible mine may be as early as ’68 or ’69 but sadly without better data, one can’t be sure.
Richard Polt has a Remington Streamliner manual for the 60s available, and though it’s close in broad look and functionality, it’s obviously not for this specific model or year.
Given the time period and the metallic mint paint, I do sort of wish this model also had Positraction, but then I suppose it would have needed to be produced by GM rather than Remington.
The keys appear to be thin beige pieces of almost bone-like plastic floating in mid-air but have thicker plastic and metal bases which give them a nice action. There’s a standard back space (curved arrow on the left), a margin release (double arrow on the right), but surprisingly for the age, is missing a dedicated 1/! key. There is no built-in tab functionality.
The machine has the typical larger Remington ribbon cores and this one included a dead, improperly seated ribbon on original metal rings. I swapped these out briefly for a new ribbon, though the plastic hub doesn’t seat as tightly as one would wish for the ribbon advance to work properly. I’ll get some new ribbon and handspool it onto the original cores and we should be off to the races. I’ll note that no metal ribbon covers, which had been standard on earlier models of this make, were present, though its probably just as likely that these were never included on their later models either for weight, functionality, or manufacturing cost reasons.
I’m don’t see any switch or button for the spool reverse, but suspect that the built-in mechanical sensors will operate as expected for Remingtons of this era. If not, it’s easy enough to actuate the switch manually with the hood off.
Also not available on this model is a switch for using two colored ribbons, so I’ll just have to be satisfied with a single color.
As a later portable, the machine is missing some of the additional niceties of heavier late 50s or early 60s desk models. It does have a “card finger”, though only on the left. The return arm has two positions and a simple friction fit operation—one for use and the other for storage.
The machine has a carriage shift rather than a basket shift. The platen knobs are rather on the small side, and don’t have a typical button for variable line spacing. This line spacing functionality is built into the small switch on the left hand side for single or double spacing, but is labeled as “0” for small adjustments. It doesn’t appear to have a carriage lock of any sort, but does have margin stops and a satisfying bell.
In general, this model is a no-frills portable meant for basic functional typing on the go.
The pitch on this machine is 10 characters per inch (pica). The full platen is 85 characters wide.
Since I don’t have a properly inked/fitted ribbon for it yet, I’ll post a typeface sample at a later date.
It covers variations of personal knowledge management, commonplace books, zettelkasten, indexing, etc. I wish we’d had time for so much more, but I hope some of the ideas and examples are helpful in giving folks some perspective on what has gone before so that we might expand our own horizons.
The color code of the slides (broadly):
I swear this is my last one for a while… at least until I find a reasonably priced and superb condition late 50s Olympia SM3 preferably in either green or maroon.
Having purchased it “untested” as an auction item at bargain basement price, you’re never quite sure what to expect, you just pray for no major escapement damage and go from there. I fully expected to need to fix half a dozen bits and some heavy cleaning as I have with other machines. As it turned out, each part I began testing worked flawlessly and the machine is quite clean!
In general the machine is in near mint condition. There is one tiny brown discoloration spot on the case, but, the case being brown, it’s not very obvious. Beyond this, the case looks like it just came off the factory floor.
The machine was generally very clean and almost looks like it had been serviced and then not used since. There was some lint and dust on the bottom which wiped off easily and a quick blow out should clear the rest. There are one or two minor signs of wear to the powder coat on the front and a small bit of peeling on the bottom rear, but overall it’s been pretty well loved and probably not seen more than a few years of moderate use.
Everything functioned as expected save two required adjustments relating to how the slugs strike the platen. The capital letters were striking a tad higher than the lower case, but the adjustment for the UC “on feet” screw on the bottom of the typewriter fixed that issue fairly quickly. There’s also two separate brackets each with two screws that will require adjustment for the caps lock to be properly aligned as well; I’ll take care of that later this week sometime. I notice one or two small screws that could use some fine tuning as well, but I’ll get to that shortly as well. Interestingly there is already a YouTube video for some of these adjustments for this exact year model should anyone need it. Additionally, Theodore Monk has some details for alternate makes/models.
The serial number on the machine is QR3214352 which the Typewriter Database dates specifically to April 1957. This means that this machine will be 67 years old this coming Spring.
Unlike many early typewriters, this keyboard has a dedicated key for the “1”/”!” as well as a dedicated caps lock key for the right hand (in addition to the usual one for the left). Also present is a special “Tab” key on the right hand side just below the margin release “M.R.” key.
In addition to some of the standard functionality, including tab settings which became common in the 1950s, this unit has an auto-reverse for the ribbon, 3 type select settings for finger pressure/action, and three line space selections. Richard Polt hosts versions of the Quiet-Riter manual (1955) as well as a parts catalog (1953) a service manual (1953).
Of particular note (and something I’ve never seen on a machine before) is a set of teeth on the platen which have a custom switch for fractional line spacing. This is useful for sub-script and super-script needs. It’s effectuated by pressing down on the line locating lever on the left side near the platen knob which then allows one to rotate the platen up or down the required amount to type the characters. When done, one switches the lever back to set the platen to the original line spacing. This would also have been useful on older machines for creating equal signs with two strikes of the hyphen, but isn’t needed on the Quiet-Riter which has a dedicated “=” key.
While the unit came with an all black ribbon in usable shape, I chose to switch it out with a new blue/black combination. The Quiet-Riter has the larger custom 2cm core rings and spools (and this unit had the original metal rings and covers), so I had to manually remove the plastic cores from the newer ribbon and carefully insert them into the machine so that when the spool empties the mechanical sensor will trip and automatically reverse the ribbon. Of course, given the set up one could also wind their own replacement ribbon as seen here:
The pitch on this machine is 12 characters per inch (elite). The full platen is 110 characters wide.
