I spent some time this past week and over the weekend beginning restoration on my 1950 Royal KMG (Keyset Magic Grey) and getting it back “on [its] feet”.
fixed the grinding carriage
formed the bent rear tabulator enclosure
stripped down the body and did a full flush/cleaning on interior
light oiling
repaired disconnected typebars Q and @ by shifting the fulcrum pivot wire
repaired issues with the shift keys
formed the bar on shift assembly to improve the shift response which was abominably slow even after cleaning
fixed tab set/clear issues
tightened the loose mainspring for better typing tension/response
got the type “on feet” and made an adjustment to the motion
replaced ribbon
adjusted the typing line
scrubbed and shined the exterior
light polish and cleaning of typebars
polished the brights and the glass tombstone keys (wish I had keyring pliers for doing a full job on this)
removed the keyrings on two keys which desperately needed cleaning and adjustment
ordered new rubber feet and rubber compression fittings which should arrive later this week
I’ve definitely torn this machine down much further than any other I’ve worked on before, in some part because it required some extensive work, but also just for fun. I think after this I’m ready to completely disassemble an entire machine and rebuild it from scratch. Maybe on a Royal KMM or Royal X?
I’ve done enough work on this now that I can put it into my regular daily rotation. It’s sure to reveal a few additional small adjustments as I use it and there are one or two niggling things to tinker on while I wait for the new rubber parts to show up. I’ll also need to find an original metal pair of Royal standard ribbon spools. I suspect as the budget allows I’ll be replacing the platen on this shortly as well.
I’ve dubbed this machine “Slattery” in homage to John Slattery’s performance of the character “Roger Sterling” in Mad Men (AMC, 2007-2015). I’m sampling Scotches and bourbons to find an apropos pairing.
This typewriter (29 pounds) is the much bigger brother to my Henry Dreyfuss designed 1949 Royal Quiet De Luxe (16.8 pounds with the case, not pictured).
The Royal KMG, manufactured from 1949-1952, was known to have been used by writers including Saul Bellow, Edward Abbey, Joan Didion, Eliz Kazan, Arthur Miller, Fred Rogers, Rod Sterling, Carl Reiner, Grace Metalious, Wallace Stenger, John Ashbery, and George Sheehan.
If you’re restoring or repairing a Royal standard typewriter, I’ve started a YouTube playlist of videos, but it’s only got three videos with several more to come.
As some typewriter collectors have realized there is a typewriter revolution going on out there. This means that there’s a growing need for people who can clean, maintain, repair, and restore typewriters. If this sounds like something you’re interested in doing, there are a huge number of resources out there that you can tap into to figure out how to do all of this work on your own.
I’ve been wrenching on my own typewriters for several years and gotten deeper into the hobby over the past six months, so I thought I’d do a brain dump and outline some of the basic resources for those who are interested either in fixing up their own machines or potentially considering starting a repair shop.
Crash course on typewriter maintenance and repair
A list of resources and references for the budding typewriter repair person. There is a lot here that I’ve compiled and consumed, so don’t be overwhelmed. Half the battle is figuring out where to find all these things, so if nothing else, this should shave off a month or two of reading and researching.
Basic Introductory Material
Get a notebook and be ready to take some notes so you’ll remember where you found the random information you’re bound to pick up over time and are able to occasionally review it.
Work your way through Sarah Everett’s excellent Typewriter 101 videos (at least the first five).
Read Richard Polt’s book which is a great overview to the general space:
Next watch the documentary California Typewriter (Gravitas Pictures, 2016). It has some interesting subtle material hiding within it, but it will give you a good idea of where you’re headed off to. [YouTube copy; Archive.org copy]
Get a machine (or four) you can practice on. Get a flat head screwdriver and maybe a small adjustable wrench. Buy some mineral spirits and a small headed toothbrush and clean out your first machine. Buy some light sewing machine oil and try oiling it. Search YouTube for videos about how to repair anything that may be wrong with it. Usually 98% of the issues with most typewriters these days is that they need to be cleaned out.
Create an account on The Typewriter Database which will give you some additional access to catalogs, manuals, and dealer catalogs beyond what is available without an account.
If you intend to buy a bunch of these, you can get a discount by being a member of Ted Munk’s Patreon site. His personal website also has a plethora of ephemera that is often useful.
Richard Polt’s list of free service manuals and books also includes some correspondence course typewriter repair classes which are meant for the self-taught. Most typewriters are very similar so picking a good generic text that covers the basics is the best place to start before branching out to specific repair manuals for particular models.
Tools can be expensive, so start out small with just a few things and expand as you need them. You’ll be amazed at what you can accomplish with a single thin bladed flathead screwdriver, an adjustable wrench, a rag, a bottle of Simple Green cleaning solution, and a bottle of isopropyl alcohol. Most people probably already have these tools at home.
Videos
Subscribe to and become acquainted with YouTube channels like the following:
While watching a variety of videos is great, as you’re doing specific repairs search YouTube and you’re likely to find full demos of the repairs you’re doing yourself. This is where having a solid knowledge of typewriter parts and terminology can be useful. Almost every typewriter manual ever written has a diagram with the parts labeled. Hints for a Happy Typewriter has a pretty good set of typewriter terms to get you started.
I’ve compiled a playlist of videos for repair of an Olympia SM3 which, while specific to the SM3, is a an excellent outline/overview of how to disassemble a portable typewriter, where many of the adjustment points are as well as an outline of the order to do them in.
If you’re not a good typist or don’t have experience in the area, try out some of the following short films which will also provide some useful historical perspective:
The good news is that historically very few typewriter mechanics were also touch typists, but you should still be able to hunt and peck and understand the needs of your customers.
Internships & Apprenticeships
If you have the time and flexibility try arranging an internship or apprenticeship with a local typewriter repair shop. Meet your local repair people even if you can’t spend the time on an internship. You’ll learn a lot and create relationships with businesses who will more easily swap/supply you with machines they’re parting out or access to tools which may otherwise be difficult to source.
Hausrath, Alfred H., and Eugene L. Dahl. Typewriter Care. Edited by Walter K.M. Slavik. Federal Work Improvement Program United States Civil Service Commission and Government Division, U.S. Treasury Department, 1945.
In addition to the ton of resources (serial numbers, manuals, repair manuals, manufacturing data, typefaces, patents, etc.) provided by TypewriterDatabase.com, one of the primary features provided are the wonderful photos users upload of their typewriters.
These photos have lots of uses from basic identification to showing historical conditions of machines or highlighting immaculate restoration work. They also allow tracking changes in manufacturing methods and materials over time as well as documenting machines which may eventually become so rare as to eventually fade from memory beyond their archiving on the site.
One of the difficult parts of documenting your own models on the site seems to be getting a good “hero” or primary photo of your machine to represent it in various locations within the database. (The database labels them “Main front-face Typewriter” in the user interface.) This primary photo is usually the first one you upload and it is used in the “Most Recently Edited Typewriter Galleries” on the front page which shows thumbnail photographs, in individual model galleries, in the various “Grid View” (GRD), “Typewriter Porn View” (TPV), and the “Serious Research Views” (SRV) provided by the database. This primary photo is the one that represents each machine in almost all of the main areas of the database and is usually the one that draws viewers and researchers into its individual gallery to find out more detail about it.
Sadly, most of these primary photos seem to be taken and thrown up onto the database and the manner in which they’re presented is far from ideal. They’re often off-center, appear to be close up shots of random typewriter parts, or just plain unidentifiable. Even the so-called TPV or “Typewriter Porn View” photos are far from their descriptor; many would turn you off of a model altogether regardless of whether it’s a stunning Sholes and Glidden, a well-tuned Hermes, or a truly dreadful We R Memory Keepers plastic doorstop.
So the question is, how can we easily make these primary photos into the “hero” or typewriter porn photos they’re really meant to be? The secret lies in how the photo is laid out originally so that when it’s uploaded, all of these views are immediately accommodated. The Typewriter Database automatically crops photos down in a simple grid format to generate all of the thumbnails and custom views. Knowing exactly what it’s doing will allow you to take a simple, straightforward photo and upload it so that everything looks perfect without needing to modify or edit anything at all. (This also makes it simpler for lots of photos to be uploaded more quickly.)
For the Main front-face Typewriter photo, the database is expecting a landscape photo roughly broken up into imaginary thirds both horizontally and vertically splitting the image into nine rectangles. If you imagine a tic-tac-toe grid imposed on your photo as you take it, you’ve got the right idea. These days, most cameras and smartphones actually have software settings that will superimpose imaginary grids just like this onto your screen which makes doing this even easier. The diagram below will give you an idea of what I mean.
With this 3 x 3 grid imagined on your picture, center your typewriter exactly in the middle square. This center square is exactly what the database will display as the square thumbnail or “grid view” photo.
Next for the same picture consider only the three rectangles horizontally across the center of the picture. These three will become the TPV or “Typewriter Porn View” photo that’s displayed in the various galleries.
After you’ve taken the photo you’re going to feel as if there’s a lot of wasted space. When you look at it, it’s going to feel like the typewriter almost isn’t there. Why is it so small and lonely in the picture? But things will improve dramatically when you upload it and look at it in all the database views. Your sexy typewriter is going to shine online like it never would have before. Because you’ve done a little bit of planning, all those custom views are going to automatically look as lovely as you intended them to.
When uploaded, this photo
becomes this thumbnail grid photo
and this TPV photo
Would you rather see this:
Or this:
Pro TWdB tip: If you’ve got an account and you’re logged in, you’ll see indicators of which galleries have been recently commented on and how many comments they’ve got. This is where some of the smartest people in the typosphere can often be found hiding in plain sight. The database doesn’t have a notification system, but this is as close as it gets.
Other photos to consider
Once you’ve figured out your hero photo, you may ask yourself what other sorts of photos you might want to include in your gallery. Naturally having front, sides, back, top and some oblique angle views are excellent ideas. It’s often useful to include other photos researchers might appreciate or have specific uses for. These additional gallery photos are all displayed full-sized as you’ve uploaded them, so you don’t have to worry as much about any cropping worries or issues when you’re taking them. Just focus on getting great photos.
Does the typewriter have a special font? If it does, definitely include a close up photo or two of the type slugs so that people can see the small foundry markings between the two (or more) characters on each slug. This may help to better identify typefaces in the future.
Does the typewriter have special features? If so, get close up photos of them.
Does the typewriter have a custom paint job? Show it off with lots of photos and close ups. Most of my liked photo galleries on the database are machines with lush custom paint jobs.
Did you clean and service the typewriter yourself? Take photos of the process as well as close ups of pieces that needed extra attention or had tricky configurations. These can help guide people to know what regular configuration and morphology ought to look like on their models when compared with the broken versions they may have in front of them. These photos can be useful to other users for diagnosing problems they may have. While you’re at it, take a photo or two of the bottom of the machine.
Maybe you took a “naked” photo of the machine while it had the shell, platen, and keys off for cleaning? These can be useful for dating changes in internal configuration and features over time as much as changes in design features on the shells themselves.
Where is the typewriter’s serial number? Often people can’t identify their particular model, but can take guesses. If your gallery includes a photo of the serial number along with some context about where you found it on the machine, it might help them find theirs so they can better date their year of manufacture. (A close up of a number that doesn’t show were it was on the machine doesn’t help much.) Who knows, it may even help you later when you can’t remember where you found it yourself? Changes in serial number location within series can also be a useful indicator of factory retooling or factory moves over time.
Cases, cases, cases. Did your portable or ultra portable come with a case? Don’t forget to take photos of those as well. Cases definitely changed over time and having photos of the original case and its condition can be helpful for those attempting to replace theirs. They can also be helpful when damaged ones need repair or restoration work. What does the connecting hardware look like inside them? Did they come with manuals, or additional tools? Add those in too! Did you restore your case? Leave before and after photos.
Ribbon threading photos! Where are those?! While we have a wide variety of typewriter manuals available, it can be illustrative to have a close up photo of how your machine’s ribbon was properly threaded. Users of forums everywhere can more quickly and easily answer ribbon questions of others in the community if you’ve added good photos of the spools and how the ribbon was threaded.
Have you done research on the machine in its natural environment? Maybe you’ve researched newspaper or magazine advertisements from when the typewriter was released which tout its features and have original sales prices listed? Why not include photos of these important historical data points?
What other photos are we missing or forgetting that would be nice to have in the database? Drop a note in the comments.
On Sunday September 22, 2024, I picked up what appeared to be a boring-looking, run-of-the-mill, ubiquitous, mid-1950s Royal Quiet De Luxe in brown frieze crinkle paint from ShopGoodWill.com. These typewriters pop up everywhere and regularly sell in the $10-25 range. Of the 3163 typewriter models in the Typewriter Database, the Royal QDL is easily the most collected machine in the typosphere by a margin of 1.5:1 to the next closest model (the Smith-Corona Sterling) on the long list.
I present my 1952 Royal Quiet De Luxe portable typewriter with a special hidden feature.
The online auction listing for this particular typewriter happened to have a photo of the type basket which included a telltale W, whose sans serif centerlines crisscrossed, which piqued my interest beyond my collector’s desire for a late ’51/’52 QDL variation to pair with my ’48 and ’49 versions and my trusty 1955 model. It was listed for $10.99 when I first saw it, so I waited ever-so-patiently for 4 days with half a dozen alarms set to see if I could snag it for a dramatically below-marketplace valuation. There was one other bid for the minimum, so I put in two last minute bids, one for $20 and another for $1,000 just in case the other bidder had observed what I had noticed and intended to snipe it away. The typewriter collecting gods smiled warmly on me that day.
Eagle eyes, patience, and careful bidding won the day! Knowing the perils of typewriter shipping, especially from Goodwill, I followed up the bidding win and spoke to the GoodWill shipping manager and made an increased donation to their shop to ensure the machine was properly packaged for shipping to prevent possible damage to the uncommon machine. All-in I scored a Royal Vogue for the bargain basement price of under $100. It’s the biggest win I’ve experienced in my short typewriter collecting career. Unless I trip over a mint condition Sholes & Glidden sitting next to a garbage bin, I may be unlikely to surpass this level of luck again.
Given that I’ve seen machines, usually Royal model Ps, with a Vogue typeface go for $950-1,200 in unknown working shape on the open market, I suspect that cleaned up and in restored condition, this could easily sell for $1,500-2,500. Of course, I’ve fallen in love with the typeface, so I’m unlikely to let it go any time soon.
Design
This 1952 machine follows the QDL redesign by Henry Dreyfuss from August 2, 1945 which was put into production in 1948 and changed a bit in 1949. It maintained some of Dreyfuss’ angular shape as well as the tombstone shaped keys, though they changed from the older glass keys of the 40s to the green plastic of the beginning of the plastic onslaught which was to change typewriter manufacture for the next decades.
The front of the this iteration of the machine features a chromed Royal badging flanked on both sides with chrome wing features which have cutouts for the ribbon reversal and ribbon color selector switches. Later versions in subsequent years would lose the wings in lieu of a hood latch button and and a simpler ribbon color switch selector.
The Fall/Winter Sears catalog in 1952 listed this new variation of the Quiet De Luxe for $103.58 in both pica and elite options. The Vogue typeface would have been an available custom order option for a few dollars at the time, but it apparently wasn’t an often ordered one. Of the 522 Royal QDLs in the Typewriter Database at the moment, I’ve only found 5 (including this one) which have a Vogue typeface which makes it less than 1% of the total. Given collectors’ affinity for them, I could easily imagine the actual manufacture rate may have been even smaller.
Though the catalog indicates that the model was 17 pounds for both the machine and the case, my typewriter is 15.7 pounds by itself and 20.1 pounds in the case.
Overall condition
This machine has the appearance of having been at least moderately used. There are a couple bits of paint knocked off some edges (common with portables of this size) and the machine internals were relatively clean.
While the machine was in very solid workable and immediately usable condition when I received it, it definitely deserved some care and attention. In particular, someone had ill-advisedly used a black/correction ribbon on it, so the interior around and below the typing point was covered with white correction tape sludge.
On Saturday, October 19th, I spent several hours in the afternoon and then again in the evening pulling the machine apart, cleaning all the external and internal parts and flushing it out with lacquer thinner. Simple Green did an excellent job on the exterior, and I scrubbed some flecks of Correction Fluid off the body. A quick and very light oiling has the machine purring now. I also did a rubdown on the crinkle paint with some WD-40 to make the exterior truly sparkle. I’m now the proud owner of a scintillating wonder of engineering and typeface design.
Thought it had the appearance of being reasonably maintained, I couldn’t find any clues that it had had a major overhaul or serious cleaning aside from general maintenance. A few of the linkages had some old, brownish/black grease on them which I would take to indicate that it probably hadn’t been serviced since the 1960s. I’ll have to look up historical dates for the black/white correction tape release, but given the dryness of the black portion of the ribbon I’m guessing the ribbon may have been from the late 1970s.
Of particular note, the platen still has a small amount of “give” left to it and isn’t as rock hard as I might have suspected for its age. This means I may wait a bit and replace the platen(s) on other machines before I need to get to this one. The rubber rollers still work well and the rubber feet are in reasonable shape too.
The 1952 Quiet De Luxe came with an original period case as well as a key and the original typewriter manual, a digital copy of which can be found on Richard Polt’s Typewriter Site. (At the rate things are going, I’m finding extant keys are almost as rare with portables as finding a Vogue typeface.)
There is what appears to be a Social Security number scratched into the brown paint on the bottom of the machine. I won’t comment further other than to say its a California area SSN, which is where I purchased it, so there’s a reasonable chance that this was a single owner machine.
Keys
The keyboard has a typical mid-century Royal layout. The keys are in a traditional dark green plastic double shot with white plastic. They’re all in exceptional condition aside from the letter “C” which has a small surface flaw that I ought to be able to buff out pretty easily. There are 42 keys and slugs giving 84 typeable characters for a standard United States English keyset along with six additional keys for backspace, shift, shift lock on the left and tab, margin release, and a shift key on the right. The bottom of the 4 bank keyboard features a more standard inset brown spacebar than its 1948 and 1949 predecessors which had a blocky black design element that made the spacebar more integral to the front frame of those machines.
Other functionality
Manufactured roughly at the peak of typewriter functionality, this medium sized portable machine has almost everything a typist could want in terms of functionality.
There is a rear rabbit-ear style paper support, double sided Royal Magic Margins, touch control (inside the hood), a manually accessible ribbon switch and bichrome/stencil setting switch on the front, and five manually adjustable tabulator sets accessible from the back which are viewable when looking down with the paper table folded back. It has left and right carriage release levers, both temporary and permanent platen adjustment mechanisms, and a single card finger on the right side of the typing line. This QDL has the usual 1, 2, and 3 line spacing mechanism.
Case
The case certainly has seen some heavy signs of travel, but seems to be holding together well despite the wear. The inside is in excellent shape and none of the fabric on the exterior is coming off despite the heavy wear.
Typeface Sample
The typeface on my Royal QDL is the previously mentioned highly prized and much-sought-after Royal Vogue. It types 10 characters per inch and 6 vertical lines per inch. A type sample from my machine with blue and green ribbon appears below. If you need an extended sample, for fun I typed out a large portion of the lyrics to Madonna’s 1990 hit Vogue.
Before we were introduced to the ominous HAL 9000, some knew his older, creepy, sexist cousin Mr. Typewriter, personified by a Royal 660 which appears in the 1966 short film/advertisement Successful Secretary presented by Royal Office Typewriters and directed by Carl A. Carbone.
While there is some heavily gendered blather juxtaposed with some entertaining and atmosphere filling late-1960s jazz, the star of the short film is Mr. Typewriter who incessantly “sells” him self to a contemporaneous mannequin secretary.
This commercial for a 1966 Royal 660 electric typewriter predates Stanley Kubrick’s classic 1968 film 2001: A Space Odyssey by two years. But based on the scripting, pacing, composition, and even some of the character, it seems like Kubrick was heavily inspired by this short film.
HAL 9000’s tone in 2001 seems to have come straight from Mr. Typewriter and even some of the typewriter/computer personification particularly in the camera angles on the machines seems stark and heavily familiar. One can’t help but notice how Mr. Typewriter looms over the viewer at the 7 minute mark as it delivers it’s “helpful” advice.
“I think you’ll like the half sheet better. It is faster.” —Mr. Typewriter, [timestamp 6:59]
Litton Business Systems, Inc. was a subsidiary of Litton Industries, Inc., an American defense contractor that specialized in shipbuilding, aerospace, electronic components, and information technology. They had bought out Royal Typewriters and had created the electric Royal 660 (released in 1966) specifically to compete with the IBM Selectric (introduced July 1961). Given the time period Litton would have been a potentially more ominous corporate parent than IBM.
Movie buffs have often speculated that the letters of H.A.L.’s name were a one letter increment from I.B.M. Kubrick was known to have corresponded with IBM in relation to the film, but perhaps this was a macguffin to cover up the inspiration from Royal and Litton?
Here, Mr. Typewriter in a calm voice makes suggestions to a secretary about his usefulness while HAL does it for a male astronaut (a heroic figure of the space race in that time period). Suddenly the populace feels the more mysterious computer might be a bad actor compared to the typewriter which was slowly being supplanted.
With any luck, Mr. Typewriter wasn’t sexually harassing anyone in the office, but it’s highly unlikely any of the audience at the time was dwelling on such issues until Colin Higgins’ 9 to 5 (Twentieth Century Fox, 1980) which uncoincidentally featured a row of Royal electric typewriters in it’s trailer.
Intriguingly it bears mentioning that the voice over on the 9 to 5 trailer sounds like William Schallert, who portrayed the avuncular Professor Quigley in The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes (Walt Disney Productions, 1969), another film of the period which has something to say about personifying information systems and the coming era of artificial intelligence, though this time as embedded into the brain of a young Kurt Russell.
While the gendered roles portrayed at the time are atrocious (a male machine represented by a male voice is now directing the woman’s work in the office instead of her too-busy, jet-setting male boss), you have to love the techno-utopianism engendered by Successful Secretary:
“We’re living in an electric world, more speed and less effort.”—Mr. Typewriter
Dan Allosso’s (Obsidisan) Book Club will be reading Bob Doto‘s book A System for Writing (2024) as their next selection. Discussion meetings are via Zoom for 2 hours on Saturdays starting on 2024-10-19 to 11-02 from 8:00 AM – 10:00 AM Pacific. New comers and veterans are all welcome to attend.
The book is broken up into 3 parts (approximately 50-75 pages each) and we’ll discuss each on succeeding weeks. The group has several inveterate note takers who are well-acquainted with Zettelkasten methods.
If you’d like access to the Obsidian vault, please email danallosso at icloud dot com with your preferred email address to connect to the Dropbox repository.
DM either Dan or myself for the Zoom link for the video meetings.
In the second lecture of David Blight’s Devane Lecture Series 2024 entitled “Can It Happen Here Again? Yale, Slavery, the Civil War and Their Legacies”, he makes a passing mention of historian, professor, and prolific writer Paul Conkin’s office desk and side tables being covered in index cards full of notes. Further, he says that Conkin admonished students that for every hour they spend reading, they should spend an hour in reflection. The comment is followed by a mention that no one does this with the implication that information overload and the pressures of time don’t allow this.
Of course those with a card index or zettelkasten-based reading and note making practice will realize that they’re probably automatically following the advice of this towering figure of American intellectual history as a dint of their note making system.
On July 15, 2024 I acquired an oak filing cabinet with 16 drawers for 3 x 5 inch index card storage. It’s a warm and lovely piece of antique furniture as well as an excellent example of an early 20th century card index cabinet designed for business use and a paper-based pre-cursor of our more modern computer databases.
From the exterior, there were none of the typical metal badging or decals printed on the filing cabinet to give an idea of the manufacturer of which there were several dozens in the early 1900s.
It wasn’t until I began dismantling the cabinet for cleaning and some restoration that I found one of the four sectional inserts stamped with the words “Macey Inter-Inter / [unintelligible] / No. 1535 C.I.”. The three others had partial versions of a similar stamp, but only the “No. 1535 C.I.” portion is easily discerned without better imaging. Without needing to look it up, I immediately recognized the Macey name as the early 1900s mail order furniture company of Fred Macey which was renamed The Macey Co. and which also helped to get the still extant Steelcase company off the ground. This was a nice thrill for me as I didn’t have any Macey Company furniture in my collection yet.
My new-to-me filing cabinet is a Macey Company No. 15 Cabinet with four inserts of the No. 1535 C.I. card index frames which each hold 4 drawers for 3 x 5 inch index cards. This gives me an additional 16 drawers of storage each of which has a linear capacity of 16.25 inches for the drawers with card stops. (5 of the drawers are sadly missing either the metal slide hardware and/or card stops altogether.)
The cabinet frame is 61.1 pounds and each 1535 C.I. section (including its 4 drawers) is 17.9 pounds. This gives the entire cabinet in my configuration a curb weight of 132.7 pounds when empty.
A Macey Company catalog No. 4206 “Macey Filing Appliances” from 1906 lists the shipping weight of the filing cabinet frame at 75 pounds and sold it for $7.00. Each of the No. 1535-C.I. sections had shipping weights of 30 pounds and listed for $4.00. The complete case with 16 drawers was listed for $22.00. Adjusted for inflation from 1906 to 2024, this would be roughly $770.00.
The catalog listed the capacity of their 16 inch drawers at 1,950 light (or thin) cards, 1,550 medium cards, or 1,200 heavy cards plus 40 thicker divider cards.
For most of the (modern) index cards I tend to use, I’m guestimating that I can get 2,250 cards in each drawer giving me an approximate capacity of 36,000 for the entire cabinet. With a quick back-of-the-index card calculation, this would add about 110 pounds to the weight of the cabinet when full.
The catalog describes the cabinet as made of “quarter sawed oak” with “velvet gold finish” and solid cast brass trimmings. This roughly squares with the materials on my version. The catalog indicated that versions with card rods were available for an additional 25 cents per drawer, but mine doesn’t have any present. The metal clamps on the card stops do have an appropriately spaced hole in them which should make it easy to drill holes in both the front of the drawer and the card stop itself to install rods pretty quickly and easily at the factory.
The Macey Company had been around just before the turn of the century under the name Fred Macey Furniture, Ltd., so without better catalogs with parts numbers, the best range I can currently give to date my card index is roughly about 1900-1940. It couldn’t have been manufactured after 1940 as this was when The Macey Company went out of business.
The “Inter-Inter” brand marking on my drawers is a shortening of “Interchangeable Interiors” a method of sectional filing cabinetry as described in the company’s catalog. One would first select an outer cabinet or shell from one of four widths. After this, they would select the sorts of storage they needed within that shell from a variety of options including: vertical letter file drawer, deep storage drawer (for stationery and supplies), 3 x 5 card index drawers, 8 x 5 card index drawers, medium storage drawers (11″ x 2 3/4″ x 17 1/4″), legal blank drawers (for legal blanks, electrotypes, drawings, etc.), small or large cupboards with doors, flat letter file drawers, document file drawers, check file drawers, vertical cap file drawers (“suitable for filing legal blanks, legal documents (without folding) large photographs, blue prints, etc.”), deep storage drawers, 4 x 6 card index drawers, and etc.
The modularity of the system allows for a wide variety of storage needs. It also likely accounts for some difference in the drawers within my particular unit which may have been ordered a few years apart and mixed-and-matched over time as the original owner’s needs changed.
Now that I know about this modular system, I’ll be on the look out for other versions and alternate inserts in the secondary market. (I’m still looking for that 4 x 6 inch version…) Based on the systematic numbering in the catalog, the insert pieces seem to be the labeled with the width in inches of the exterior case followed by the numbers for the dimensions of the index cards. Thus the 3 x 5 inch index card sectional for a 15 inch cabinet is 1535 C.I. where the initials indicate “Card Index”. Thus we could correctly presume the 4 x 6 inch card index insert would be 1846 C.I. since the 4 x 6 modular insert fits into their 18 inch wide cabinet.
The Purchase
In the late spring of 2024, I saw what I thought was a 4 x 6 inch oak card index cabinet pop up in the listings on Facebook Marketplace for over $1,000 in Studio City, CA. Knowing that it was likely to sit unloved at that price, I bookmarked and waited. It quickly came down several times over a few weeks to the point I worried someone might actually snipe it. Watching the price reduction over a few weeks, I knew the seller was motivated, so I sent her a message with some data about actual sales of these and made an offer which was promptly accepted. A half hour later I was on my way to pick it up.
Of course I had been searching for an oak 4 x 6 inch card index filing cabinet for a while, but I was disappointed after seeing the details in her listing that the drawers were each 6-1/8″ wide x 4-6/8″ high to see that it was actually a 3 x 5 inch card index. (Her measurements were for the outside and not the inside.) Knowing that the piece was lovely and special, I succumbed anyway and took it.
I had double-checked the larger cabinet measurements before leaving to pick it up, but I was surprised to see that it barely fit into the back seat of my Lexus ES350!
History
While owned—though probably not heavily used—for about 42 years by a production manager in Studio City, this cabinet was previously used as a set decoration on the 1982 NBC television series Cassie & Co. starring Angie Dickinson. With the tag line “Ex-cop. New private eye. All woman!”, the show could be viewed as a follow up of Dickinson’s popular NBC show Police Woman (1974-1978). It appeared as a mid-season pick up following on the heels of the female two-hander Cagney and Lacey (1981-1988) and appeared in the Winter before NBC’s Remington Steele (1982-1987)—also featuring a female private detective—that premiered in the fall of 1982. Sadly Cassie & Co. only ran for 13 episodes before shuttering.
Here was part of the sales description for the cabinet when I purchased it:
This lovely old file cabinet is 52″ high x 14-3/4″ wide x 27-1/2″ deep. Each drawer is 6-1/8″ wide x 4-6/8″ high x 18-1/4″ deep. It has a few scratches on the side, but nothing that can’t be touched up. Otherwise, it’s in good condition. In the early 80’s, I worked on a TV series called “Cassie & Co.” starring Angie Dickinson. This (and another antique file cabinet) was purchased and used as set dressing in Angie/Cassie’s office. When the show was canceled, I bought the cabinets and have had them ever since. I don’t have specific background info on them.
Appearing before the release of the popular Apple IIe computer, the broad public would have expected to see not only filing cabinets but card index cabinets in a business office, so it would have blended right into the decor of the time.
Restoration
Naturally as a filing cabinet that is likely over 100 years old, it has seen some things. (And like Burt Bacharach and Frank Sinatra, it had a relationship with Angie Dickinson.) There are a number of scratches and dings in the top where pulling out drawers and setting them on top has obviously occurred. There were several white scuffs where the cabinet has rubbed up against painted walls or other furniture.
Prior to discovering the manufacturer and knowing about the modularity, I instinctively knew to remove the four screws in the front of the cabinet to see what they were attaching to and how. This led to the ability to pull out the four modular sections to see the interior of the cabinet which, in turn, led to identifying the manufacturer.
Based on the magnificently dirty and dusty internal condition of the cabinet, I think I’ve been the only person to open them up in over half a century. This took a few hours of vacuuming and careful cleaning to properly mitigate.
I then spent some time tapping several dozen nails back into place with an awl and re-gluing some of the loose dovetail joins. I’ve also filled in a few of the scratches and scuffs, given the full cabinet a complete cleaning, and followed up with a thorough polish.
One missing piece that I’ll have to recreate is a 26 inch strip of hardwood which serves a sled-like function for moving/sliding the cabinet. It’s missing from the bottom left hand side of the filing cabinet frame, but fortunately has a complete version on the right hand side that I can use to recreate the missing portion. It’s not necessary for regular use, but it does help to protect the bottom edge of the filing cabinet from wear and chipping.
There are surely a few more small issues here or there that will require some additional attention as I begin using it, but in general, this cabinet is ready for another century of use.
Typewriter Storage?
Naturally, while removing the drawers and internal sectional pieces, I noticed that the openings in the cabinet were just the right size and depth that each of the four sectional openings is capable of storing two portable typewriters each.
While I’ll be using this as a traditional card index, I could easily see someone removing one or more of the four sections to store their office typewriter. As a decorative test, I moved the cabinet next to my library card cabinet and loaded it up with some Olympia, Smith-Corona, Remington, and Royal typewriters. One could certainly do worse. After all, Fred Macy did custom manufacture desks for typewriter specific use.
New Grand Total
Recalculating from my collection of card indexes, I think this new cabinet brings our total up to 9 “boxes” with a total of 77 drawers featuring almost 125 linear feet of index card storage space. This comes out to the possibility of storing 208,183 index cards, with a cost per drawer hovering around $12.70 and still dropping.
In solid quarter sawn oak with solid cast brass fittings, it certainly classes up the collection significantly.
Now I just need to negotiate with my partner where this lovely piece of furniture will live in the house… or what will become relegated to the garage? At the moment, maybe this spot works?
What should I put into it first? Maybe since I’m not using X (fka Twitter) anymore, I’ll print all my tweets out and archive them in one of the drawers? Feel free to send me your favorite recipes on index cards as I’ve now got some extra space for them.
Photo Gallery
Below are some additional photos from the acquisition and cleaning process.
On Saturday, August 3rd, after a patience-trying wait, I picked up this lovely green 1958 Olympia SM3. It’s the first typewriter in my collection with both an exotic character set as well as a typeface that veers outside of the standard pica and elite typefaces.
It was a Facebook Marketplace purchase for a better-than-reasonable price. I had made a middling offer to someone out in Rancho Cucamonga not knowing what sort of condition the machine was in. I should have headed out the next day to pick it up from the seller, but with our respective schedules and the 45+ minute drive out, I opted to suggest a Saturday pickup. In the erstwhile, someone sniped it away from me with a significantly larger offer. And of course a day later, they’re on r/typewriters asking about what the typewriter was not realizing that it included some math and Greek characters. I watched and waited and stayed in contact with the seller for more than two weeks. As it turned out the bigger offer never materialized, so the seller told me to come out and pick it up for my original offer.
The seller was in her early 30’s with a relatively young family. She’d inherited the machine from her parents or in-laws who used it, but had kept it in an attic in Newport Beach for the past few decades. Apparently the original owner was a pharmacist, which may account in part for the custom Greek letters on the keyboard. Despite the intermediate inheritor, this has broadly been a one owner machine.
I tried to not show any shock at the non-standard typeface when I picked it up for what is assuredly below market value. I could easily have seen this going for $180-200 as a standard SM3 in unknown condition, but somewhere in the neighborhood of $300-400 with the non-standard typeset and the Congress typeface.
Overall condition
The machine had seen some reasonable use followed by neglect. The first thing I noticed was the damaged paint job on the case, which I’ll go into detail on below.
The usual bushings problem in Olympia SM3s was definitely present, but fortunately the seller hadn’t spent much time testing or tinkering with it to damage the paint job. I quickly swapped the compressed bushings out the day I brought it home.
The ribbon was mostly dried out and worn, but potentially serviceable, though I’ve opted to replace it entirely. One of the spools was an original metal and the other was a plastic replacement.
In addition to a carriage lock that wasn’t engaging properly, there were some issues with five of the custom keycaps.
Beyond this, the machine was generally in good condition. Despite some reasonable use, the paint finish is in great shape and only shows light wear on the front corners and the front edge of the hood. It definitely needed a good cleaning, oiling, and adjusting.
Richard Polt has posted a manual for the Olympia SM3 for those who’d like to see what originally came with the machine as well as its features.
Clean, Oil, and Adjust
I started the process of disassembling and cleaning the machine on Saturday, August 31st. I spent a portion of the day on Sunday finishing the cleaning and reassembling and adjusting the machine. Oiling the necessary parts as I reassembled made it far easier to limit the amount of oil I used for future maintenance.
My notes from mid-July were tremendously helpful in speeding this process along.
One of the most bothersome issues I encountered while cleaning it was that it was put up “wet” and stored for too long. The original owner had the all-too-common bad habit of erasing directly into the typewriter rather than moving the carriage to the side. This means that it had a fair amount of eraser crumbs stuck to the over-oiled carriage rails and other internals. Over decades of storage, this has heavily tarnished the carriage rails and required not only aggressive cleaning on some parts, but several rounds of metal polish to remove some of the tarnish. There are still some light stains on the internal “brights” which I’ve given up on after half a dozen attempts to minimize them. They’re now in much better condition, but not as perfect as I wish they might be.
Keys
The keyboard on this Olympia is a fairly standard U.S. based QWERTY keyboard meant for sale in America through The Inter-Continental Trading Corporation which originally imported Olympias into the Americas.
Of particular note on this machine, some of the standard keys have been swapped out with some custom math and Greek letter keys. These are the )/0, !/3/4, 1/4, 1/2, ,/, ./. which have been replaced respectively by )/ϒ, Ω/π, λ/∫, Δ/, , μ/.
I’ve already accidentally typed an upsilon instead of a zero at least once. It may take some work at the muscle memory to remember to use the capital “O” to make it as reflexive as doing an apostrophe-backspace-period to effect an exclamation point which this machine lacks in lieu of other glyphs.
While most of the keys have the appearance of being doubleshot plastic, the custom keys seem to have been manufactured differently. Perhaps they were etched out and then filled? In any case, the symbols on the custom keys were etched out and missing most of their original color making it difficult, but not impossible to know what they were. To quickly and easily restore them, I spent a couple of minutes with a Crayola crayon and the small gaps on the keys were filled in and looking nice and white again. This solution also has the benefit of being easily reversible from a restoration perspective.
Other functionality
Manufactured at the peak of typewriter functionality, this SM3 has just about all the niceties one could wish for. Compared to typewriters made since mid-century there isn’t anything really extraordinary about any of the features aside from their incredibly well designed and manufactured tolerances.
It does bear mentioning that while most other machines of this era were segment shift machines, this one is a carriage shift which can make using it for very long periods a bit more tiring. There are two manually adjustable spring mechanisms inside the machine to help alleviate some of this effect.
Of interest, in comparing this machine with my other 1958 SM3 which has a lower serial number, I noticed that the older SM3 has an additional scale on the back near the tab stops, but this one doesn’t. It’s likely a reasonable cost savings to have removed it which also frees the assembly line from needing to do another alignment procedure on them. From a functionality standpoint, it’s not a big loss as I tend to set my tabs from the front of the machine and can easily look down on the scale at the back of the paper table and align the tab stops with that scale anyway. The additional scale on the back would only have been useful for those who turned their machines around and set them from the back, but this would also need the scale to have been appropriately aligned to provide the precision in setting the correct stops.
Case
This SM3 came with one of the traditional curved, space-aged wooden cases painted in silver that most SM3s shipped with. The inside was in relatively nice condition and only needed a quick vacuuming and some brushing to clean it out. It also came with the original key on a small keychain.
Apparently the environment it had been stored in was less than ideal, so the exterior paint has reacted and has a terribly rough texture now compared with its traditional smooth surface. I’m going to have to strip and repaint it I think. I’ve seen some hammered metal paint finishes which might come close to matching the original, but I might opt for something completely out of the ordinary as well.
The metal on the case fittings has rusted significantly. I should be able to clean up and polish most of the metal fittings fairly easily, though I probably won’t be able to get them back completely without replacing them altogether.
Based on the condition of the case’s feet, I’m guessing the owner used the typewriter inside the case for most of their work. I’m debating whether or not to replace the feet, but I’m leaning towards doing it because they’re in functional, but marginal condition.
My Last Typewriter?
I suppose if you were going to quit collecting Olympia SM3s after getting a particular machine, this would be pretty close to the perfect one. This shirt I got on the same day as the typewriter is obviously about Olympia SM3s, as who could ever quit collecting? or perhaps as Richard Polt is fond of saying, “investing”?
Full transparency, I’ve acquired five machines since I picked up this typewriter, but I’ve also washed that t-shirt 3 times since then. With the washings you almost can’t seen any of the original screen print, so I suppose the universe has spoken on that account in my favor.
Typeface Sample
The typeface on this SM3 is a somewhat uncommon (though not rare as some might contend) Congress Elite No. 84 at 11 pitch or 2.3m/m. (I’d suspect it’s probably rarer in the U.S. compared to Germany or the rest of Europe, but have no data beyond my limited colloquial experience to support this.)
A type sample from my machine with its custom typeset and a new ribbon appears below.
Sound
Future
While I do like the difference in typeface, I’m not sure how much use this machine will get with my finely tuned and very similar 1958 SM3 which has an elite typeface I really love. There are still a few paces I want to put this typewriter through and one or two fine tuning adjustments I’ll likely make, but perhaps I may consider selling this?
It’s now in excellent condition and I may recover the original platen and rubber to enhance it even further. The issue may become how much to list it for as a potential sale? It has several uncommon features which may appeal to a serious collector who doesn’t clean and service their own machines, but who wants one of the most collectible machines out there with a few exotic features that is ready to type on from day one.
On Friday, August 16, 2024, I picked up a dreadful looking cur from GoodWill. On Sunday, I spent several hours the afternoon and then again in the evening pulling the machine apart, cleaning all the external and internal parts and flushing it out with lacquer thinner. A quick and very light oiling and a rubdown with WD-40 to make the exterior shine later, and I’m now the proud owner of a wonderful, and sparkling little Corona Zephyr.
Design
The Corona Zephyr manufactured by L. C. Smith & Corona Co. of Syracuse, NY was produced from 1938-1941 before being superseded by the Smith-Corona Skyriter. Both the Zephyr and the Skyriter were meant to compete directly with the Hermes Baby. Meant to be used on the go, these typewriters are compact and light.
My Zephyr with full spools and the case cover on weights 8 pounds 14.7 ounces. Typical standard (desktop) typewriters of the day weighed a ponderous 30+ pounds and even the burgeoning market of portable machines usually clocked in in the low 20s. In it’s case, the Zephyr measures 11″ x 12″ 2 11/16″. These were the OG laptop machines.
Overall condition
This machine has the appearance of having once been at least moderately used. There were some bits of paint knocked off the corners (common with portables of this size) and the machine had more than it’s fair share of dirt and grime inside. Fortunately it was full of eraser shavings like my Smith-Corona Skyriter was.
Based on the way several screws were inserted, I suspect that the machine had been serviced at least once in its life. But it was definitely used well and put up wet. My guess is that in the late 70s or early 80s, as with many typewriters, this was put into storage and forgotten about until it was donated and made its way into my stewardship. Somewhere in that journey it was housed back-down in its case and exposed to some level of moisture causing some moderate rusting on the bottom of the case and to the back of the typewriter. I spent some time removing the worst of of the rust, but wasn’t overly aggressive on it. With the modest treatment, I’ve hopefully arrested most future damage.
In addition to the rust, I had to repair the ribbon vibrator which was bent out in front of the typing guide, and I’ll have to address the ribbon pick up moving to the left which isn’t working. The model came with broken 2 inch universal plastic spools and dried out ribbon which will need to be replaced with the correct smaller spools.
Richard Polt has posted a contemporaneous manual for the Zephyr typewriter for those who’d like to see what originally came with the machine. My favorite is that the manual appears to be typewritten. It has all the keystone markings of a pre-WWII manual with sparce diagrams and a wall of text.
Keys
The keyboard follows the general format of Smith-Corona’s American No. 20A set up. As was the case for most pre-World War II typewriters, the Zephyr came with round glass keys. The machine has 4 banks of keys which had become standard by mid-century. With 46 keys, the observant typist will notice that there are no shift lock or margin release keys. The shift lock can be effectuated by pushing down either of the shift keys and then moving them to the side where their metal levers can be “locked” into a metal slot under the key lever. If there’s a way to easily release the margin lock, I’ve not found it.
Other functionality
Obviously, it’s light weight and portability means that corners were cut including features like margin release, tabulation and niceties like touch control or a paper guide. Presumably this was meant for writers, journalists, and students on the go rather than accountants.
The machine features a carriage shift, which is quick and light, particularly because of the small size and weight of the platen and carriage.
The Zephyr doesn’t have the typical bichrome settings, but only features monochrome functionality. However, it’s still capable of doing stencils. While many typewriters have a specific mechanical setting for stencils, they can all generally do stencils by unhooking the ribbon from the ribbon vibrator. It bears mentioning that the ribbon vibrator here is effectuated by an unconventional method in the form of a metal bar which is attached at the left side which arcs up and down rather than a central mechanism as seen on the majority of modern machines which only moves vertically.
The Zephyr uses the typical 1/2 inch wide ribbon, but requires a smaller ribbon spool of 1 3/4 inches in diameter rather than the universal 2 inch spool. This gives the writer closer to 12 feet of ribbon rather than 16, but is still very functional.
To my knowledge, these machines came with body-colored spool covers. Sadly, like many I’ve seen in the wild, mine are missing.
One of the clever features is a miniscule carriage return lever. (As a point of comparison, I think the “ice cream scoop” return lever on the Royal Empress standard may weigh more than this entire machine.) It’s a tiny cupped nub the size of a thumb or finger tip which can be used to press it in to do the line space and then slide the carriage back home. To save on weight and engineering, the machine only has a single space ratchet, but it does have a switch for allowing variable platen spacing for filling in forms. The paper bail is also a simple metal arm, which means it’s not great with thicker card stocks like post cards or index cards, though it will work passably with a single card finger next to the typing point. One would not be happy doing lots of index card work on this machine.
One of the curious features of the machine is that it doesn’t have a traditional universal bar to engage the escapement. Instead there’s a thin, but sturdy simple wire right at the typing point that is hit by the typebars when typing. Pressing this bar in trips the escapement and moves the carriage to the next space.
Also particular to this machine is the “jacket” or exterior enclosure into which the typewriter chassis slides for protection. The machine is so small and tight that getting it into and out of the case can be a bit trying compared to its close cousin the Skyriter. To get the Zephyr out, one removes six screws and two small nuts to free the rear panel from the jacket. Then there are four screws which hold the jacket on to the chassis—two on the sides at the carriage and two in the keyboard near the shift keys. Then one needs to press down the top row of keys to carefully wiggle the unit out. However, the felt on the bottom of the jacket can impede the sliding of the metal. As a result one is best advised to insert a few thicker (index card weight or heavier) pieces of paper between the metal chassis and the felt and another between the top of the case and the keys to ensure they don’t get caught or scratched up. When re-inserting, similar care must be taken for the felt as well as for the (now brittle) plastic feet.
As also seen on early models of the Smith-Corona Skyriter, the Zephyr has a thin metal case that has two metal prongs which fit into the rear of the typewriter and then comes down over the typewriter and clicks into place with two metal spring bars with buttons that depress from the front of the case. It’s a simple and no frills case/cover, but far more effective and functional than some of the similar integral covers of typewriters in the late 60s and 70s. It’s not present on my Skyriter, but this case does have a very fine velvet-like interior which I suspect was somehow sprayed into the inside of the case as it doesn’t seem like it’s fabric glued into it.
Typeface Sample
The typeface on my Zephyr is Smith-Corona’s ubiquitous Pica No. 1 face with 10 characters per inch and types with 6 vertical lines per inch. A type sample from my machine with an overly wet, new ribbon appears below.