About my Olivetti Lettera 32

My new typewriter is an Olivetti Lettera 32. It arrived by mail last week.

The brilliant Gerald dela Cruz restored the machine. He even added an extra—an old typewriter case that he painted over.

This Olivetti model sparked my interest years ago. I had read that the writer Cormac McCarthy had used one for most of his novels and screenplays. I looked up the model online. I liked how it looked—a certain quiet elegance and a pragmatic design seemed to emanate from it. Maybe I was being melodramatic.

Holding the machine and typing away random thoughts on old paper lying around the house, I realized I had not been exaggerating at all. This Olivetti is a truly gorgeous machine.

Why do I choose to collect typewriters anyway? I have several computers at home. I have several printers as well. But unlike these machines, they all run on electricity. Word processors are fine things, but they don't quite capture the beauty of typed letters, the carriage moving forward, the intelligent yet rhythmic sound of the keys soothing the mind as it figures out what thoughts to verbalize. The process is hypnotic.

I saw a YouTube clip of Woody Allen showing off his old typewriter (an Olympia Portable).The cover had been lost, but the machine seemed built to last forever. He also demonstrated the analog way of copying and pasting. He would literally cut portions of the manuscript and paste them wherever he wanted, say, for a paragraph to appear. He used a stapler, a pair of scissors, and glue. It is still fascinating to watch.

I don't really know where I'm going with this. But that's the thing with typewriters. Deleting a word or a line is inconvenient. I saw a YouTube tutorial that discouraged the use of correction fluid—or "Touch and Go," in my generation—because it could destroy the machine's type slugs. I suppose the alternative is to avoid errors altogether or simply accept that they can appear anywhere in the document.

The Olivetti Lettera 32 is a precious addition to my typewriter collection, which already consists of a Smith-Corona, an Underwood, an Erika Weinrich, and a Hermes Baby. I put them on rotation. I use them as often as I can.

I write stories and essays and lists with them. They bring me so much joy. To see them and to work with them—I'm amazed at human ingenuity.

But on a more specific note about the Olivetti:

First, I like its size. It is portable. The old journalists and writers used to carry this around. One of these days, I might just bring it to a café.

Second, I like its functionality. The keys are beautiful. The carriage moves smoothly. The bell is soft but still satisfying to hear.

Third, I like how it looks. The color is a shade of green—closer to olive, I suppose. I should look that up. It's true: it is indeed elegant to look at. But it also gives off a very serious vibe.

Olivetti Lettera 32 is coming to town

When Sheila Heiti interviewed the recluse Elena Ferrante, Ferrante wrote back: "I’ve written a lot, but sometimes I’ve had a hard time considering what I’ve written to be worth publishing." That’s what I’ve been doing privately. Writing, putting words onto blank paper, each page an adventure because I don’t exactly know where it’s going to lead. The fun is in the exercise. The story that emerges might be different from what I had originally intended for it to be. The human brain is a mysterious thing. An image, or a prompt, or a word can initiate the desire to transform something into stories. A sudden turn of a phrase, or the appearance of one character, can create turns in the narrative. Using a typewriter helps. I suppose it’s the inability to do anything else—you can’t browse anything, you can’t check your email, you can’t surf in the internet—and the rhythmic staccato created by the pounding of the keys that amplify the pleasure. I don’t get lost in the story. I’m finding my way through, with a vague sense of when and how the story ends. The background noise certainly helps.

I told my mother she should expect a package in the mail any time this week or the next. I placed an order for an Olivetti Lettera 32, restored and cleaned, the body bearing its original paint. I’ve wanted to get a Lettera 32 for years now, but I couldn’t quite justify the purchase. Why add to my small typewriter collection? How many typewriters does one actually need? After reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy and some of his interviews and profiles, including the fascinating article in the Atlantic, I contacted Richard dela Cruz, the brilliant man who restores these ancient machines from his shop in Quiapo, and right after I sent him an inquiry, he told was just about to complete finishing touches on, guess what, an Olivetti! I read somewhere that Uncle Cormac used that typewriter model, not the actual typewriter that's on its way to my house, for most of his stories.

From the Classic Typewriter: 

There are a few points in history where form meets function so deliberately that a work of art is born in the union. 

The Lettera 22 was designed by Marcello Nizzoli in 1950, and was an immediate sensation. It was awarded the Compasso d'oro prize in 1954. In 1959 the Illinois Institute of Technology chose the Lettera 22 as the best design product of the last 100 years. A specimen can be found in the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. 

Marcello Nizzoli followed up the wildly successful Lettera 22 design with the Lettera 32 thirteen years later. Though things got a little more square and less organic, something beautiful happened; one of history’s iconic typewriters was born. It’s been the machine chosen by countless writers throughout the century, including some of the most iconic creators of our times; Thomas Pynchon, Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen. 

I should find a shelf to put my typewriters on display at home. These old machines fascinate the kids, including my godson Lance, who once asked me, “What is that, Ninong?” I told him how to load the paper onto the carriage, and how to adjust margins, and so on. I had never felt so old until that day. Yes, I should put the typewriters on a shelf, preferably with glass, so the dust doesn’t get through.  You might see the Smith Corona, the Hermes Baby, the Erika Weinrich, the Underwood, but certainly not the stories I’ve written—no, no. They will, unlike my typewriters, never see the light of day. 

Why typewriters are having a renaissance

I showed some young visitors from church—young, meaning people in their "twenties"—my small typewriter collection. For Abby, a teacher, it was her first time to play with a typewriter. It fascinated her. Leklek, an engineer, said she saw some typewriters before. Jai, also a teacher, said it reminded her of old government officers—barangay halls, for instance, where typewriters remain the mainstay of generating certificates and documents. 

My ihado, Lance, once asked me, "Sulat mo 'ni, Ninong?" I gave him a typewritten note for his birthday. My message was about him honoring his mother and praying and reading his Bible every day. I said I wrote it with a Smith Corona; I would show the machine to him one day. 

And I remember Hans and Haley, Pastor Henry's grandchildren, who rush to all corners of the house and notice everything. Our dog Paul is always delighted by their presence. These kids, too, love my typewriters. 

They're amazing machines, manufactured many years ago, meant to be hammered and used every day. I hope I do them justice. 

Typecast 14: Traveling with high school friends

 

(Click image to enlarge. I used a Hermes Baby 3000 to write this.)

The first order of business when I return from a trip is to write about it. 

I get asked what my favorite travel destination is. I say it's the most recent trip I'd been to.

My answer is invariably the same, but also varies depending on what time the question is asked. For instance, if you ask me that now, my answer would be Taipei, because that's where I traveled for the first time with my high school friends. I had been to Taiwan before, but with different people. They were my residency batch mates in PGH Internal Medicine, to celebrate the end of residency, in 2018 I loved those times, and I miss those people. I bought a fountain pen in the city, a piston filler that has cracks now but can still be coaxed into renewed usefulness.

This recent trip with high school friends was conceived of during a baptismal party in Marbel. Daphny, Vanessa, and Willie were seated on the same table. I broached the subject of travel. Find a good price for a round trip ticket, book early enough, and block the date in the calendar. I tend to delegate these tasks to others: I’m an ambitious thinker, with very little follow-through. Katty overheard us. We didn’t include Katty because she had children. Mothers live jn a vastly different world, have a different priorities. But Katty, who had just given birth at that time, seemed determined to come with us. We also dragged Christopher along. He wasn’t around, but we couldn’t imagine this trip without him.

We may have forgotten about the trip or the booking, until someone reminded us we had tickets. By this time our small group was swimming in deadlines and work, the stuff of mature life, ambition, and need. As the busiest among us, I said I'd go through with the trip. The tickets had been booked, after all. Sayang naman. I had blocked off my calendar. I did not schedule chemotherapy sessions or out-patient cliinics during that time. Perhaps it was my resolve that reminded everyone in the chat group—which was how we had been communicating—to take a step off our real lives and take a quiet moment to see another part of the world (literally and figuratively).

On the day of our flights, Katty and Willie were in my dining room, having breakfast at my house. We were driving to the airport together. Our flight to Manila was in the afternoon. I had to do some rounds. I saw patients in the clinic who were only too happy to shoo me away. They said, “Have fun, Doc, you deserve it." I love my patients and am grateful for their lives. 

In the evening we flew to Taipei. Christopher, who always likes doing things at the very last minute, met us at NAIA. He did not get left behind. He is notorious for missing his flights. We had two glorious days of laughter and catching up. Then Daphny and Vanessa, who had to rebook their flights because of work commitments—Daphny’s job interview, Vanessa’s new work environment—eventually met us in the bustling Taiwan capital, and it felt like it was high school again. In a way, we were the same people, but different.

Typecast 13: Senses

My favorite line in chapter 1: "... dressed with that particular kind of shabbiness which marks the member of the intelligentsia on a holiday." 

That's my fashion-style—shabbiness—but not of the academic kind. Just plain old iron-deficiency. Why iron clothes when they'll be lukot when you put seatbelts on? My family disagrees.

Typecast 12: I hate to waste paper

(Click the image to enlarge.)

Sunday morning with rain, Hermes Baby, and the Bible

Feb 11, 2024, 6 am

Morning rain. The neighborhood looks gloomy. Even Paul, who is normally excited to begin his walk, looks sleepy, as if he'd had an all-nighter. In the corner of the living room, I read my Bible. My reading guide takes me to Exodus, where Moses receives the instructions from God. Moses, once an unwilling servant, is transformed by his meeting with God, Who speaks to him as a friend. The people rebel and sacrifice to idols. The passages display the supreme holiness of God and the wickedness of man. It also highlights the lovingkindness of God. God wants His people separate from the world. To distinguish them from the pagan peoples of the other lands, God instructs them through Moses to observe feasts and celebrations. The instructions are detailed. Feasts will force them to remember, as they are prone to forget.

My other reading takes me to Philippians, written by the great apostle Paul who is, scholars believe, in prison. Philippians is a joyful letter. One can rejoice despite difficult circumstances. To rejoice is a command. Paul reminds the growing and persecuted church to look over and beyond the present circumstances, and to praise God. There is rejoicing in the acknowledgment that in Christ, the Christian has everything. Paul calls all things—perhaps including his excellent education, his impeccable track record as a Pharisee, and his many other achievements, including the details of his pedigree—rubbish compared to the surpassing knowledge of knowing Christ Jesus as his Lord.

What else, truly, do I need when I have Christ?

Have a blessed Sunday. I write this using my Hermes Bay portable typewriter, which is delightful!

Typecast 11: Hermes Baby

The Hermes Baby has arrived. Mr. Gerald dela Cruz, typewriter restorer-extraordinaire, allowed me to receive this machine from his workshop in Comandante Street, Quiapo. It is a solid machine. He did not need to do repainting because it is well-preserved. It comes with the original case bearing instructions on how to change ribbons or which parts do what. This brings my collection of working typewriters to four: 

• the Smith Corona, which I used to write my entry for the Rotor Awards
• the Erika-Weinrich, a remnant of the Cold War, and 
• the Underwood Universal, which sounds like a character in a Netflix series (Frank Underwood, of course, from House of Cards!).

What a great addition to my growing collection. This typewriter is truly portable. It is very light and does not occupy too much space.

Reach Gerald through Instagram.

Embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope

Typed using my Underwood Portable.

Underwood Universal Champion Portable 1948 typewriter

The package has arrived! First imperssion: it's smaller than I imagined. But so, so beautiful!



Font size is smaller than the Smith-Corona, but I love it. Great restoration work by Mr. Gerald dela Cruz of Comandante Street.

Typecast 10: Bring up the bodies

He is not in the habit of explaining himself. He is not in the habit of discussing his successes. But whenever good fortune has called on him, he has been there, planted on the threshold, ready to fling open the door to her timid scratch on the wood.

That's a portion of the last paragraph of the sixth page of Hilary Mantel's Bring Up The Bodies. It's the second book of her Cromwell trilogy. I read the first book first, then the third. This book, the second, is when Anne Boleyn dies. There is hardly any surprise in the factual events of the story; much has been written about it. But it is Mantel's brilliant writing that draws me to her work. She crafts perfect sentences, if there are such things. 

I was at National Bookstore (SM Gensan) this morning. I visited the neglected spot on the right corner of the store, where books on sale were displayed. I saw a young man, probably in college, read the first chapter of Grit. He kept looking at the price tag, wondering, perhaps, if he had enough money for the week if he bought the paperback. I wanted to get it for him, but he left before I made the offer. I stayed on, sifted through the pile, and spotted Mantel's book right away. I bought it for Php 299. The dot-matrix printer at the cashier was not working. I said I didn't need the official receipt anyway. The lady at the counter thanked me, as she fixed the ribbons on the device. (I love the sound of dot matrix printers. We had one at the KNCHS Recorder, our high school newsletter.) 

I tell myself repeatedly that I shouldn't buy any more books. But who am I kidding?  I said the same thing about typewriters, but I just placed an order for a 1948 Underwood.

Underwood

Last week, I put in an order for the restoration of a 1948 Underwood Universal typewriter. Couldn't resist it. Been looking for an Underwood. Reminds me of Frank Underwood in the House of Cards. I should stop with this typewriter: I already have four, and I have nowhere else to store the new ones. All typewriters are old. They don't make new ones anymore. In this sense, I'm immensely grateful to Mr. Gerald dela Cruz, the great Filipino typewriter repairer and restorer.

Here's the Underwood currently:

Typecast 9: Lives of Others

 Rewatched The Lives of Others. Wrote about it in 2010. I loved it then, and I love it so much more now. 

Typecast 8: Erika!

Like I said, I'm finding myself falling, intentionally, into a rabbit hole. The Erike Weinrich typewriter, a gorgeous machine from Germany, arrived, greeting me as soon as I had arrived from Manila. (I had a quick meeting in Mandaluyong last Friday night.)

The key arrangement is different. Instead of the usual QWERTY, what this machine has is QWERTZ, likely because it's German-made. Sadly, the Adler Junior, which also arrived yesterday, had some defects and the carriage wouldn't move. The damage must have happened during transport. I spoke with Sir Gerald, the wonderful Quiapo-based craftsman, who offered to repair it.

I tried it out right away, and here's the first page. 

Typecast 7: Dreams

Typecast 6: Sean's birthday! And Hannah's, too! And Hannah Riza's, too! And Nonoy's, too!

Typecast 5: Driving

Typecast 4: Father's Day

Typecast 3: Guest blogging by Manong Ralph

Typecast 2: Musings on a Saturday morning