McTaggart to the Rescue - Ugly Duckling Typewriter Complete

Yet again the Typosphere has come good for a collector in need. John Lavery in Queensland ("McTaggart's Typewriter Workshop") saw my blog post last week about the "Ugly Duckling" Hermes 2000 and immediately offered to help.
Even with rather urgent family matters to attend to, John still found time to come to my aid.
My plea was for a set of front section joints to complete the restoration of this badly battered Hebrew language typewriter. Both John and I had had Hermes 2000s damaged in transit in exactly the same way - dropped on the front, breaking both the two joints and in the process buckling the two side sections where the joints slide in. 
Somehow I had mislaid the two joining parts from my Hermes - I've yet the find them, but they still needed to be glued back together again, I think.
Anyway, John very kindly sent me the two joints from his machine, which arrived in a small parcel in the post this morning.
Two hours later the job was done, and I am delighted with it. I had just enough of the matching paint left to cover the replacement parts.
Because of the damage done to the side sections (and one of the joints from John's machine also had a largish chip out of it), the fit isn't perfect. The openings on the ends of each side section had been so badly buckled it was difficult to get them dead straight again - even without such damage, slotting these joints in is always going to be a tight fit. But with a dab of Vaseline, I squeezed them into place and even managed to attach a couple of screws underneath. All done!
A big thank you to John for once more underlining the true nature and shared joy of the Typosphere - the cooperation and the generosity seem to know no bounds!

Replacing the carriage lever on a Royalite portable typewriter

This Royalite has the serial number RL 3238581, which means it was one of the earliest Royalites made (in Holland), possibly as early as 1956, but certainly by early 1957.

Replacing its lever was a task I had put off attempting three or four years ago. Initially, I thought it would be impossible, as it seemed the lever which had snapped off it had been a one-part piece and I couldn't work out how it was attached.

Last week's success with the carriage lever-line spacing mechanism reassembly ("IT WORKED!!" declared an excited Nick Bodemer in a comment on that post - as if there'd ever been any doubt about it!) gave me renewed courage to tackle this "mission impossible". I got there in the end, but I had been quite right to think it would be difficult in the extreme:

I should have included some of these images in the last post on this subject ("Being For the Benefit of Mr Kite") - especially the carriage lever and line-spacing pieces. Anyway, here are the main components involved in this operation. The "spares" are the nut and ('burst', or flattened) spring from the screw which attaches the lever to its casing, and which popped out of this typewriter when I began to work on it. I imagine that when the previous owner broke the lever, the bits holding it to the machine just hopped or fell (or were dumped) into the machine. What was left, at least visibly, no doubt led me to think the lever couldn't be replaced.

The first task, of attaching the spring to the lever screw and the lever, is the least of the problems, certainly when compared with the taut spring which surrounds the pin attaching the lever casing to the body of the machine. However, I should point out that if it had been possible for me (especially if I had had four hands) to attach this screw and its spring to the casing WITHOUT removing the casing from the machine, the whole operation would have been far, far simpler and quicker. But given the need to grip the nut and attach the screw while holding the spring, I figured I had to take the casing off. The tight angles and room to manoeuvre make it almost impossible for one person to handle this operation otherwise. By removing the pin which holds the casing to the machine, I of course released the spring inside it, creating a major problem. If anyone attempting this lever replacement job can attach the screw and its spring which holds the lever to the casing, without taking the casing off, I would most certainly recommend doing that. 

Here is how the spring attaches at one of its ends to the lever, and below the hole on the screw through which the other end of the spring is placed.

With the casing still attached to the machine, getting at the nut while reattaching the lever screw and holding the spring in place is almost impossible with just two hands. Below is how it all goes together, with the casing taken off the machine, leaving the onerous task of getting the casing, with its inner spring, back on.

This is the pin which holds the lever casing to the machine. It goes through a taut spring, inside the casing, which attaches over on the back end and under on the front side of these two lips from the main body of the typewriter. The spring quickly returns the lever to its normal position after it has been used to turn the platen and return the carriage to the left.

I turned the machine upside down to get the casing's taut spring in position inside it and with the pin running through it. 

The lever is reattached. This leaves me the task of reattaching the platen turning piece, squeezing it in between the line-spacing piece and the left edge of the body of the machine, so that the lever casing lip (circled) hooks inside it.

Below are a couple of small but handy hints when dealing with this model. I should point out that some of this may have been unnecessary on the gray Royalite, as on that machine the knobs could be removed and the centre rod left in place. However, on the green machine I had to take the centre rod out and I also had to remove both carriage end covers. 

One little surprise left in store for me was to discover the carriages on the green and gray machines were different lengths. To the naked eye, looking at the two machines when (almost) fully assembled, there was no discernible difference between them. It was only when I went to reattach the margin-setting bar that I realised the lengths were significantly different. The green machine has the shorter of the two carriages, for some reason.

Imperial Model 80 Standard Typewriter (Booty II)

The colour selector and touch control settings appear in a small hole on either side of the keyboard and are changed by a switch underneath the machine (below)

The serial number on this model, which was launched in April 1968, is 7F07049, which means it was made later in 1968. The sequence for the model is:  Series I - 7F0001 (1968), 7F38741 (1969), 7F83182 to 8F20392 (1970);  Series II -  8F20393 (1970), 8F30940 (1971), 8F81686 (1972), 9F25219 (1973). 

Donald Lampert, below is the powder blue monster you asked about, the Model 80's immediate predecessor, the Model 70, which was made by Imperial in Leicester (first in 1962) before the Litton takeover in 1965. According to Beeching, however, it continued to be made until 1968, when it was succeeded by the Model 80. The carriage can be removed, but it doesn't appear to me to be a true demountable like Models 50 through to 66 (55, 58, 60, 65).

 Below is the original Imperial standard, the Model 50 of 1927-55. Imperial itself made one electric standard (ELA-ELF series, 1960-67), and under Litton's ownership the Models 660 (1967-71), 777-775 (1970-71) and 790 (1972). These Litton machines also appeared as Royal electrics: the 660 was also the Royal 660, the 775-777 was the Royal 560 and the 790 was a variation of the Royal 970.

Most of these Litton Imperial-Royal typewriters, including the Imperial Model 80 manual, were designed for Litton by Carl Louis Otto (February 24, 1911-April 1983), who was born in Madison, Ohio, and was trained as an engineer at Michigan State University.

Carl L. Otto

He began his career as a draftsman with Duesenberg in Auburn, Indiana, then went to New York to work for Norman Bel Geddes. He joined Raymond Loewy in 1935 to work on Pennsylvania Railroad designs and opened Loewy's pre-war office in London in 1938, which he ran until 1940, becoming a Loewy associate. One of his Loewy accounts was Standard Auto (Triumph). Another was Coca-Cola, which in 1947 debuted a new soda-fountain dispenser designed by Otto and Clare Hodgman for Dole Deluxe. Otto resigned from Loewy's office in 1951 and opened his own firm, with offices in New York, Stockholm and London, which closed in 1954. His best-known designs during this period include the 1951 Schick Model 20 electric shaver in collaboration with Norman Gray, chief engineer at Schick. He reduced the bulk and length of the shaver by rearranging the internal components from the traditional "in-line" configuration to a more compact, wider shape more easily held. The design became the typeform for shavers thereafter. He also designed the 1952 Edison Voicewriter. Both of these last designs won national design awards by the Industrial Designers Institute . 

Otto's Imperial 80 design was very influential, including for Olympia (Alfons Boothby and Georges Joseph) and also for Litton itself (Toshihiko Sakow with the Royal 970 of 1972, which was made in Germany).

Wikipedia says the Imperial 80 is a Royal design, but the closest I can find among Royal manual standards to the Imperial 80 are the 440 of 1966 and to a lesser extent the 470 of 1972 (above and below. the latter from Tom Furrier.)

Booty!

I needed these like a hole in the head.
I have absolutely no room left to properly store these typewriters. What free space I had has long since gone down the gurgler.
Hence these 25 machines sitting on the gutter outside the garage and front gate of my town house. They are:
4 Imperial standards (wide carriage 50, 65, 70, 80), 3 Imperial Good Companion portables (including an early Model T?), assortment of 4 Hermes Baby/Empire Aristocrat portables, 3 Royal standards (including Model 10 with two bevelled windows each side), 3 Olivetti portables (Studios 42 and 46, Lettera 32), 2 Brother portables, 2 Underwood standards, Remington 16 standard, Remington 5 portable (Glasgow), Royal portable, Silver-Seiko portable.
I most certainly already have more than enough standard-size typewriters to last me for the rest of my lifetime.
Still, beggars can't be choosers, as they say. And if I may throw in yet another phrase or idiom to this heady mix, I never look a gift horse in the mouth.
I once swore I would never say "No" to the offer of a free typewriter, and I continue, for better or for worse, to stick to that dictum.
But that generally applies to "a" typewriter.
Not 30 ...

It happened like this:
Last evening, while out shopping, I got a call:
"Hello, is this Robert Messenger?"
"Yes."
"The typewriter man?"
"Err ... yes."
"Do you still collect typewriters?"
"Well, yes, but not so many these days."
"I have 30 I want to give you."
I've had many, many offers to give typewriters "a good home" during the past 12 years, but never as many as 30 in one go.
Indeed, I'd say no more than two or three at a time, at the very outside.

The lady explained her husband had passed away last September. He had been a collector, she said, "though not on your scale".  And he collected many other things apart from typewriters.
The widow had put all his collections, including the typewriters, in a storage unit outside Canberra, but needed to sort out what was locked away and thus reduce storage costs.
All of these are problems with which I am very familiar, except - for the time being at least - the bit about the collector dying.
I couldn't help laughing out loud.
"I hope you don't think me insensitive,"I said, "but this is exactly the situation I often envisage leaving my sons in."
She saw the black humour in that. In truth, I wouldn't wish such a task on anyone, especially not my sons.

At midday I met the widow at the storage facility. She lifted the roller door of her unit to reveal a dark and (very) dusty typewriter tomb.
All but one of the portable typewriters were in their cases, but the standards - of which they were 12 - were either in plastic bags or exposed. Either way, they were all covered in very heavy grime - bought at some bric-a-brac store or recycling centre and put away without so much as even a quick wipe over. I guess these were projects the collectors had planned to get to one day.  I for one could never pack away a typewriter without first cleaning it up.

Precisely two and a half hours later, I had packed 25 of the typewriters into the typewriter mobile (I was impressed it held that many - but the old typewriter mobile could hold more than 30) and was back home, unpacking the car.
On the way home, I bought some cans of a light lubricant spray and, once I'd unloaded them, I gave the 25 typewriters a quick clean. It was truly remarkable how much better they all started to look, in such a very short time.

I have brought one upstairs for a more thorough clean - the Imperial 80, which especially interested me for a number of reasons, and which I will use for a typecast for my next blog post. I knew of the existence of the 80, but had never previously seen one in the metal (and plastic).  I noted that though produced under Litton ownership, it was made in England.  Wikipedia claims it is a Royal design, but I can find no Royal quite like it. It's a damned fine typer, too. More on it in my next post.
I will eventually get to cleaning them all up, but it may take some time ... like many months! Then and only then will I decide what to do with them. I will probably keep the Royal 10 and some of the portables. We'll see ...

Why did I bring home 25 and not 30 typewriters? Well, I'm no poker player. I couldn't help myself, and enthused rather too much about five of the typewriters. The widow and her daughter decided to keep those five. I should have kept my mouth shut. To be perfectly honest, I would have gladly given up the 25 for the five. The five are all in excellent condition, cleaned up and looking great.
Indeed, I would have given up 29 for just one - an Underwood 5. A good condition Underwood 5 is the only standard I still want for my collection. When I started collecting, I determined not to keep standards, for reasons of space and shipping costs, and I have given away a great many. Later I decided to keep just the most significant standards, and the one I don't have is the Underwood 5. This one would have done me, I think.

The other four typewriters I wasn't given (yet) are two Corona 3s (naturally), an Underwood Model F portable and an enormous Hermes electric - an Ambassador B1-C (at least I think that is what it is). I cringed as I thought of what Georg Sommeregger may say to me for not taking that one - even if just to test it out once. But, Georg, I did try my best. In the circumstances, I just couldn't bring myself to be too pushy or more pressing about it - I was grateful, as I said, for what I did receive, for these 25 small mercies. Any pushiness, or selectiveness, of my part would have seemed nothing more than plain impoliteness, to say the least.

Anyone interested in old calculating and adding machines would have been far more cross with me than Georg about the Ambassador. There are many of them in this collection, almost all of them truly impressive, even to someone like me. I have no real idea about such machines, and absolutely no interest in collecting them. The late collector was a statistician, and while he may not have been too discerning when it came to typewriters, he certainly seemed to know what he was collecting when it came to old calculators and adding machines. I don't know where these machines will finish up, but they definitely won't be with me.

Being For the Benefit of Mr Kite. Sorry, of Mr Bodemer: Royalite Carriage Lever and Line-Spacing Mechanism

I was asked by Seattle typewriter collector Nick Bodemer about the carriage lever and line-spacing mechanism on a Royalite portable. While replacing the knobs on his Royalite, Nick had "accidentally managed to prevent the line-space selector from working". He asked, "Do you have the steps to properly reassemble the platen assembly on a Royalite? A small washer fell out, but I am not sure where it came from."
Since I already had a disassembled Nippo Rexina (taking out a feed roller for Richard Polt's Elgin Collegiate), and thinking the Rexina is mechanically the same as a Royalite, I tackled the task almost immediately. Before posting the results, however, I thought I'd better check that the Rexina and the Royalite have the same carriage mechanism. They don't. And that's when the fun started.
Two disassembled Royalites (even they differed) and many hours later, I cracked the code. Nick, it's tricky! Here goes:

Royalite 1: This shows how the carriage lever operates - the line-spacing mechanism has been removed for a clearer view.

 Royalite 1: With the left-side platen knob removed, I used a small screwdriver to show how the carriage lever mechanism lines up.

 Royalite 2: This is how the carriage lever and line-spacing mechanism look when assembled. The line-spacing device is one U-shaped piece of metal, the left side of which clips on to the left end of the carriage.

 Royalite 2: Another angle showing the metal clip.

 Royalite 1: Now I start to reassemble the first Royalite.

 Royalite 1: This is the really tricky bit, getting the four holes (two on the U-shaped line-spacing piece, one on the carriage lever piece in the middle of this, and one on the left end of the carriage) to line up before putting the knob back. I lined them up from the right side with a small screwdriver, then inserted the knob.

 Royalite 1: Fully reassembled.

 Royalite 1: Above and below, more angles of same.

Royalite 1: Nick, this may be the washer to which you were referring. It sits hard up against the left end of the platen to allow for smoother turning, but is not essential to the operation of the carriage lever or line-spacer. Royalite 2 did not have one, but a slightly different design at the left end of the platen - plus it has one rod going right through the platen, with the knobs screwed on at each end. The Royalite 1 knobs attach differently, as they are held permanently (no screws) on two smaller pieces of rod.