In all the years I’ve been writing about typewriters, I’d never come across a Brother. Never even gave them a glance. I mean, c’mon, Brother, why bother? They made electronic office equipment and came into the typewriter game late. In fact, they still make electric typewriters. A little research also revealed Brother is a Japanese company. Today, Japan makes top notch stuff, but back in the 1960s and 70s, we Americanos associated “Made in Japan” as being cheap and economical. So when Paul asked if I’d like to try his Brother Charger, I smiled politely (with a hint of snobbery) and said sure.

What he brought out blew me away. Here was this sleek blue manual typewriter with a snap-on shell. When I hefted it, its all metal body felt solid. Well made. But how would it type? Fantastic! I vowed when I got home I’d snag a Brother and write a full review. Not only did I get a Brother but also a Hermes Rocket. How about that? Two reviews in one! Betcha didn’t see that coming! I feel the Hermes Rocket is the standard by which all other ultras are judged. So why not put the Brother to the test?

So here it is Brother vs. Hermes. Japan vs. Switzerland.

To start, I didn’t get a Brother Charger, but found a Brother 44 instead. It feels similar to Paul’s Charger. Instead of the snap-on shell, it comes with a zippered case. I’m not a big fan of zippers having had bad experiences with Lettera 32 cases. But the YKK metal zipper on the Brother is tops, unlike the cheap plastic one with the Lettera. The Brother’s zippered case keeps it snug and fit. There didn’t seem to be much wiggle room inside. The handle was easy to grab and stash. It feels like a piece of high-end luggage. Even though the Brother 44 comes in a case, when stacked up against the Rocket, it’s hard to tell the difference in size.

Once it’s out of the case and on the desk, the Brother feels way more solid, fast and snappy. In fact, it feels like a much larger typewriter. There is nothing flimsy about a Brother. It’s a speedster and types with authority. No matter how fast I typed — and I can fly — it kept up. If you’re a quick thinker page drafter who doesn’t like to dawdle, these Brothers rival the best portables. And when you’re striking the carriage return lever, it’s smooth and fast.

The Hermes Rocket is a more ponderous typer and feels like a flimsier version of the Hermes 3000. The Hermes 3000 is no speed demon and the Rocket, despite its name, doesn’t take off like the Brother. But unlike the 3000, the carriage return on the Rocket is super light and quick. I tested the newer model of the Rocket with the larger return lever. Older Rockets have hard to snag stubby return levers, which I hate. What I like better about the Rocket over the Brother are its cuppy keys. Hermes typewriters have a distinctive feel that lingers long after you use them. Whereas the Brother just felt cold and modern, much like the Olympia SM9, another efficient and quick machine. For me, feel comes down to what kind of writer are you? The Hermes Rocket feels like a more thoughtful kind of machine, while the Brother 44 is a nimble thinker.

Where the Brother is not so nimble is the clunky carriage shift. It’s a trait common to ultra-portables. To arrive at such a small package, gone is the space for a lighter basket shift. Brother solves shifting by raising and lowering the entire carriage in a bench press like move with the shift key. And when the shift is released, the carriage comes crashing down. If you’re a fiction writer with lots of witty dialogue, getting to all those quote marks will be a chore. Hermes, on the other hand, solves shifting quite elegantly. It’s still carriage shifted, but only does half the lifting of the Brother. The carriage pivots on a back hinge. It’s like the difference between lifting something by brute force or using a more efficient lever. In fact, the Hermes Rocket’s carriage shift is so easy it rivals the basket shifted Lettera 32.

What about overall weight and size? As you can see from the images below, they’re both about the same size. However, the Rocket has a much thinner metal body, resulting in a slightly lighter machine. I didn’t have a fish scale to tell the exact difference. But with a quick heft, you can feel it.

The winner? It’s a tie! What?! I love them both for different reasons. The Brother is just so darn quick and solid. It feels well made. While the Rocket touts itself as a road warrior, Hermes used very thin metal for the body. In its day it must’ve been an innovation in rugged lightness, because all others use much thicker metal. But the sturdier body of the Brother is not that much heavier than the Rocket and feels like you can punish it a bit more without it bending. Plus, that little bit of extra weight keeps it in its place while you type. The Rocket tends to move around. Though it has a thin skin, the Rocket I have looks like it has been to Marrakech and back, yet still types like a snake charmer. And the Rocket is a charmer. It has character and feel and all those dings are just the kind of charmed reminders of life’s adventures. It’s not as quick as the Brother, but that light shift makes it feel plenty nimble.

What might push the Brother into the winner’s circle are price and availability. I’ve seen plenty of both the Charger and the 44 on eBay for under a hundred USD$. Rockets usually go for three for four times that. The Brother is amazingly affordable for such a capable typewriter. Plus, they’re usually a newer vintage from the mid-1960s. If you’re a writer looking for an affordable working typewriter that stashes easily, then a Brother is the way to go. It’s going to work and nothing is going to break. The platen roller will most likely still be soft and rubbery. Every Rocket I’ve had has a rock hard platen. Plus, the platen roller knobs on a Rocket are notoriously brittle and often have hairline cracks and look like they can fall apart anytime. The Rocket I tested has that telltale crack on the often used right hand knob. If your knob disintegrates, like mine did on a Hermes 3000, there are sellers on eBay selling 3D printed knobs. If you’ve got gobs of dough, get a restored Rocket and ask for new 3D printed knobs. But if you’re looking for a typewriter for the trail that’ll hold up and won’t bust the budget, get a Brother. Even if you don’t plan to tote it to the coffee shop or off to Maui, the Brother feels solid and big enough it could be your full-time writing machine.

In many ways, the Parade reminds me of the Royal Futura. It has a similar shape and comes in different colors, though not as many as the Futura. I got the uninspiring beige & beige model. The Futura didn’t get a favorable review, despite my excitement about its design. It worked well enough, but for any long bouts of writing, just wasn’t up to snuff. The Parade is a better typer than the Futura, but it’s no Lettera.

The Parade is heavy. In fact, they put a sticker on the back that says, “Rugged Royal. All-metal structural design.” Typing in a coffee shop when a gun fight breaks out? No problemo, the Parade doubles as body armor. It’s that solid. Reminds me of some of the heftier models out of East Germany where they measured typewriter quotas in weight not quantity. Not only is the typewriter heavy, so is the carriage shift. Much more so than other ultra-portables. That’s my main gripe with the ultra-portable, most are carriage shifted. This is OK, since they’re small and light. But the Parade is chunky and loud. Even my wife came downstairs wondering why I was tenderizing meat so early in the morning. No, it’s this carriage shift! Whatever, just keep it down I’m on a Zoom call.

The keys and carriage work smoothly, but for a typewriter this solid, they feel flimsy and thin. The plastic shelled Lettera 31 feels sturdier. It’s like they used all the metal on the shell and didn’t have any leftovers for the guts. The Parade is good if your top typewriter is too big to haul to camp or coffee house and all you need is to dash off a few quick letters or a One Typed Page submission. Yeah, a Hermes Rocket would be mucho better, but if you’re on a budget, you should be able to snag a Parade for much less. It works. It’s small. It’s a decent typewriter, just not top of the class.

Is the Hermes 3000 still up to snuff? The one I got is the “New Version” as Hermes calls it. Really? C’mon, Hermes, that’s the best you could call it? The new version? Why not the 4000? Why Hermes ever went with numbers I’ll never know, when they had great names like “Rocket” and “Ambassador.” It’s too bad Royal had a typewriter called The Empress, because that’s what I would’ve called the 3000!

While the “new version” is more boxy than the original, the curves are still there, but more subtle. I may be going against the Hermes 3000 purists crowd when I say I was never fond of the bulbous contours of the original. The new version looks more elegant and refined, yet retains its distinctive style and color that you’ll never confuse it with an Olympia SM9.

Forget the looks, how does it work?

The typing action of the “new version” feels like what I remembered in the “original version.” They keys are big and cuppy, that it’s hard to miss a beat. The feeling is strong and assertive, producing a nice thunk thunk thunk sound. At first you might feel the need to punch the keys hard, but after playing around a bit with tapping the keys as light as I could, I was amazed how little effort was required to make a strong imprint.

What wouldn’t work with a light touch was the carriage return. It’s heavy. Good thing it has a big handle, because you’ll need all the leverage you can muster. Olympia SM-series and Olivetti Studio 45 & Lettera 32 have Hermes beat on this note. They fly! But hey, perhaps the slower return on the Hermes is by design, makes you pause and take in that beautiful line of prose before charging ahead into the next.

If you’re a frequent margin setter, setting them on the 3000 is a bit tricky at first, but super fast once you get it. Hermes calls them Visible Flying Margins. Gone are the clunky moveable margin tabs found in many other typewriters, in its place are a set of left and right levers that when depressed unlock the margin. Move the carriage to the desired margin location with the carriage release button, then release the lever to set it. Hermes has cleverly indicated the margin location on the paper bail with a red thermometer-like bar, making it The Visible Flying Margin!

Visible, yes, noticeable, not so much. If I hadn’t read the manual, I would’ve missed it. But once in view, it’s especially useful for the right margin, where instead of writing to the bell, you can see exactly where you’re at. I’m more of a write-to-the-bell-and-margin-release guy. I hate hyphenating. The Visible Flying Margin is useful for careful line planning so things are as neat and tidy on the right as they are on the left.

I’ve always struggled with knowing when I’m about to hit the end of a page. Especially when writing exactly One Typed Page! Wrap it up, amigo, you only got two lines left! Shoot for under, never over. To solve this problem, Hermes notched a couple openings on the lower part of carriage on the left and right sides. Through this gap, the bottom of the page comes into view a couple lines before the end. Olympia has the best solution for this with an adjustable page stop on the paper support, allowing the bottom margin to be set wherever. Either way, super useful!

Hermes is in line with an Olympia SM9 and Olivetti Studio 44/45. But it’s way more solid than either and has a distinctive feel and look that’ll beckon you to her keys. The downside, these babies usually go for double or triple the price and good ones are hard to find.

Finally, what makes the 3000 in its own class is the snap-on shell. It’s not like you’ll be tossing it in the caravan and dashing off to Marrakech, but useful for a quick snap-and-stash if your dining table is also your desk.

But if your desk is where it’s at, make it a throne and install The Empress, err I mean, The 3000! Long may she reign!

I like small typewriters, but shrink them too much, like the Hermes Rocket, and they’re just too dinky to bang out anything longer than script changes while on location in Monument Valley. You could travel with a Lettera, but its notoriously lousy zippered case is liable to stay shut or worse, come apart at the seams while at a brisk trot. No thanks. Keep it on the studio lot. But not so fast Bronco Billy, with the Lettera 31, Olivetti wisely discontinued the zippered mess of the Lettera 32. In its place is a single piece vinyl case. While it’s an improvement, it has no buckles, latches or locks to keep it shut.

I’m sure I’ll get bags of letters from the journalist jet-set praising the portability of the Lettera from Sri Lanka to Sao Paulo. Tell your cheap-skate editor to spring for a Rocket. Sorry, I digress. We’re reviewing a typewriter not the case.

If you haven’t read my praise of the Studio 45, get on it, because this Lettera 31 is cut from the same sheet of plastic. Plastic? Sounds cheap. It’s not. It feels solid. In fact, this Lettera 31 feels more solid than its metal clad predecessor the Lettera 32. If you’re confused by the numbering scheme, so am I. What company goes backwards with newer versions? I got it when they leapt a couple numbers from Lettera 32 to Lettera 35, but then back to 31? Strange. Leave the counting to the Swiss. The Italians should’ve never started numbering Letteras. The name was perfect just as it was. Even the number loving Swiss left the Rocket alone. I’m glad Hermes didn’t feel the need to append numbers to the Rocket, or else it might’ve ended up like that naming disaster of the 3000. Cases, names, who cares, right? How does it work? You’re right, compadre. Onwards.

One thing I love about Letteras, including the 31, is the distraction free zone. Nothing between you and your words. If you haven’t read my thoughts on this, pause the tape, and load this piece. The Lettera 31 offers an unobstructed view of your words hot off the slug. My only gripe, and it’s a biggie, as you type the page curls off the platen then disappears behind the typewriter. It doesn’t have paper supports! The Lettera 32 offers the best version of this crucial feature. Not only does it display the page, it does so at a smart angle that doesn’t leave you leaning over to see what’ve you written. Ok, Kerouac, just free wheel it and let the roll fly, no looking back, Jack.

Deal breaker? Perhaps, if the Lettera 31 wasn’t so capable. If you’re in the camp that feels the lightness of the Lettera 32 throws you off, and you want something with a bit more robusto, then the Lettera 31 might be your machine. It’s smaller than the Studio 45 and has the distraction free zone of the Lettera 32, but with a more solid feel.

Like the Studio 45, it’s not a looker. But under that bland exterior is an easy going and reliable typewriter. Just load a blank page and add your own flamboyance.

When I sit at an Olivetti, I feel like I’m tapping into a rich tradition of Italian artisans, where form is as important as function. But a great design only works if the typewriter is up to snuff. Sure, they’re nice to look at, but does it work every day, every letter, every page? With Olivetti, the answer is YES.

There’s a good reason the Studio 45’s predecessor, the 44 is near the top, only to be topped by the Lettera 32. My chief complaint with the 44 is that it doesn’t have the lightness of a Lettera. Which is OK, since it feels sturdy and reliable. The Studio 44 is no slip off your desk Slim Jim. Some prefer a beefier machine and for them the Lettera can feel flimsy. Olivetti even marketed the Studio 44 as a mix between the ease of a portable with the solid feel of an office standard. And they succeeded! But don’t be fooled, the big office standards, as I’ve noted in another post, are no slugs. There’s never a more demanding customer than an over-worked, under-paid secretary whose typing actually earns a living.

While the Studio 44 is a portable, if you’ve ever tried to tote one, they’re a lug. I must admit my curiosity for other Olivettis waned after putting the Studio 44 and the Lettera 32 in the Top Ten pantheon. There wasn’t much to improve, right? Boy, was I wrong. The Studio 45 hits the sweet spot between these two stalwarts.

The key tops on the Studio 45 are shaped like saddles, perfect for your digits to ride on. Whoever thought cupped tops were the right shape? Saddles, amigo, are the only way to ride. The Studio 44 is cuppy, while the Lettera 32 tops are flat. The saddle top keys of the Studio 45 perfectly matches the curvature of the finger. If the keys and bell are the notes of the page, the carriage return lever marks a repose in the composition. Again, Olivetti got it right with the Studio 45. It’s long, big and juts at the perfect angle for an easy catch. And once you catch it, the carriage is super smooth with just the right amount of weight and resistance. The Studio 44’s carriage always felt heavy, like you needed that giant paddle of a return lever to get it moving. And the Lettera 32 lever is small, easy to miss and the carriage is feather light that it feels like it might fly off the rails if you’re too frisky.

As for design, I love the cool blue and curves of the Studio 44 and the Lettera 32. While you can get the Studio 45 in blue, perhaps its boxier lines don’t inspire the same poster art advertisements. It’s a much quieter design. Elegant. Functional. The Studio 45 is the perfect blank canvas. If you’re looking for a reliable typewriter, I suspect a Studio 45 won’t let you down. Any off-the-shelf used one will probably be in fine shape. That’s a big reason why the Olympia SM9 sits at numero uno. Every one I’ve purchased has worked. No issues. No need for a gut rehab, nor spending more than you need to. In fact, I’d say the Studio 45 might even challenge the Olympia SM9 for top spot. It’s quieter, less mechanical sounding, softer, more muted, warmer. It should satisfy the writer who is looking for something a bit weightier than the Lettera 32, but still wants a responsive feel. It’s not as iconic, but hey, you’re getting a typewriter to write with not look at.

Get your fingers in the saddle of a Studio 45 and blaze a new trail.

p.s. — If you haven’t sent a page to One Typed Page, now is the season for giving! We’d love to hear from you!

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This spring I finally decided to find out. The flowers were blooming, the bees buzzing and the bunnies nibbling. What better time for a fresh look on a typewriter? Without the luxury of a local typewriter shop to take one for a free test drive, I’d have to drop the cash and order online.

Shipping typewriters always fills me with dread. Despite the most thoughtful packing, these are sensitive machines. Sure, in a much publicized PR stunt, Royal once dropped typewriters by parachute to show how well made there were. What wasn’t in the story, however, were reports of Royal ground crews stationed to swoop up those machines that landed on their sides. Typewriters don’t like getting jarred on their corners. If you’re shipping typewriters, be sure to put stickers labelled “This Side Up” on all four sides, plus if you can find them, ones that say, “Delicate Instruments”. Lastly, insist on shipping with FedEx. Their ground rates (Home Delivery) are economical and competitive with UPS or USPS. I’ve had zero issues with FedEx.

Once I got over my shipping hesitation, a seller popped up on my eBay recommended items feed. I’d had others in mind, but something about this guy spoke to me. His name was Don Nichols and he was selling a 1937 Royal Standard Portable “O” model. Not only were the images stunning, but he posted a YouTube video of it in action. Moreover, he offered a 90-day warranty! All the rubber was new, or nearly new. He called his operation, MechaNichol Restorations (eBay seller: nichols2389). Total cost was around $600. Ouch. I hovered over the Buy it Now button for two agonizing days, until I finally downed the martini and clicked it.

Since it shipped FedEx, I was able to re-route the delivery to a local FedEx Office print center for pick-up. Easy! Didn’t need to be home to sign for it and no issues of porch pirates snatching my bounty. I’ll spare you the unboxing video, but will mention that Don is a packing pro. Plenty of bubble in all the right places. And, here’s what separates Don from 99% of other packers, he uses painter’s tape to secure the sheets of bubble. Wrapping bubble in shipping tape creates an unpacking nightmare! Painter’s tape comes off easily, yet secures the wrap.

No worries so far. And enough shipping tips. Time for the test!

With the Royal typewriter unboxed and placed on the desk, a faint glow surrounded it. The birds stopped chirping. The wind died down. And a shaft of sunlight erupted through the window. Don got the black enamel to shine and the silvery metal parts to glisten. Under the hood looked new as well. Don disassembles every machine and does a thorough cleaning. I took pause and admired the look before rolling a sheet of paper under the platen. With the first few keystrokes, I knew this machine would sing. Fluid. Light. Crisp. Normally I’m not fond of carriage shifted typewriters, but this restored Royal lifted with ease. Moreover, the carriage return was free and easy and lacked any resistance. The more I typed, the more joy I felt. If a typewriter can transform your writing, a restored typewriter will transform your soul. It’s like being young again. This typewriter was fresh, spunky and full of spirit. Not like that tired soul whose been punted from estate sale, to resale shop to thrift store, with long bouts locked in a dark closet, its rubber hardening and keys gumming up. Sure it works, and you’ve probably been satisfied just getting unplugged, but if you want to sprout wings and really fly, a restored typewriter will take you on the next leg of your journey. Stop wondering if it’s worth the extra dough, go raid the coin jar, sell extra magazine subscriptions, busk with the ukulele, and get one pronto.

You’re a writer. Invest in yourself. Forgo the MacBook refresh, it’s that restored typewriter that’ll never need replacing.

You can find Don’s shop, MechaNichol Restorations, on eBay.

Also on eBay is pilot727. And Classic Vintage Typewriters.

But I shouldn’t have stopped there.

Olivetti revamped the Lettera 32 with a new design, while keeping its solid mechanicals, and called it the 35L. I’ve often passed these by, thinking they were an inferior machine. In my biased view the market for manual typewriters was shrinking, therefore, manufacturers were devoting less resources for their production. For some this was the case, but not for Olivetti. The Lettera 35L certainly has its share of cost savings with plastic components (carriage return lever, margin tabs), but the mechanicals and metal body make it feel like a more solid version of the 32. Moreover, the 35 has larger key tops than the 32, giving you a bit more confidence on the keyboard.

The body is slightly larger than the 32, but maintains a similar low-profile design that is sleek and nimble. There is nothing flimsy about it. With a quiet thunk-thunk-thunk of the keys, it’s perfect for the writer who likes to go about their work without waking the house. Its unobtrusive size allows it to be stashed away easily when the desk needs clearing. The carrying bag is nothing special, but way better than the 32’s zippered version, which due to age and use is often in tatters. If you’re the type of writer who likes to cause a stir at the coffee house, tote the 35 in and start a Type-In! Even if calling attention to yourself is not your thing, don’t ignore the call of the 35.

If we resisted the tossing of the old and made do with what we had, where would the incentive be to keep the factories open? As Steinbeck warned us, the monster must be fed. If it does not grow, it dies. Something like that. OK, this is supposed to be a typewriter review, not Commie propaganda, and the product in question hails from Switzerland, the bastion of neutrality. The Hermes 2000.

First, I’d like to meet the marketing madman who came up with this numbering scheme. How’d they skip from 1 to 2000? If there were a Hermes 1000, that might make sense, but as far as I can tell, no such machine exists. The Hermes 2000 was introduced in the 1930s, so perhaps 2000 made it sound like a machine that was decades ahead of its time. And if you just go on the looks of a Hermes 3000, the revamped design suggests a leap of a 1,000 years. This reasoning makes more sense when you consider their ultra-portable was dubbed, The Rocket. Combine the far-out numbering with the crazy-cool color, and yeah, this is Futurama. It’s a machine DeLorean or Disney would use.

What seemed to launch it all was the 2000. While it was still boxy like many of its competitors, by the 1950s its trademark green keys stood out. And this is what makes a Hermes typewriter such a special breed. The keys feel unlike any other typewriter. They’re cupped, soft and the action is supple, quiet and assured. It just feels good to rest your fingers on the keys. Plus, the cool green soothes and draws you in. It’s refreshing like a mint sprig.

OK, it’s a great machine. But how does it compare to the new and improved 3000? Besides the obvious design leap from pretty good to far-out, the 2000 feels snappier and the carriage lighter. While I like the Hermes touch, the 3000 always felt like a heavy machine. The 2000 still has the soft touch, but lighter and quicker. What’s not as light in the 2000 is the carriage shift. While it’s not bad, I’m more of a basket shifted fan. The soundproofing in the 3000 is super-stealth, compared to the lesser padded 2000. If disturbing the neighbors is your concern, the 3000 is one of the quietest ones around. Perhaps due to the entire frame wrapped from top to bottom. It’s mute. The 2000 is still a bit loud. But nothing a solid felt pad can’t resolve.

Bottom line: if you’re after that elusive Hermes touch, but are not enchanted by the 3000 design and want a traditional look with some design flair, get the 2000. You’ll probably save some bucks, as well.

When I hear the word Triumph, I’m thinking motorcycle. And no, if you’re wondering if this typewriter was made by Triumph Motorcycles of England, take a closer look at the spelling of perfect. That’s right, mein amigo, this typewriter was made in Germany. 

But there is one thing these two machines have in common — they fly! Just a touch of the throttle is all you’ll need on this typewriter. The keys are light and responsive. Besides the Torpedo typewriter, every German typewriter I’ve tried from the 1950s has the heavier carriage shift. But that’s about the only thing that’ll slow you down on the Perfekt. You’ll easily gain momentum with each silky return of the carriage. The handle stands out strong and catches perfectly in your fingers. And if you’re the type of writer who likes a handsome machine, the brown and beige curves are just stylish enough without being a distraction.

Sounding good so far? Well, here’s the downside, and perhaps I’m trolling in deeper waters for more exotic game, Triumph typewriters were not heavily exported from Germany. Which means you’ll most likely find them with the QWERTZ keyboard layout. If writing in English is your thing, you might need to rewire your brain. But if you’re not worried about producing final draft copy, let the Y and Z fall as they may. You’ll be able to figure out the meaning. But wait, Sherlock, you might’ve noticed the one in this review has the QWERTY layout. Indeed it does! Maybe that’s why I’m rather fond of this typewriter. It’s got the great guts of German engineering with the finger friendly Americano layout, or wherever English is written.

Lastly, you might be wondering, how does it compare with its more well known cousin, the Olympia SM3? While the vaunted SM3 is mechanical perfection, the Perfekt feels more responsive, the carriage a tad lighter. And like the SM3, it’s loud compared to the quiet Americans. Then again, the Germans never promised silence and perhaps wanted their typewriters to stand out from the crowd. Get the thick felt pad and you’ll cut the decibels in half.

I didn’t get this typewriter refurbished, but it came to me in nearly refurbished condition. The platen is supple. The carriage glide smooth. The keys nimble. Bottom line: it works. But beyond working, it satisfies my criteria that writing take center stage, rather than the machine. Many typewriters were made in the shadow of their office counterpart with a range of features that us writer types can do without. All we need are margin settings, line spacing and a paper holder to keep it from flopping over the back. If you write for screen or stage you might like a tab to center for dialogue. That’s it, amigo! Anything else is a distraction. Even devilish good looks can be a distraction. I’m talking about you Ms. Groma. But that doesn’t mean your muse should live in a dump, just something nice enough to call home.

OK, enough chit-chat, I’m beginning to sound like those infomercial guys who make you pony up at the end for their secret tip.

My Numero Uno is this 1947 Smith-Corona Sterling.

This post-war baby is a boomer. And like an All-American jazz impresario, the rounded glass top keys will make you feel like Miles Davis on trumpet. They’re super light and the Floating Shift is a heavenly delight. You won’t be banging away on this typewriter, but rather words will fly onto the page, beamed in from your creative cortex. You’ll forget you’re using a typewriter and remember what it’s like to write.

What I like about writing on a computer is the ability to eliminate the menu bar and other interface clutter. I want this same experience on a typewriter — see my words and little else. The blackness of the Sterling disappears against the stark white paper. And like a shadow, this typewriter is quiet. It’s the stealth typewriter. Sure, a good platen helps, but I’ve had others with hard rubber and they’re still super silent. Perhaps that’s why Smith-Corona also labelled them as such. The Royal Quiet Deluxe is another who prided itself on lowering the decibels. We Americans might have the reputation as a loud and brash bunch, but not our typewriters. By the 1950s dorms and homes were filling with them, imagine the feuds if they couldn’t be silenced!

But there was one grating sound that was not eliminated: that ratcheting when the carriage is returned. There’s nothing broken. Many typewriters make this sound. Unless it’s an Olympia SM3, where the carriage glide is like steel on glass. Or the Lettera 32 who is like a whisper. But, in the end, I’ve come to love that ratcheting like I love the sound of the wood framed screen door banging shut on our porch. It’s the sound of comfort and home. Familiar and reassuring.

What’s your favored one? Your desert island machine. Post in the comments!