On the streets of  Mexicali, I often see vintage typewriters for sale.  Most of my students won’t know what I’m talking about when I tell them.  I mean, these typewriters were used well before they were even born.  Before computers!  I see these dusty, oily, broken-down typewriters for sale in Los Tianguis ( The Mexican Flea Markets).  I  see these machines in in the shadows sitting  on dusty shelves of dimly lit print workshops:   the Olivetti Leterra 32,  the black lacquer Remington, the Corona Four with standard four bank keyboard, the Underwood Royal Standard – the model Jack Kerouac used to write On the Road.   

When I show interest, the shop owners smile  knowingly and roll a sheet of  white bond into the platen.  The room lights up.  The conversation changes.  They’re excited to share the performance of their machines.   In me, they’ve found a kindred spirit. I love these these typewriters.  Most people might take one look at these typewriters and consider them obsolete, out-of-date, useless in today’s fast-paced electronic world, but I will always see their beauty. Somehow, they connect me with everything I’ve ever read or written.  Just the sound of them – the Click Clack DING! – sets my heart racing. I collect them now.  Whenever, I’m sad and lonely and depressed, I don’t drink or do drugs.  I buy typewriters off the street. You can find a few of them in every room of my house.  Some of them rest on book shelves.   Some of them sit upon desks.  Others hold plants. 

When I have people over to the house, I proudly become the  curator of Jay's Typewriter Museum. I show my visitors  classic brands,  stylish designs, and important literary references.    As an English teacher, I spend most of my time reading and writing; the typewriters become an interesting way to express who I am.