CHAPTER IV.

SEEKING A MARKET The general appearance of the first typewriter is well known. A considerable number of these machines are in existence, preserved in museums and other historical collections, and, until recent years, a few of them still remained in active service. The accompanying illustration, however, shows one of these machines which has a special interest all its own. This was the first individual typewriter ever manufactured and offered for sale. This machine was one of the first consignment of typewriters sent to the Western Electric Company, who were the original western selling agents. Later it came into the possession of the late Walter J. Barron, who had been a friend of Sholes, and afterwards became the inventor of a number of important typewriter improvements. Many years later Mr. Barron presented it to the Remington Historical Collection. A single glance at this machine will show what a transformation had been wrought by the skilled Remington mechanics in the crude Sholes and Glidden model of the previous year. A more careful examination will reveal how primitive it still was compared with the efficient writing machines of the present day. The first thing that will strike the most casual observer is the obvious sewing machine influence, in fact it has sewing machine "written all over it." In this we undoubtedly see the hand of Jenne, who, for years before he took up work on the typewriter, had been connected with the sewing-machine branch of the Remington business. This influence appears in the fitting of the machine to a stand, in the familiar grape-vine design of the pedestals, and especially in the curious foot treadle which operated the carriage return. The latter, however, quickly demonstrated its uselessness as a time saver, and was soon displaced by the now familiar hand carriage-return lever. After the disappearance of the foot treadle, the stand itself soon followed into the discard. Another interesting feature is the metal case which completely encloses the machine. This in time gave way to the now familiar open construction, but it is worth noting that in recent years a tendency has set in to return to the enclosed feature of the first typewriter. This original machine had many limitations, but the worst one of all was the fact that it had no shift-key mechanism--it wrote capital letters only. Nevertheless, the fundamental principles of construction embodied in this first typewriter still survive, though their application has since been modified or transformed in the march of improvement. In this original machine we find the escapement or step-by-step "pulse beat," which causes the letter spacing, we find the type bars hung in such a manner that the type all strike the paper at a common printing point, and we find a mechanism for the return of the carriage and line spacing of the cylinder. Most interesting of all, we find the "universal keyboard" in very nearly its present form. This was not an innovation introduced by Jenne or any of his co-workers, for, tracing back to the Sholes and Glidden model of the previous year, we find a very close approach to the same thing. Who invented the universal keyboard?--meaning the present universal arrangement of the letters on the typewriter keys. Of all the questions concerning the origin of the typewriter or any of its features, this is the one most frequently asked. The answer is that the universal keyboard, with some minor variations, has been standard since the invention of the writing machine. Some believe that the universal keyboard was invented by Alexander Davidson, a mechanic and surveyor of West Virginia, who was also one of the pioneers in the field of commercial education. It is known that Davidson, in the later seventies, made a special study of the subject of scientific keyboard arrangement. But there is no evidence that Davidson ever saw a typewriter before the year 1875, at which time the keyboard had already assumed the "universal" form. It is positively known that Densmore and Sholes, laboring together, worked out the universal arrangement of the letter keys. Just how they happened to arrive at this arrangement, however, is a point on which there has always been much speculation. It must be remembered that both of these men were printers by trade, a most important point in this connection. The usual a b c arrangement of letters, which would naturally suggest itself to the ordinary layman, means nothing to a printer, who is more familiar with the arrangement of the type in the printer's case. Here, however, we encounter the fact that the arrangement of the letters on the universal keyboard is nothing like the arrangement of the type in the printer's case. The truth seems to be that the arrangement of the universal keyboard was mainly influenced by the mechanical difficulties under which Sholes labored. The tendency of the type bars on all the Sholes models was to collide and "stick fast" at the printing point, and it would have been natural for Sholes to resort to any arrangement of the letters which would tend to diminish this trouble. These mechanical difficulties are now of the past, but time has proved and tested the universal keyboard, and has fully demonstrated its efficiency for all practical needs. Keyboard reform has been agitated more than once since the invention of the typewriter, but such movements have always come to nothing--for a very simple reason. It is an easy and simple matter for the manufacturers to supply any keyboard the user may require; indeed the special keyboards now in use number thousands. But to induce typists generally to unlearn the universal keyboard and learn another would be a well nigh impossible task. And it would not pay them to do so, for no "reformed" keyboard could ever confer a benefit sufficient to offset the time loss that such a change would involve. The universal keyboard has a hold similar to that of language itself. In the historical collection which contains the original typewriter is another item of almost equal interest. This is a copy of the first typewriter catalogue. We know what the first typewriter was like. This old catalogue, however, gives us a different slant. It tells us what the builders themselves thought of it, and what they wished the public to think. It certainly looks its age--does this old catalogue. The sheets are yellow and time stained, the illustrations are old wood cuts which carry us back to the days before the invention of process engraving, and the typesetting is of the period--let us say no more, for possibly our present-day ideas of typesetting will look as antiquated to our own children. But the first of anything, whether an automobile, a typewriter, or just a catalogue, ought to be primitive enough to look the part, and this catalogue certainly does. "The Type-Writer," so says the catalogue, "in size and appearance somewhat resembles the Family Sewing Machine." A very good description, as all will agree. The next sentence, however, says, "It is graceful and ornamental--a beautiful piece of furniture for office, study or parlor." No one can question the utility of the typewriter, but the beauty of the machine is not regarded in these modern days as a "selling point." There is also another claim that makes us pause. "Persons traveling by sea," the catalogue says, "can write with it when pen writing is impossible." Maybe so, but people who have been at sea under conditions when they found pen writing impossible, will probably have their doubts. But there is food for thought in this old catalogue from beginning to end. The clause in the title, "A Machine to Supersede the Pen," reads today like one of the world's great prophecies. The advantages of typewriting over pen-writing are enumerated as Legibility, Rapidity, Ease, Convenience and Economy, and time, which proves all things, has certainly proved these claims. It is only when we pass from the description of the machine itself to "Some of its uses" that we seem to discern a halting note. First in the list of prospective users come the Reporters, and it is interesting to know that, to the inventors of the typewriter, court reporting appealed as the principal field of the new machine. Next in order come Lawyers, Editors, Authors and Clergymen. These apparently are the only classes of users who are considered worthy of a special appeal. But how about the business man? We search in vain for any mention of his name until we come to a single sentence, evidently intended as a "ketch-all" for the left overs, which reads: "The merchant, the banker, ALL men of business can perform the labor of letter writing with much saving of valuable time." Did the builders of the first typewriter fully appreciate the tremendous truth contained in these words? If so, it is hard to believe that they would have confined all reference to the business man to a single sentence in an obscure portion of their first catalogue. This one sentence, in this place, seems to lack the ring of conviction. It makes one wish that the typewriter men of 1874 could live again to witness the typewriter wonders of 1923, and see how many-fold greater has been the fruit of their labors than anything of which they dreamed. So much for what the builders thought of their own product. But what did the buyers and the users think? We turn eagerly for information on this point to the testimonials, of which this old catalogue contains several. But the first one that meets our eyes engrosses us so completely that we straightway forget about all the rest. It is from no less a person than "Mark Twain," and this is what he says: Hartford, March 19, 1875. Gentlemen: Please do not use my name in any way. Please do not even divulge the fact that I own a machine. I have entirely stopped using the Type-Writer, for the reason that I never could write a letter with it to anybody without receiving a request by return mail that I would not only describe the machine but state what progress I had made in the use of it, etc., etc. I don't like to write letters, and so I don't want people to know that I own this curiosity breeding little joker. Yours truly, Saml. L. Clemens. Certainly a queer "testimonial." And we are glad that the selling agents, in spite of Mark Twain's prohibition, had the "nerve" to publish it. In course of time Mark Twain overcame his reticence, and many years after, in his "Autobiography," he tells in his own inimitable manner all about his first typewriter. It seems that he bought it in Boston late in the autumn of 1874, when in company with that other famous humorist D. R. Locke, better known as "Petroleum V. Nasby." He and Nasby saw the strange looking device in the window of the Remington store, were drawn in by curiosity, and Mark Twain purchased one on the spot. What Nasby's impressions were of his purchase Mark Twain does not tell us, but we know that they must have been deep and vivid, for only a short time later we find Nasby a member of the firm which for a time controlled the sale of the Remington Typewriter. Shortly afterward Mark Twain had one of his manuscripts type-copied on this typewriter. The "Autobiography" says that this book was "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer," but in this statement, based only on his memory of the long ago, Mark Twain must have been mistaken. A letter of his, written many years earlier, proves that the book was "Life on the Mississippi." However, the exact identity of the book is a minor matter. In any case, Mark Twain was unquestionably the first author who ever submitted a typewritten manuscript to a publisher, a practice now universal. And it accords with the importance of this great step in progress that this original typewritten manuscript should have been a literary masterpiece. Another letter, typed by Mark Twain himself, appears in fac-simile in his "Autobiography." This letter was written to his brother, Orien Clemens, three months before the letter to E. Remington & Sons, and before the "curiosity breeding little joker" had worn out his patience. It has a special interest because it was the first letter written by Mark Twain on his first typewriter. The row of characters typed across the top of the sheet are undoubtedly the work of Mark Twain's little daughter Susie, to whom reference is made in the letter. Mark Twain's description of the first typewriter as a "curiosity breeding little joker" applies very well to those who had some inkling of what the machine really was, but, on those who did not, the impression was sometimes very different. The story is classic of the Kentucky mountaineer who returned his first typewritten letter to the man who wrote it, with the words indignantly scribbled on the margin, "You don't need to print no letters for me. I kin read writin." This particular yarn cannot be verified, but there were plenty of similar cases. J. P. Johns, a Texas insurance man and banker in the seventies, gives the following transcript from memory of a reply he once received from one of his agents to one of his first typewritten letters: Dear Sir: I received your communication and will act accordingly. There is a matter I would like to speak to you about. I realize, Mr. Johns, that I do not possess the education which you have. However, until your last letter I have always been able to read the writing. I do not think it was necessary then, nor will be in the future, to have your letters to me taken to the printers, and set up like a hand bill. I will be able to read your writing and am deeply chagrined to think you thought such a course necessary. Another story, of somewhat similar flavor, was told by William K. Jenne himself. On one occasion he planned to visit New York with his family and sent a typewritten letter, making a reservation, to one of the hotels. When he and his family reached the hotel, nothing was known of his application. Finally he asked them particularly about his letter and described the way it was written. The clerk then recalled such a communication, but he supposed it was a printed circular and had thrown it away. As a self-advertiser, the writing machine possessed some obvious advantages. The only trouble with this "curiosity breeder" in its early days was that it did not breed the kind of curiosity that translated itself into real buyer interest. The most curious were usually skeptical of the utility of the new machine. They objected to the fact that it wrote capitals only, and they could not assimilate the idea of paying $125 for a writing machine, when pens could be bought for a penny. This price question recalls the case of one of the early inventors, who might have won the honor of anticipating Sholes as the creator of the first practical typewriter, had he not become obsessed by one unfortunate idea. He believed that five dollars was about the limit that anyone would or should pay for a writing implement, and in the vain effort to produce such a machine he squandered a splendid inventive talent. The point that he overlooked was the actual value of the time and labor saved by the writing machine. The world today understands this point perfectly, but when we find this simple truth hidden even from an enthusiastic typewriter inventor, we must not be surprised that it was very little understood in the seventies of the last century. The marketers of the first typewriter soon discovered that they had undertaken something more than the sale of a new machine. Their real job was to sell a new idea, and to do this was a slow and toilsome work of education. No wonder the typewriter made such small and discouraging progress in its early years. This lack of public interest was painfully in evidence at the great Centennial Exposition held at Philadelphia in 1876. Here the typewriter made its initial bow to the public, and it was carefully groomed for the occasion in a brand new court dress. The identical machine exhibited at the Centennial is now another prized relic in the Remington Historical Collection. It was a special machine, with mother-of-pearl finish, on which had been lavished all the splendors suggested by the decorative tastes of fifty years ago. But the public was neither dazzled nor convinced. They came indeed to see it in fair numbers. Curiosity there was in plenty, but it was curiosity mingled with some ridicule and very little serious interest. Very few machines were sold, and about the only revenue derived by the exhibitors was from samples of typewriting sold as curios for a quarter apiece. The Centennial Exhibition will be forever memorable as the occasion of the first public appearance of two of the greatest inventions of modern times, the telephone and the typewriter. But how different their receptions by the public! When Alexander Graham Bell made his first public exhibition of his invention, an Emperor stood at his side and the news of his achievement was heralded the world over in cable dispatches and newspaper headlines. Few then realized that on exhibit in the same building was another new invention, comparatively unnoticed, which was destined to rival even the telephone in the magnitude of its service to the world. We have mentioned some of the obstacles which made the early progress of the typewriter so slow and difficult. Added to all these was another, the task of furnishing the operator. It was not a case of finding the operator, for in those days there were none to find. It was another selling job, usually that of persuading someone to become an operator and then, in most cases, of training that operator. Truly the early typewriter salesman earned all that he made. This necessity of supplying the operator led to the growth of another distinctive feature of the typewriter business, namely the free employment departments for stenographers and typists, maintained for the service of typewriter users. The yearly total of stenographers placed in positions by these departments has grown to enormous figures. More than one typewriter company today places upwards of one hundred thousand typists per year in positions in the United States alone. This development anticipates our story, but it all had its beginning in the early days of the business. In these modern days, when commercial education has become a universal institution, when the public, private and religious schools in the United States alone, which teach shorthand and typewriting, number thousands, when similar schools have made themselves indispensable the world over, it is hard to realize that fifty years ago there were none. The whole modern system of commercial education is a creation of the writing machine. It is true that in America there were some pioneers in this field, men like Eastman, Packard, Spencer, Bryant and Stratton, whose schools antedated the typewriter. But the so-called "business colleges" of fifty years ago were few in number and, in the days before the typewriter, their scheme of instruction was necessarily limited to bookkeeping and business practice, with frequently an undue emphasis on fancy penmanship. Nevertheless these schools did form the nucleus around which was ultimately built our modern commercial school system, and it is this fact, as we shall presently see, which has made the history of commercial education in America so different from the same history in other countries. The relationship between the typewriter and the business school was slow in its early development, and equally slow was the growth of the general relationship between typewriting and shorthand. A single sentence in the first typewriter catalogue is interesting on this point. "Stenographers," it says, "can come to our office and dictate to operators from their shorthand notes, and thus save the labor of transcription." A very graceful invitation, but why not suggest to shorthand writers or their employers that they buy their own machines? We see in this sentence that the builders of the first typewriter sensed the partnership that was coming between shorthand and typewriting, but in those days the great union of the "twin arts" was still in the future. When did it actually come? From the very beginning in many individual cases, like Clephane's and Weller's and Wyckoff's. But as a feature in commercial education, not until several years after the invention of the writing machine. The first school which taught typewriting, of which there is positive record, was opened by D. L. Scott-Browne at 737 Broadway, New York, in 1878. From that time, however, the development became rapid, and within a few years there were similar schools in every large city in the country. From this time also begins the real success of the typewriter in finding a market. As shorthand writing, during the ages that preceded the writing machine, had only a restricted field of usefulness, so the typewriter in its early years, before it joined forces with shorthand, was confined to a very limited sale. And then it made its partnership with stenography--the most remarkable partnership in all business history. Of late years another important invention, the office phonograph, has made its bid for a share in this partnership, but the status of the writing machine, as the senior partner, is impregnably established. Meanwhile the typewriter itself was about to undergo a great development. It is hardly a coincidence that the first school to teach typewriting and the first typewriter which won a wide popularity both appeared in the same year, 1878. This machine was the Model 2 Remington, the first typewriter which wrote both capitals and small letters. This first shift-key model, like the Model 1 of 1874, was the product of several master minds. Jenne, of course, had a big hand in it; so also did other men who had labored with him on the first model. The problem of printing both capitals and small letters, with the standard keyboard arrangement, was solved by the combination of the cylinder shifting device, invented by Lucien S. Crandall, with type bars carrying two types, a capital and a small face of the same letter, invented by Byron A. Brooks. The shift-key machine proved to be a long step in advance, and the typewriter soon began to gain in popular favor. Since the advent of the typewriter in 1874, one firm of selling agents after another had been battling against heavy odds to find a profitable market for the machine. Densmore and Yost were the first selling agents, followed by Densmore, Yost & Company, General Agents (the style assumed when Densmore personally withdrew from the selling agency), and finally by Locke, Yost & Bates, a firm composed of D. R. Locke (Petroleum V. Nasby), G. W. N. Yost, and J. H. Bates, afterwards a successful advertising agent in New York. During all of this time the load of debt on the enterprise grew greater and greater, until the problem of getting back the amount that had been sunk in manufacture and unsuccessful sales effort seemed well nigh impossible of solution. Further changes were now made which eliminated Yost entirely, and in July, 1878, the selling agency was entrusted to the well-known house of Fairbanks & Company, the celebrated scale makers. As the Fairbanks business was well organized, it was thought that their facilities would largely increase sales. One of the first acts of Fairbanks & Company was to appoint C. W. Seamans as manager of typewriter sales. With the appearance of Seamans in the story begins the chain of events which finally led to the commercial triumph of the writing machine.