Monday, December 09, 2024

Relics

(Thanks to those of you who reacted to yesterday’s post about the fugitive suspect in the murder of the United Healthcare CEO. George notes that “Some aspects of this shooting have an uncanny correlation with the assassination that takes place during the last few minutes of the currently trending Netflix thriller series ‘Madness.’" Mary suggests the shooter “chose a light grey backpack as he originally planned to hide it between grey rocks in Central Park.” David asks “How did he know exactly where and when he could encounter and know it was the CEO? Is getting that kind of intel so easy?” All good points. The longer the suspect remains at large, the more mysterious this case becomes.)

(This is an excerpt from 2007.)

Today I was thinking that I should really be in the salvage business -- rescuing the old castoffs of this throwaway society, lovingly restoring them, and presenting them as the artifacts they truly are from former times.

After all, I've been collecting things for at least half a century. Old bottles, coins, stamps, magazines, books, photos, postcards, baseball cards -- the list goes on — not to mention facts, fantasies and memories.

Tonight's major find was this old "portable" typewriter -- the laptop of its time. I used to work on a machine like this, and in fact, I still had one until relatively recently, when it somehow found its way to the recycling bin. 

Thanks to one of my neighbors, it didn’t get far. And today, following the local custom of putting whatever you don't want anymore out on the sidewalk for anyone passing by to claim, I now have retaken possession of this sweet portable Remington. 

It makes that old comforting sound, you know, clickety-click, that a century ago came from the open windows in Rudyard Kipling's compound in India, as he pounded out his stories on tropical nights.

Or Conrad, Hemingway, Faulkner, all warm-weather writers, take your pick. For many decades, this was the sound of literature and the sound of journalism. Even as recently as the Watergate scandal of 1974, the signature film made of Woodward and Bernstein's legendary reporting that ended Richard Nixon's presidency, closes with a series of headlines typed on an old manual typewriter.

Relics. If I ever write a memoir, I should do it on this. On second thought, strike that, but its photo might make a good book cover.

HEADLINES:

 

No comments: