An irresistible Aztec 600

And now for something more pleasant ...

I'm reducing my typewriter collection. [Right, Polt.] But sometimes destiny [or lust] strikes like lightning. That happened a couple of weeks ago, when a lovely blue Aztec 600 was going begging on eBay. How could I resist?

It arrived safely (double-boxed, thanks!). It's missing its case, but the typewriter itself is in great shape. I spent a happy couple of hours removing eraser crumbs and old grease, installing a new ribbon, and polishing until there was nothing left to polish. Here it is!

A few years ago I sold this brown 600 to a friend. 

Turns out that the brown one and my new blue one are less than 200 serial numbers apart! Both were made in 1962, the last year of production for this great model (and if you had to pick a final year for the golden age of typewriter manufacturing, 1962 would be a good candidate).

These typewriters are relabeled Rheinmetall KsTs. (The name Aztec was used for East German typewriters from various state-controlled factories when they were exported to the US. Aztec 500 = Erika 10 without tabulator, Aztec 600 = Rheinmetall KsT, Aztec 700 = Erika 10 with tabulator, Aztec 800 = Erika 20 or Groma Combina, Aztec 900 = Rheinmetall GS, Aztec 14 = Erika 14, Aztec 15 = Erika 15.)

I've had the opportunity to enjoy several Rheinmetalls in my collecting history (just portables, no standards). The portable is an ingenious invention based on the 1926-1930 Stoewer KsM portable. Under the Rheinmetall name, production lasted from 1931 to 1962. That's quite a successful run! You can see examples of Rheinmetall portables and KsTs on the Typewriter Database, and here is a history of postwar KsTs. 

The carriage comes off with a flip of two levers and a little jiggling—no tools required. This makes cleaning and service a cinch. The platen of the KsT is also easy to remove (unscrew the knobs). It has a light carriage shift, a quiet return, a pretty slim profile, and nice styling. 

Lettera on my lap

Italic Rheinmetall & poem #3

Here's a look at the imperfect but lovely Rheinmetall from 1938 that I'm using for a couple of poems.

... and poem #3 for the month:

I think poems that need explaining aren't very good, but you might be curious to know that I was thinking about how events get falsified in retrospect with a false clarity, and about recording technology.

Typecasting by iPhone

Addition (via laptop): Here is the entry by Scott that I had in mind.

PS: While fooling around further, I managed to delete the original version of this post! Here it is again, and here is a comment from Rob Bowker:

"Cutting edge stuff! Blogging by brick doesn't really work - apart from plain text so I'll have to stick with heavier-weight tech until the inevitable arrival of a smartphone. Mind you, Joe's set-up is pretty neat with his Lumix/iPad combination."

Two packages and a love story from Germany

After reading Robert Messenger's post on his Brillant S, I put the model on my mental Want list. Lo and behold, almost immediately, one turned up on eBay. It wasn't cheap, but it was a Buy It Now ... and I did.

Of course I provided the usual packing instructions. Well, a couple of weeks later, look what shows up:




There was no protection at all around the typewriter case, so of course the typewriter did not survive. Both front corners and the right platen knob were broken. Some eBay sellers don't have common sense (as Ted can testify). Fortunately I have received a full refund.



But here's a happier tale.

Another machine I spotted on German eBay recently was a black Torpedo 20, a model I'd admired for a while. I decided to go for it, and won it for just €8.

This machine, in contrast to the Brillant, arrived very well packed, in a big box. But it might have survived even without any box, because the case for this machine—a work of art in itself—is bulletproof cast aluminum, and it holds the typewriter very securely.









Here is the machine itself. It has subtle, flowing lines that need to be appreciated from various angles.





The little red switches above the keyboard are for reversing the ribbon. Only one such switch would be needed, so this is a peculiar feature that shows someone's obsession with symmetry.



Like many other Torpedo models, this one has a segment shift.




It types well and is well made, although the carriage return is not silent as on the later Torpedo 18 (the model that's probably found most often in the US).


The serial number, 613108, dates the machine at 1952.




The paper table folds all the way over, revealing the margin stops attached to its lower edge. This arrangement makes it possible to bypass the margins in a system that is unique to this typewriter, in my experience: you pull the paper table slightly toward you.



Not only is this a beautiful typewriter, but it comes with a beautiful story. The seller recounted that her father was working as an engineer for a mining company, and decided to research the miner's disease silicosis. He bought this typewriter in order to type a thesis on the topic. Her mother, who was working at the same lab, "finally consented to help him with his thesis and did some of the typing for him, and they fell in love." They married in 1953. "Who knows whether they would have married without the assistance of this little Torpedo typewriter? My parents lived together in love for 45 years."




I'm impressed with the elegant design of early '50s German typewriters. Check out the nice lines on this East German Rheinmetall from 1952:



1952 was also the year when the famous Voss with a beefy aluminum body was introduced:



How could anyone resist falling in love in the presence of typewriters like this?