Recovering the platen on a Fox 23

The Fox Typewriter Co. of Grand Rapids produced some of the finest and most beautiful typewriters ever (much more here). I have the good fortune to own a lovely Fox no. 23, made in 1908 and still in near-mint condition, with a few exceptions. Its typebar rests, consisting of leather-wrapped sand, became brittle; its feet are squashed; its fragile ribbon vibrator broke and has been repaired with a little metal tape; and its platen was rock hard. (I believe I had it redone by the late Ames Co. around 25 years ago, but if I did, either they used rubber that was too hard, or it hardened over time.)

I decided to get the platen recovered by J.J. Short. This required some disassembly, which I've decided to explain on this blog for the convenience of future Fox owners.

The platen easily pops out of the typewriter when you slide back two pieces at either end that hold it in the carriage. 

The left end of the platen looks like this:

Now let's take it apart. (I recommend storing the pieces in a sealed bag.) Disassemble the left end by unscrewing the platen knob. (Note that the left and right platen knobs are not interchangeable.) Under the knob there is a flanged bushing that slips over the platen shaft. It slips off easily. 

Now remove one set screw that holds the platen shaft in place (it fits into an almond-shaped depression in the shaft) and three wood screws. There is also a fourth hole in the platen cap (you can spot it in the two photos above; it's hidden behind the shaft in the photo below). This hole goes over a hole in the wood, but at least on my typewriter there was no screw there. Maybe it's just meant for alignment.

Once the screws are out and you've also removed the right platen knob, you can remove the platen shaft and the left platen cap. The cap fits tightly into the wooden platen. I found that it helped to insert a small screwdriver into the opening and use it to gain a little leverage that helped me pull out the cap.  

Now let's disassemble the right end:

Unscrew the knob. (You will notice that as soon as it is even slightly unscrewed, the ratchet wheel spins freely. This is how you get variable line spacing on a Fox.) Under the knob is a flanged bushing (different from the bushing on the left end) and inside the bushing is a tube (not visible in these photos) that slips over the platen shaft.

The ratchet wheel slips right off, and under it is a platen cap (different from the left one) held on by three wood screws (same as the screws on the left end).

These instructions should be enough for anyone to handle disassembly, but I still recommend taking photos of your own platen as you go. Send the platen off for recovering, and look forward to the moment of its return!

When reassembling the platen, make sure to get the platen caps tightly into the wood. I tapped them with a hammer and screwed the wood screws in tightly (but not so tightly as to ruin the wood). If the caps are not in tightly, the platen will not fit back into the carriage. 

Now I want to use this typewriter regularly!

Calling it quits

A tech guy decides to call it quits.

Thanks to Mark Hurst of Techtonic for pointing me to this post.

Springtime typewriter safari

I just reduced my typewriters by about 2/3: in approximate numbers, I sold 100 machines and gave away 100 parts machines, leaving 100 in my collection. But of course that doesn't mean I'm not interested in typewriters anymore! It's still fun to go on safari and see what there is to be found in the "wild" of the local antique mall. This morning was a great time to do that, right after getting cortisone shots under my patellas (I barely felt it, the doctor knows his stuff).

Well, here's an Underwood no. 6, I believe, with 11-inch platen, that has been through some dramatic price reductions: from $380 to $249 to $199. With the stern warning "please do not type or play," I think it's going to linger longer.

Another reduction: this Sears Scholar went from $95 to $79. It remains a model that will excite very few.

Another Underwood, this one a beefy Master, proposes a price of $97. The rust is free.

A portable Underwood, for a change. ... What's this? A fresh concept in typewriter sales! You can buy the machine for $59.99, and underneath it there happens to be an "Empty typewriter box" that you can get for a mere $22.50! Gee, I wonder what used to be in that case....

Here's a reasonable price, for once: $49 for a Royal FP. With some cleaning and care, this could be a workhorse once again.

Another Underwood no. 6, this one with a 10-inch platen, is offered for $65.

And yes, it's yet another Underwood. Maybe a model S or SS, for $90.

Here's what has been typed on the page. 

Isn't it amazing that "Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country" (or "party") is still a familiar sample sentence for many of us? According to Charles Weller's The Early History of the Typewriter (1921), he and others who were early testers of prototypes of the Sholes & Glidden in the late 1860s used this sentence to test the Type Writer! Whether or not this is true, evidently the sentence was a cliché by 1921, now 105 years ago.

At this point my luck changed! In a booth that has never included typewriters before, I spotted an Oliver no. 3 (1902-1907) for $129.99, in typical condition.

Next was ... yet another Underwood. But at least it was a visually interesting Jewell from the '50s. Price: $75. Feel: kind of rickety, like most Underwood portables of the period.

And still another Underwood! A rather "amazing," as the seller says, wide-wide-carriage model for $110.

That was it for the typewriters. No, I didn't buy any of them. If I were a beginning collector, though, I would have gotten the Oliver for sure. How about you?

There was one more item that did tempt me. This Burroughs Calculator is so cute and well-preserved! It's strictly an adding machine, with no other arithmetic functions, and it works quite simply. As you input amounts on the keyboard, the display facing you immediately updates the total. The crank on the right resets the device to zero.

You never know what — or Whom — you'll find at the antique mall . . . . . .