He gave me a deal on a Hermes 2000 (“The Cadillac of typewriters!”), which featured a knob that adjusted the tension on the keys and the crispest, straightest line of type possible. I’ve since added the 3000, the Baby and the gloriously named Hermes Rocket to my shelves.

My dad’s Underwood, bought used just after the war for his single year at U.S.C., had some keys so worn out by his punishing fingers that they were misshapen and blank. The S key was a mere nib. I sent it to a shop for what was meant to be only a cleaning, but it came back with all the keys replaced. So long, Dad, and curse you, industrious typewriter serviceperson.

a collection that started when, in 1978, the proprietor of a Cleveland business machine shop refused to service my mostly plastic typewriter. “A worthless toy!” the man yelled. Yes, yelled. He pointed to shelves full of his refurbished typewriters — already decades old yet all in perfect working order.

autographed Corona Junior that Hanks gifted to Vale this past March.