The Time Capsule: Click, clack, ding, the reliable No. 5
The compactly built No. 5, nearly a century old, weighs a solid 30 pounds and contains hundreds of moving parts. Because the sides and front on this model were not enclosed, much of the mechanism can be viewed.
Unfortunately, this one was stored in a damp basement. After a few decades the parts clogged with rust and mouse droppings. When flushed with solvent, out came disintegrated bits of tiny springs and unidentifiable fragments.
My intent was to use it as a prop in a photograph, so the interior condition was not an issue.
I wondered, though, if it would be possible to find just one combination of parts capable of making the sound the “Old No. 5” had once been noted for—the sharp, whip-like snap of a key striking the platen. I hadn’t heard the sound for years, and there are youngsters in the family who never have.
The Underwood No. 5, unless in mint condition, is not worth much. This is because millions of them were made. Millions were made as it was arguably the best and most reliable manual typewriter ever produced. Some users would make that statement without including the word “manual.”
A history of the Underwood Company tells us that in the 1890s they made typing accessories, primarily ribbon and carbon paper. The most popular typewriter of the time was Remington. Remington decided to expand and began marketing ribbons and carbon paper. This cut into Underwood’s business, so they opted to compete with a typewriter of their own.
Underwood bought the patent on a recently-invented typing machine, called it the No. 5, and began making them in 1900. The No. 5 proved to be very good. Within a few years other companies were emulating the Underwood, coming as close as possible without infringing on patent rights. Underwood kept making them, the same machine year after year, for three decades.
An aunt of mine spent a lifetime doing secretarial work. She was a town clerk, later with a newspaper, then spent thirty years or more as secretary for a bank president. She typed thousands upon thousands of pages using an assortment of machines, wrapping up her career with an IBM electric. Her favorite was always the old No. 5.
She was a smallish woman, perhaps 5’1” and 110 pounds, yet hammered the keyboard with the exuberance of a Ragtime piano player. As a boy I watched her fingers fly, the keys on their slender shafts a blur, producing sharp reports as rapid as machine gun fire. The bell dinged with five strokes left in the line, she slapped back the carriage with authority, and hardly missed a stroke. She could top 100 words per minute on the No. 5, a speed she could not approach with the IBM.
The No. 5, with all those delicate parts, was so soundly built that if kept reasonably clean and given a drop of oil now and then it could take a pounding day after day for decades. What piece of office equipment now being built has a chance of remaining functional for that long?
The No. 5 retrieved from the basement of a former school building cleaned up on the exterior, but years of rust put it beyond restoration. I thought, though, that perhaps it could be loosened up in places—enough to let a grand old machine play that tune one more time.
The “H” finally moved, then the “L” and, later, a couple of others. More solvent, more oil, and the day came when a grandson stopped by and we hit a few keys.
“Wow,” he said, “that is a cool sound!”
If any of you have an old No. 5, you have the Model T of typewriters. Take care of it, ribbon is still available, and it’ll appreciate being used now and then.
Roy Marshall is a local historian and columnist for the Red Oak Express. He can be contacted at news@redoakexpress.com.