First Old Olivettti column

I stare at the beast that is the blank page in my Olivetti portable electric typewriter. On the day he closed shop for lack of business years ago, my typewriter repair man told me that I was the last of his customers, had been for years, though I’d not know it, that he had been hanging on, as an unrequested favor to me, his only customer, only to service my machine, to give it its semi-annual lube job, to change its platen, to supply me with ribbons. But now he could no longer do it. Rents were rising, the stock market crash (he had speculated heavily in the dot com boom) had nearly bankrupted him. He was moving down to Florida to be with his daughter and grandchildren. As a parting gift, he gave me his remaining stock of #5 black top/red bottom ribbons. After he locked up the shop for the last time we walked to the ironically named “Last Chance Saloon,” that old haunt of the free-lance writer, now closed as well. There we toasted the typewriter, cursed the word processor and got deliciously drunk on cheap bourbon. I don’t remember much more of the evening other than that it ended around 2:00 in the morning, under a table, a Jew and an Irishman singing Vesti la giubba at the top of our lungs, the Italian words slurred, the glorious melody distorted nearly beyond recognition, but the friendship solidified Ridi, Pagliaccio, sul tuo amore infranto, ridi del duol che t'avvelena il cor!

And now, all these years later, the machine purrs, the keys under my fingers are awaiting the stimulus of neurons clicking, synapses connecting. I’ve been asked to write a regular column for the Voice and Herald, something like the weekly letters I’ve been sending to friends and relatives (not necessarily a mutually exclusive pairing) for the past couple of decades, and vanity being my chief (though not exclusive) vice, I’ve accepted the opportunity. Abe Rosenthal began his New York Times Op-Ed stint with the bold plea: “PLEASE READ THIS COLUMN!” I begin, not knowing what to say in introduction. My wife, she who is the font of all my inspirations, suggests, “Why don’t you tell them who you are and what you believe. Then, in weeks to come they can judge the perspective.” Smart woman. Here goes: Chronologically, though not in order of importance, I’m a teacher, a husband and father. I’ve been living in Rhode Island since 1969 and am just beginning to be accepted by natives as a potential citizen. I must admit, though, that if ever I am allowed to join the club it will be under false pretenses. I never understood the magic of Salty Brine and his “No school, Foster-Glocester” which will always mark me as an outsider; I’ve never been to the malls in Warwick without getting lost; and I don’t even know where Burrilville is. I do, however give directions which include phrases such as “Turn left where the Almacs used to be.”

In politics I’m a liberal, though I disagree with other liberals on abortion; this marks me as an outsider again. I’m ardently pro-Israel, but do not agree with all that the various governments of Israel have done. I never trusted Yassir Arafat and did not mind when he died. I do not trust the abilities or the intentions of Mohammed Abbas to reach peace with Israel. I agree with Samuel Johnson that “a decent provision for the poor is the true test of civilization.” I believe with Adam Smith, that philosopher of capitalism, that value is given to a product by the labor that goes into it. I believe that the Enlightenment in France and in England were the high-water marks of western civilization. I believe in the idea of the United States of America though not always with its policies or constitutional procedures. I believe with Thomas Jefferson that the pursuit of happiness is an inalienable right of man, though its achievement is not guaranteed. I believe that the wall between religion and secular society ought to be as high and as impenetrable as possible.

So, that’s who I am. I sit here with my Olivetti portable electric, that modern equivalent of a quill pen, and I write to you. I hope you will take another piece of Samuel Johnson’s to heart when you read these essays—“If a man does not make new acquaintances as he advances through life, he will soon find himself left alone.” I hope to be your new acquaintance. PLEASE READ THESE COLUMNS!

Oh, one more thing. When you read an expressed opinion, it is truly mine; when you read about a public person, I believe that what I write is true. When you read about myself, if truth be told, it may be coincidental. For instance, while I do own an Olivetti portable electric typewriter I’ve not used it in a decade.