I took a course in typewriting at Roosevelt High School many years ago. I was not very good at it, but it got me through 33 years of working at three newspapers, The Daily Pantagraph in Bloomington, Ill., the old St. Louis Star Times and the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.
When we students entered the classroom, the keys of the typewriters were covered, but there was a large picture of a typewriter keyboard on the front of the room. The teacher, Mr. Smith, pointed out the home keys on the picture. We got our index fingers in place on the home keys, and the drills began. Index fingers to the keys above and back again, and so on, finger after finger.
When Mr. Smith gave a test, he would dictate a letter and we would type it. For every error, 10 points were taken off. At the end of the semester, we were all touch typists. I had passed the course, and used my skills to type this column.
I had a mild stroke, and can no longer type. Friend Wife took typing in high school too. She sits at the computer and I dictate the column to her. I do not speak too clearly; it is not what it used to be. I yell at her so loudly our dog, Hobo, leaves the room in fright. If the windows are open, the neighbors can hear the column even if they don't read it.
I tried to type this column as Friend Wife looked over my shoulder. She will say such things as, "What does that mean?" "What are you trying to say?" I finally said, "To hell with it." She asked if "hell" is capitalized, but as a Methodist, she should know we do not capitalize Satan's home.
Neither of us is very computer smart, granddaughter Amanda comes over to send the column to the Journal editor. I do not share the check in this team effort.
I think I will type again someday and when I do, I will tell you. Friend Wife said, "You had better start practicing."
Mr. Smith, where are you when I need you?
Jim Fox, a retired newspaperman who lives in Affton, writes a weekly column for the Journals.
