Take a break Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.
An old friend that we Baby Boomers used to communicate with each other, back before you guys were even a gleam in technology’s eye, is dropping by for a visit.
The typewriter. It’s a novelty today, but there are still some old souls out there relying on it to make a living. Meet one of them.
On a day last week, Bryan Mahoney opens for business on a Burbank sidewalk with the tools of his trade – a 1935 Smith Corona Sterling typewriter and a stack of white stationary with his name at the top.
The 43-year-old Toluca Lake resident writes poems for a living, and this area along Magnolia Boulevard with its coffee shops, antique stores and eateries draws heavy foot traffic, as does Old Town in Pasadena, another of his favorite work spots.
Give Mahoney five minutes of your time so he can find out a little about you – what you do for a living, your hobbies, where you like to go on vacation, who you love – and he’ll write you a personalized five- or six-stanza poem in 10 minutes, while you go take a walk.
He doesn’t put a set price on his poems, although he considers a dollar a minute to be fair for this perfect last-minute gift. Ten dollars – cheap when you consider the bailout value alone for providing husbands who forgot their wives’ birthday, or their wedding anniversary.
“My poems have saved a lot of husbands and boyfriends,” the former newspaper reporter and freelance journalist says with a laugh.
What drives his business is curiosity and the unique sound a typewriter makes — the sharp clack of the keys striking paper, and the loud ding when the carriage nears its margin and its time to return.
“It’s the last thing people expect to hear when they’re out for a walk, the sound of a typewriter,” he says. “They become curious. What’s this guy doing with a typewriter on the sidewalk?”
He enjoys it when young children walk up and stand next to him with their parents as he’s typing — a look of wonderment on their faces as they try to figure out what this big, crazy-looking contraption is that’s making so much noise.
“I ask if they know their alphabet yet and if they do I turn the typewriter toward them and ask if they know how to spell their name? I tell them to press down really hard on those letters, and watch what happens when the keys strike the paper.
“They see the carriage move, the bell go off, and suddenly there’s their name on a piece of paper, and their eyes light up. They’re really into it. I tell them every book that’s ever been written is right there in front of them on those typewriter keys.”
It’s a big challenge, being a speed poet. He has no canned lines he uses for everybody. That would be cheating. Everything’s based on those five-minute interviews, and what’s said.
“I’ve got 10 minutes to draw those thoughts out of me,” Mahoney says. No pressure, right?
Sometimes, like on Mother’s Day when his poems are in high demand, it takes a little longer. People want to talk to him while he’s working, but he can’t. He’s 12 minutes into a 10-minute poem, and he’s got three couples waiting in line.
“At that point you just have to relax and remember they’ll wait until I’m done,” he says. “They understand. Besides, when are they ever going to get the opportunity for a stranger to type a poem about them on paper where the words last forever?”
You can’t delete “I love you” on a typewriter.
If you get a poem from him, you’re going to see typing mistakes, Mahoney says. It’s inevitable. He doesn’t have time to white out or start over. People understand.
“My love of typewriters somehow got me in this weird art space where now I’m painting portraits of people’s typewriters, too,” he says. “In 2021, I painted 100 different portraits of 100 typewriters from all over the world.
“I never realized when I bought my first typewriter that there is this whole community out there that loves them, too.”
On Mother’s Day, after he calls his own mother, Mahoney will be plying his trade in downtown Burbank along San Fernando Road between Magnolia Boulevard and Olive Avenue from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m.
Just follow the loud clack of typewriter keys striking paper, and wait for the bell.
For more information on Mahoney, visit his website, thetypinpint.com
Dennis McCarthy’s column runs on Sunday. He can be reached at dmccarthynews@gmail.com.
