The Million Dollar Typewriter

by Murray Segal

  “For now, we had better get back to PI and keep our eyes and ears focused on what’s happening in the area. We don’t have any reason to believe they are in the area at this point.”

  Too late to do any work back the paper so we go on to the apartment. I do telephone the paper to see if there is any breaking news. Everything is quiet there. We eat dinner, watch a movie and go to bed. Just like a normal couple. The nights are getting cool up here even though it’s only September. I hope we are home before the snow starts, but only if the Nazis are in custody or dead. I prefer dead. I sleep poorly, getting up several times to go into the office and crank up the Toshiba. I search the news channels without a clue what I’m looking for. I find nothing and am in such a fog that I wouldn’t know if I was staring at a news item that was relevant to our plight. After about four hours of that nonsense, I am so tired that I am asleep before my head hits the proverbial pillow.

  Silvia misses nothing as everyone knows, so when I sit down for breakfast she takes one look at me and asks, “Do you want me to take you to the hospital or shall we go directly to the morgue?”

  “Have a little pity. After all it was your snoring that kept me awake.”

  “Right. Poor baby. It’s as bad as I thought. You are just hallucinating. We will skip the hospital and the morgue and just find you a shrink who likes the most difficult cases.”

  “I’m finding your humor very crude and not at all funny this morning. What’s your plan for the day?”

  “I am a professor so I don’t have to do anything. However, I am going off to my office at the University to plan my next lecture. Who knows, there may even be a struggling student or two who drop by for help. And you?”

  “I suppose I will continue my defense of freedom of the press at the office. You can drop me off if you will dispense with any more of your sick humor. Otherwise I will walk. Perhaps the fresh cool air will clear my head and a good idea for another feature story will fill the void.”

  “I’ll not touch that one but let me drop you off. Fresh cool air can be overdone.”

  I sit for a while at the office and think about the possibilities for some new feature stories. Given the importance of the potato industry in the area there may be a good story there. But only if I don’t have to muck around in the fields myself. Ok. I’ll put this on my list with priority. That leads me to question myself: what role does the potato play, in terms of the overall economics of the region and what’s ahead in terms of future development? I know the area produces maple syrup but I don’t know the scope of the product and whether there’s a story lurking among the maple trees. I will check this one out because it may end up being a sweet story. Don’t tell Silvia about this feeble attempt at humor. The history of UMPI is well known but maybe a story based on the faculty members would be of interest. I’ll check this out with Silvia.

  I stop by the office and seek out Steve. After a few minutes, he waves me into his office.

  “What’s up, Harry?”

  “Well I.ve been searching for another feature and what I’ve come up with is a story on the importance of the potato to Aroostook County.”

  “Stop right there. We’ve been there and done that. In fact, more than once. Get out of the office and dream up something different.”

  I find Silvia at home and explain that Steve has vetoed my idea about the Potato Feature.

  “I don’t know what to do,” say I. “My mind is just a blank.”

  “I don’t think I will touch that one. But seriously let’s take the afternoon of and just walk around town a bit.”

  “Ok. I don’t suppose you’d like to like to clear your head with lunch at the Sorpreso?”

  “No. I would not. I’ll make you lunch right here. I can tell you are down so I will also wash and dry the dishes. Put you mind in neutral for the rest of the day and just relax. Something will pop up. I know it.”

  “How about we go over to UMPI’s Reed Gallery and see what uplifting stuff they are showing?”

  “Ok. As long as we don’t have to plow through stuff like Andy Warhol.”

  “As a matter of fact, the gallery has some original works of his. I’ll pretend I’m blind and you lead me through it.”

  “It will be a pleasure to lead you anywhere. I hope all my colleagues at the ‘U’ are there to see who is boss in this family.”

  “The boss makes lunch while I catch up on all the news.”

  “That ought to cheer you up.”

  “I’m sure it will.”

  While she makes me a pastrami sandwich and some potato salad, I read the papers.

  When I sit down at the table I say to her, “What I have learned in just a few minutest is the world continues to be a state of turmoil. The Mideast situation continues to simmer and our president has not yet learned how to say Islamic Terrorist. Neither has Hillary Clinton, the Democratic candidate for president. On the Republican side, Donald Trump’s hair shows no signs of improvement. Both candidates are too old to be president and we only hear second hand rumors about their health. We have had rough periods in our history before and have survived many difficult times. I hope we will again. I remind myself that our own personal survival is most important to us just now. I can’t afford to get too depressed about national and international events. Easy to say, hard to pull off.

  “Thanks for lunch dear lady. I think it’s picked up my spirits a bit.”

  “You are the only person I know whose mood can be elevated by potato salad.”

  “Hey. The mere mention of the word potato reminds me of all the time I wasted in doing the research for a feature story on the evil vegetable.”

  After she does the dishes we agree to go over to Reed’s Gallery. It’s a fine day, so we walk.

  Even Andy Warhol doesn’t spoil our 90 minutes touring the entire gallery. In one corner of the gallery we stumble onto an exhibit of children’s art. I am stunned by some of the work and can’t believe it’s been done by grade school students.

  “Silvia, maybe we have just stumbled onto a good feature story. I’m going to find out what school these kids are from and then pick out the most promising work. Look this still life of some flowers on a table is terrific. It’s an oil and was painted by a seven-year-old girl. I’m going to take down her name and go over to the school to talk to her and her teachers.”

  “Not now you aren’t. We are on our way home. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “Really. What is it?”

  “Won’t be a surprise if I tell you now. Would it?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Besides it must be seen to be enjoyed.”

  “I love surprises and I suppose that it wouldn’t be a surprise if you told me. Do we walk to it?”

  “No. We go home and get the car and drive to it.”

  “I was envisioning a surprise right here at home.”

  “Maybe later.”

  Off we go on Route I, toward the south.

  “Oh goody, we are going to Key West. A splendid surprise.”

  “Almost, but not quite.”

  We drive the few miles to the entrance to Aroostook State Park and turn in.

  “Here we are. One thousand acres of wooded trails.”

  “This is it? One thousand acres of what?”

  “Beautiful scenery, fresh air and solitude. Don’t be a grump. Follow me.”

  We end up walking for several hours, enjoying the solitude of the park, walking, watching the wild life, laughing and totally relaxed. We forget the country’s troubles and most importantly our own troubles.

  “I’m a convert,” say I. “Can we just stay here for a week or so?”

  “Nah, I forgot to bring a tent, and enough of your favorite ice cream.”

  “Maybe we just sleep out under stars.”

  “You mean with the wolves, bears and snakes?”

  “Um, let’s go home.”

  “That’s what I thought, oh brave warrior.”

  We drive straight home and crawl
into bed. Does anyone really “Crawl” into bed?

  “I think a movie would interrupt my mood. I am refreshed and full of energy.”

  “I think so too. Anything else you can think of to do?”

  “Um, yeah, it’s about that blunt instrument you talked about earlier today.”

  “That’s funny. Maybe I made it up.”

  Much later we are sound asleep for the rest of the shortened night.

  In the morning, I drive to the school where our girl wonder goes and talk to her art teacher. She tells me that Ann, her student has been painting since she was 5 years old. I can’t believe it but her teacher drags out a large portfolio of her work and I become a believer.

  “May I talk to her? I’d like to do an interview with her for the paper and include some of her work. Would that be possible?”

  “Well, I can’t speak for her parents but I bet that they would be delighted.”

  “Great. Let me check it out with my editor and I will get back to you. I know he will want to do the story and it will just be a matter of picking out a time when we can get Ann and parents together so we can talk. I’ll want to borrow some of her work for the story, as well.”

  “That’s terrific, I look forward to hearing from you and in the meantime, I will call her parents and make sure it is alright with them.”

  “Super. You take care.”

  You too.

  On the way home, I stop by the shop and sit down with Steve.

  “I have an idea for a good human interest story and I want to run it by you before I do anymore work on it. I bumped into the art work of a young girl a few days ago at Reeds Gallery at UMPI and it was quite incredible. I spoke to her teacher today and she thinks her parents would be delighted to have us do a feature on her and include some of her work. How do you react to this?”

  “Well, it sure beats potatoes. Sorry for that dig.”

  “If that’s a pun keep working on your comedy line.”

  “Sorry, I couldn’t resist it. Seriously I love the idea. Talk to her parents and see if they go along. Oh and by the way drag the teacher into the story. It will good publicity for her and the school.”

  When I get home, I see that Silvia is working away on some lecture notes in our office, so I stay away from our office.

  “Hey,” she hollers out. “What happened with Frederick?”

  “He bought my idea to do a feature on the young artist. I am going to put that off for a day or two because it is time to tear that typewriter apart and see what I can find that makes it so sought after. I plan to start that in the morning and spend as much time as necessary. I am determined to figure it out. Would you mind if I set up a card table in the office and worked there?”

  “No. Not all. If you are going to be here, the revered professor will go to the U and work there.”

  “Ok, but I may need some help with this and you are the smartest person I know.”

  “Aw, how sweet. Just call if you need me. Now just go make dinner.”

  “I think I asked for that.”

  I make some spaghetti and meatballs for myself and some plain spaghetti without tomato sauce or meatballs for Silvia. I put some olive oil on her spaghetti. I would have added some tofu but I didn’t think that would mix too well.

  “Just one bite and I already know that it’s delicious. As a reward, I think I will let you do all of the cooking until we get home.”

  “Gee, thanks. If you do the dishes, that’s fine with me.”

  “Nah, you do them too. I keep telling you there is a price to pay for the services of a revered professor. What’s so hard to understand?”

  I might really need her help with what I find on the typewriter, so I defer.

  “And, you are still the social director of this household so go find us some social for this evening. Then tomorrow you can do all the hunting on that typewriter that you need to.”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  After dinner, we watch Big Stone Gap with Ashley Judd and Whoopi Goldberg. I like it even if it is a chick flick. Sleep comes easily. I make an omelet for me in the morning with blueberry jelly and cream cheese along with home fries. I make oatmeal for Silvia with raisins.

  “Thanks for the breakfast, slave. Now get to work and find out what makes that stupid typewriter so valuable while the revered and lovable professor goes to the U to think, study, and just generally make the world a better place to live. When and if you need help with your work, give me a call. Now, wash and wipe the dishes.”

  She gives me a peck on the cheek.

  “Sure. Thanks. You go off and figure out how to make the world a better place while I stay here try to find a way to keep us alive.”

  CHAPTER XIV –

  THE PUZZLE IS SOLVED

  When she is out the door and the dishes are done, I begin to work on the Million Dollar Typewriter. I set the machine on a table in the office and just stare at it for a few minutes. The first thought is that maybe the simplest approach is the answer. That would be the serial number. This is etched in the case in plain view. It is S-61512956-12. It’s a very large machine. It is ordinary looking. Its appearance offers no hints to any inherent value it might have. There is little call for big clumsy typewriters like this. Were it not for its history it would fetch maybe $100 on the market. Probably less. Remember, I paid $250 for one in PI. I needed it because I thought it might help me keep the MDTW safer. No one tried to steal either typewriter and I wish I had my $250 back now.

  Ordinarily I would look at the MDTW and not have a clue to its history or potential value. An explanation how I found out about its history is in order. I received a telephone call some years ago, from a lady who lived in northern Massachusetts. She, or more likely her son, apparently got my name from an internet search. She told me on the phone that she wanted to bring the machine to my shop and have it restored. She made an appointment and a few days later she showed up with her husband and the Underwood.

  She explained to me that her son found the typewriter in the trash at Columbia University where he was a student. He brought it to their home and hence to me

  Now I am not the most knowledgeable person about history but I knew it when I saw it plainly spelled out for me. This typewriter has a tag affixed to the side that says it is the property of the U.S. Navy at the Physics Department of Columbia. I had read about the work of that department in the past. Just before WWII, Enrico Fermi escaped Italy with his Jewish wife and came to the USA. He and our War Department knew that the Germans were working on a nuclear device. Fermi enlisted Albert Einstein to sign a letter to President Roosevelt asking for funds to set up a lab and continue his research. The part of this story that had led me to read about it was the fact that Einstein’s only help on this project was to sign the letter to Roosevelt that Fermi drafted. Einstein was a pacifist and retired to the safety of Princeton University and offered not one stitch of help during the war, to the country that gave him refuge. I didn’t understand it when I read it then and I still don’t. We won the war, at least in part, because Fermi beat the Germans to the atomic bomb while Einstein sat on his butt at Princeton. I still get angry about that even today.

  If I could prove that the letter to Roosevelt was typed on this machine it would no doubt be worth tens of millions of dollars. One way to do this would be to get a sample of typing from the typewriter and compare it with the typing from the letter. I explained all this to the woman (I don’t remember her name). I told her that it would be unwise to restore the machine because it might ruin all chances of comparing its typing to that of the letter. The best thing to do, I explained would be to remove the ancient ribbon and replace it with a new one and get a sample of the output to compare with that of the letter. That would require obtaining a copy of the letter for the comparison. She said she would get a copy and send it to me. I gave her $20 to cover her expenses in coming up here. She did send me a very poor copy of the letter but I never heard from her again. Obviously, I have the typewriter
but not any proof that I own it. I obtained a good copy of the letter from the National Archives. There was no obvious way to link the typewriter with the letter. I do know that the machine was in Fermi’s lab by 1942 and that important documents were undoubtedly typed on it.

  Since the machine was manufactured in 1914, I drop the serial number as being at all related to the machine’s hidden secrets or its value. If this is the case, then then there is something in the machine itself that will solve the puzzle. I sit and study the machine for a few minutes. I see only one obvious way that anything could be hidden in it. That would be under the keys. I carefully begin to remove the nickel rings and the paper inserts underneath under each one. I start with the middle row (Letter Q) and I find nothing at all. I drop down (Letter A) and repeat the process. Nothing. Perhaps there is nothing to find under the keys. I start to doubt that I will find anything thing at all. I am stubborn, if not very smart, so I continue with the row beginning with the letter Z. Nothing. Now I really begin to doubt my assumption that the clues are under the keys. Only one row left and that is the top one, which begins with the number 1. PAYDIRT! There are letters under the numbers. I had avoided looking here at first because I thought that it was more likely that the clues, if they were here at all, would be under the letters. I mistakenly assumed that there might be a relationship between the letter on the outside and the one underneath.

  What I find are the following letters of the alphabet.

  BAPPAZHANS

  They do not spell out any words that I know about. Nor do I see any clue as to what they do mean. I need a better brain than my own to figure this out and there is only one professor of English in the family. Silvia’s at the University and I decide not to interrupt her, much as I want to do just that. I make a simple lunch which consists of a roast beef sandwich and some potato salad. I really didn’t need the potato salad but I consider it a vote of confidence in the region’s most important crop. I hide the MDTW under some dirty clothes in the closet, along with the parts I have removed. The inserts with the letters on them go into the pocket of my running shorts. Running will make the time go faster. If I time it right I should be back before Silvia gets here. I guess wrong on that one. When I get back the car is parked at the apartment.