Clarity

You might call it the sound of a rebellion. Young people in the Phoenix, Arizona valley are buying old manual typewriters and using them as a creative escape from the distractions of computers and the internet. It's what good old-fashioned typewriters do not do that’s attracting this younger generation.

Max Johnson brought his grandfather's 1964 Smith Corona to school last year; it was a novelty. Max said, “I inherited it. Rummaging through a closet of his old things. (When I bring it to school) other people are like ‘Whoa, a typewriter.’”

Max was tapping into something else. A generation interested in a machine because of what it does not have. No power cord, no internet connection, no temptation to jump online. No AI prompts. Max went on to say, “So with computers there's distractions everywhere. And if you have ADHD like me, you could get nothing done. But with a typewriter. It's just you and the keys.”

Bill Wall owns the Mesa Typewriter Exchange which has been there since 1947. He says, “I have customers from probably eight years old on up.” Unlike Bill Wall's grandfather who started the company, Bill's business is driven by collectors. Wall continues, “I would say half my customer base is probably under 30. A lot of them have a big vocabulary. They seem to have high IQs. A lot of them are homeschooled. They're very creative.”

A recent Type-In Event at the Chandler Library was organized by 21-year-old Jeremiah Buckovski. He shared, “I like the analog stuff. It's a lot more real than a computer. And I like how it's part of history. I like how they sound. I like how they feel.”

Reporter Joe Dana asked a young teen, “What's it like to write something that's permanent? You can't go back and change it.” She replied, “I think it would make me a bit nervous, hoping to make no errors.”

But permanence can be a positive. Max Johnson takes his typewriter to school every day using it for special projects during free time. He typed up one-of-a-kind letters to a local legislator and to his girlfriend. He said, “With a typewriter, what you said is what you said and nothing can change that.”

You can watch the short video here.

In Christianity Today, Al Hsu writes:

Encouraged by a 25 percent-off coupon given to me by a friend, I went ahead and had [laser eye] surgery [to correct my vision]. ... It didn't quite take. ... My vision had been something like 20/400, and he was able to bring it to 20/40—tantalizingly close to clear vision, but still fuzzy. Then I happened to attend an InterVarsity Asian American staff conference. During corporate worship, I squinted to make out lyrics on the far wall. In one particular session, we sang "God of Justice ”:

Live to feed the hungry

Stand beside the broken

We must go

Stepping forward

Keep us from just singing

Move us into action

We must go

I closed my eyes as we repeated the chorus, praying that God would direct me. How might I move into action? The song cycled back to an earlier verse, and I opened my watering eyes. The lyrics on the screen shimmered slightly, then came crisply into focus. I could see. Clearly. Wow. I could read every word easily, without squinting.

Had God just healed me? ... I blinked several times, and my vision wavered back and forth. Clear, blurry, clear, blurry. Then I realized what was happening. While singing I had been tearing up, moved by God's call, and the thin layer of water on my eyeballs functioned like contact lenses. The tears had been making my vision clearer. ... I suspect that I will never see as clearly as I do when I have tears in my eyes.