When I think of Baltimore television shows like Homicide: Life On The Street and Hot L Baltimore or the movies of John Waters mold my vision of that coastal city. All stellar works that stick in my mind but not a rounded representation of the place. Now I find myself living about an hour from there and occasionally I visit that area of Maryland.
With a long history and varied social landscape there is a lot to see and experience in Baltimore. I went a few weeks ago there to see some roller derby semi-finals near the inner harbor. The visit I just completed isn’t quite as colorful sounding but was more colorful in actuality. The Howard Peters Rawlings Conservatory and Botanic Gardens has a very long name and a rather modest size. I’m not complaining since seeing the whole deal in one short trip is a lot better then my usual fractional intake of a big institution’s treasures after the same amount of time. So here’s a vote for modesty in scope and time suck.
The first thing you notice is the lovely 1888 Palm House in front. Like an overgrown doll house it has a small footprint that enhances the sense of verticality. Sprinkled about it is just the right amount of Victorian ornament to finish it off like a finely done pastry. Inside are varied plants with variations on tall, leafy, smooth, and spiny. I especially loved the orchid house which nicely displays the dazzling range of that largest family of flowering plants.
So, take a look at a few snaps I did. I hope you enjoy this rather random tour.
A few weeks ago I took my first trip to Philadelphia which isn’t that far from my new digs in Pennsylvania. I went ostensibly for an NAWCC chapter mart where I could look over watches and such for sale. Afterwards I had planned to go to the Simone Foundation Automotive Museum with a fellow horological student. Some of the world’s most famous sports cars are in this facility on display. There are not an overwhelming number of cars (which is good) but they make up for that in beauty. Pre-war Italian, British, French, and American vehicles are in tableaux to show the era they raced. The sensuous curves and touches that are form without function are as lovely as any sculpture.
As I usually do I took some pictures of the details of many cars. Also as usual the endeavor of photographing in available light meant that some images did not turn our even though I take a vast number of exposures. I’m happy the ones below were acceptable to me.
When the temperature is hovering around 100 most people do the sensible thing and stay indoors or at least in the shade with an iced glass of planters’ punch. However, during the heat wave we had this summer I showed my contrarian nature and went out. Possibly the reason for this was just to gather gist for my whine mill as I do love to complain. But the major reason I think was that I get stir crazy in the house and like to wander. Not surprisingly I brought my camera along and managed to keep my sweaty fingers from sliding off the shutter button too often.
I planned to have lunch at a microbrewery housed in a building that has been used as such since the early 19th century. It is located in the town of Mount Joy which neither was elevated nor particularly rapturous but was quaint enough. Upon arrival I found that the main street was cordoned off for an auto show. Since I love anything having to do with autos I wandered up and down the street for a bit under the sun becoming a human puddle with a camera.
After that is was off to Bube’s Brewery (if you think of “boobs” or “pubes” when you see this name keep it to yourself) which is housed in a fascinating old building. Its long history as a brewery means a dark industrial atmosphere with catacombs and a dining/bar area which feels like a cave. Very low and reddish mood lighting doesn’t dissuade that impression of stifling antiquity but that’s part of the charm. Good atmosphere, food, and drink made it a happy respite from the heat.
Lastly I traveled to the Hans Herr House in the Amish country of Lancaster County, PA. Built in 1719 it’s now a nice way so see how those who founded the Amish community first set up shop (or farm).
I went to that farm actually to hear an acquaintance (Oliver Craven) play in the lovely duo The Stray Birds. It was nice to sit in an apple orchard and hear music until a summer thunderstorm came to finally lower the temperature a touch. It was almost worth fleeing for shelter.
What? More pictures of cars? Yes, sorry. Guilty as charged. But I have an excuse: I went to an automotive museum. Near where I live now is Hershey, PA (yes, that’s the place with the candy and amusement park) and the Antique Automobile Club of America (AACA) Museum. I’ve been meaning to visit it and I finally got around to rousing myself to go and play the tourist. It turned out to be a thoroughly enjoyable place, well-kept and full of interesting vehicles and displays. What I wound up recording were images reflecting my fascination with small details and not the entire autos. Well, at least I’m not spoiling the museum for you with my microscopic presentation.
Just a friendly reminder: click on the images to enlarge.
Everything changes with the times. Even items as inherently archaic as fountain pens respond to fashion and technology, albeit at a glacial pace. These alterations can be for the good, the bad, or sometimes just to save a few bucks at the factory. Today’s lesson in evolution finds us gazing at the products of the historic old Italian firm of Omas. That name is an acronym for Officina Meccanica Armando Simoni and the somewhat eponymous Bolognese firm was founded in 1925. It remains one of the grand dames of the pen world continuing to innovate along with paying homage to the past with a varied product line. In the last few decades many of their pens were of a design that mimicked the pre-war glory days of writing instruments. Classic and understated models like the humbly named Paragon conveyed the special Italian sense of style. That certainly was not an exclusive pursuit as Omas introduced many models of extreme modernity sometimes by guest designers. The Tokyo and more recently the Emotica show that taste for the unique and futuristic.
If there is one thing that comes to most minds when Omas is mentioned now it’s the lovely celluloid they use on their top tier pens. One of the earliest plastics celluloid is still unrivaled for deep, luminous patterns and a warm, comfortable feel. After a period away from that material it returned in 1991 for the introduction of the Arte Italia line. These came in a wide range beautiful colors and styles reminiscent of their classic models (and of the Wahl Doric as many will point out.) One of the most sought after colors in these pens was arco, a brown and cream that brings to mind glowing wood. Many people consider an Omas in arco a grail pen (one that is coveted above others) because of this striking appearance.
In 2000 Omas was bought from descendants of its founder by LVMH (Moët Hennessy • Louis Vuitton S.A.) a luxury goods group that is known for ultra high-end products such as those indicated in its name. A few years later in 2005 a major redesign of their upper range of pens occurred which broke from their previous vintage look. Two new models replaced and bracketed the position the Paragon held in the Omas hierarchy: A new Paragon that is larger and has more bling and a Milord which is more comparable in size and looks to the old Paragon. The former has a large nib, bright metal section, large engraved cap band, inset cap-top “O”, and a new wide roller clip which makes it more ostentatious than before. Modest in comparison is the Milord which has a body colored section and smaller nib. Both pens have a more strongly tapered and chunkier appearance then what they replace but are still recognizably Omas with faceted sides and continuation of trademark celluloid.
Omi? Is that the plural for Omas? New Milord (L) and old Paragon (R).
A little while ago a friend gave me a leaky Milord to repair and I got a look at the new Omas construction. Since I also had on hand an example of the previous generation Paragon I decided to put it to use as a benchmark to see what has changed. I discovered an awful lot has changed. The entire filling system and construction of the pen has been thoroughly revised in the new model. Upon inspection it seem like Omas has taken a step back from elegant simplicity. This reminds me of the golden age of fountain pens when manufacturers were competing to see who could find the most complex methods for simple jobs in order to generate impressive engineering blather for advertising copy.
The parts of an old Paragon (T) and a new Milord (B).
Let’s take a look at the picture above to get an idea of what I am talking about. In it you’ll see the old Paragon (top) and new Milord (bottom) and what they are made of (you’ll want to click the image for a larger view). The older pen is the straight forward piston filler and similar to many vintage and contemporary writing instruments using that system. You can see there are only a few important parts including two cylindrical pieces, one with the seal on the end; a barrel; a filling knob; section; and nib/feed assembly. Simply put the barrel holds the ink and a piston travels lengthwise to draw or expel such. More specifically it works because the shaft that carries the piston seal is a hollow spiral and can freely move up and down but not twist. Into this meshes a threaded rod connected to the turning knob at the barrel end which can only rotate. If the knob is turned that rotational motion creates linear motion on the seal creating a vacuum to fill the pen with ink. Some pens reverse what shaft is the outer and inner (as in the Milord here ) or change the part lengths but the principle stays the same.
So if the standard piston filling system is reliable and often used (Montblanc and Pelikan among others have utilized it for decades) why mess with it? I’m not sure but Omas did on their newer pens with a flourish of complexity. Take a look at the disassembled pens and you can see more parts for the new Omas then the old to illustrate that point. On the outside the celluloid section of the Milord has gotten much longer and friction fits to the rear portion. It doesn’t look all that ink tight with such a joint but luckily it doesn’t have to be. That’s because the mysterious long clear tube in the picture is what really holds the ink now when slid into the pen. Yep, it’s a barrel in a barrel which makes the visible celluloid part just window dressing. The image below shows that the functional components can work independently from the pretty outside bits as a pen. It’s similar to what is called a “captive converter” which is a removable converter (often used in cartridge fill pens) permanently put into place and passed off as a piston filler. What we have here is kind of a jumbo version of that which sniggers down into the celluloid wrapper and is retained there to create the final pen.
Look Ma! No skin!
If you go back in time this actually is very much like a Tibaldi pen I fixed a few years ago which had a remarkably similar inner structure (see pic below.) I wasn’t too fond of the filling system then and I’m still not now. Besides being complex it seems delicate which increases the chance of a malfunction. A weak point in both I noticed was that the inner barrel is made of a brittle plastic which can develop stress fractures. The tight fit of this in the outer cosmetic barrel means it is submitted it to a lot of pressure when being removed or replaced thus the fractures. Lastly when you reduce the diameter of the tube holding ink such as done by the double wall we have a smaller ink capacity then in an equivalent sized standard piston filler.
Tibaldi Modello 60
I sound pretty negative but are there any upsides to the new design? I can think of a few possibilities starting with the fact that the celluloid is protected from any ink discoloration due to exposure. Not a problem I often see but it is a consideration. Also there is insulative value in having two barrels even without airspace between them. This could mean that rapid warming and cooling is slowed and so the ink doesn’t expand and leak out as easily when the pen is full. Yes, this may be a bit of a stretch. Lastly, and of concern to the manufacturer, it may be more economical to make a pen this way. The inner barrel could be simpler to produce since it’s not celluloid and has rougher finishing. Also repair is made much easier when a cheaper internal structure can be swapped in and no expensive celluloid needs to be touched.
I only have conjecture about why the change in construction was made but I do know that the old style Paragon is the pen I’d prefer out of the two. Both in looks and function I think it is superior. That’s not to say the new Milord or Paragon will not be a good pen with a long life. We’re not talking an accident waiting to happen so in all likelihood it will give good service. However, I do like elegant design in an expensive pen so just call me old-fashioned.
Today I went off to a car show in Lancaster, PA. The weather was nice, the show was big, and I wandered. What struck me this time (I do attend quite a few car shows) is how much I enjoy seeing the logotypes, name badges, and other identifications on these cars. While all are indicative of the time they were created some transcend that and become iconic symbols for those past eras. I’m sure people thought I was crazy taking close up images of a fender or a bumper while roaming about and I probably am. So, without further ado, here are some pictures to evaluate my mental health by.
About 4 hours into the DC Fountain Pen Supershow I burn out. The way I feel when I get there is like this: 1. Overwhelmed; 2. Confused; 3. Equilibrium; 4. Burn Out.
There is so much to see, do, and talk about for one man to do.
I’ve written a few posts about this show in the past (here and here) and it’s basically the same now as it was then. Thus, let me share some snapshots with you.
Why do we get nostalgic for things we’ve never experienced? I have no idea but I am guilty of it. The golden age of rail travel seems so foreign yet attractive when compared the crowded, uncomfortable sardine can modern air travel can be. I long for the slower, more open, and more luxurious accommodations we often associate with steam trains, ocean liners, and distant times.
If I were logical I’d realized that then travel was much slower, coach tickets meant you were packed in a car with many other people, and boredom probably got the best of you. But reality be damned as I let the hazy, warm glow of misinformed past imagery carry me on. And so you can imagine that I love seeing old rail stock and engines enough that I visit them when I can. I’ve been to the VA Museum of Transportation many a time to view the most lovely engine I’ve ever seen (The Norfolk and Western’s Class J) Now that I’m in Pennsylvania I was happy to discover both a working steam railroad and a railroad museum across from each other in the town of Strasburg.
Strasburg, like so many places here, is picturesque in a way that only well-preserved-mid-19th century towns can be. On its outskirts I visited the PA Railroad Museum and the Strasburg Railroad. They are across the street from each other which means you can ride the rails behind a vintage steam engine and then see a lot more on display.
The railroad there is festive and geared towards families. The station has a number of the usual tourist traps such as vintage portraits, gift shop, snacks of dubious merit, and miniature train rides for the very young. That’s not a criticism since I saw many folks have a great time enjoying it. I am often a skeptic of “family fun” but I think it was nicely presented and you can’t argue with happiness.
The train ride has a steam engine fired by coal and belching smoke. Environmentalists please remain quiet. The clunking and slow take off of a puffing train is entrancing. The brief 45 minute 9 mile journey was a nice vacation from modern times.
When I crossed the street to the museum I was stunned by the amazing indoor display of rectangular things on tracks. There were the typical recreated stations and storefronts but I do love that kind of thing. It’s always amazing to walk by and feel how huge and powerful these old technology behemoths were.
I’ll let my pictures speak from here. Hold on for a crazy batch of images screeching by you at 10 miles per hour. Yes, the train moved very slowly.
This post is about the joining in writing bliss of two orphaned items: A nib and a pen. It’s always heartwarming to bring about such a lovely union and in this case worthy of a few words since both parties are quite interesting. Let’s look at their backgrounds briefly (just to be sure no one is a gold digger) and then see if they function happily ever after.
Our suitor is a “safety pen” which came about as an odd answer to the question of how to keep a fountain pen from leaking. These pens showed up at the end of the 19th century and gained a niche that kept them on sale through the middle of the next one.. The best known early maker of Safety Pens was Moore who introduced a model in 1899 heralded as the “non-leakable” pen. Why didn’t these pens leak? Well, basically it’s an ink bottle with a nib. The ink is held in the barrel and a short cap screws tightly down on a lip at the end of that which is open. Where is the nib and feed you ask? When not in use they are hiding down in the barrel. The Moore accomplished this by using a sleeve you pushed to extend the nib out of the end like a turtle’s head popping out to see if the coast is clear. You pull it back to retract the nib into the barrel and then you cap it up tight which makes this a marvel of hermetically sealed safety.
Sometime around 1908 the design most people think of when they hear “safety pen” was introduced by Waterman. The difference here was that these functioned in a fancier way. To extend the nib and feed a knob at the end is twisted and that magically extends the writing point out and into action. The principle was pretty simple and effective: A pin set at the base of the rod that holds the nib and feed extends sideways into a hollow spiral attached to a knob. Due to a restriction in the pin’s axial motion it travels up and down when the knob is turned. This simple method was copied by other manufacturers and became the de facto construction for a safety pen.
A safety pen taken mostly apart.
Our inky groom happens to be a Waterman safety likely from the 1930s.. This is the late version of the pen which is more from the art deco era than the earlier models most people come in contact with. The interesting military style clip and the smooth sides make it a most modern looking safety but under the skin it’s still the same pen that was made for years prior.
The better half of this marriage is what the safety pen will hold to write: A music nib. I’ve certainly written about music nibs before (or at least my poor memory twinges me in such a way as to make me think that’s a possibility) so my description will be brief. A music nib is the unforgettable Cerberus of the pen world and like that mythic figure it has parts that seem too plentiful. Specifically I refer to the tines where three are in residence instead of the usual two. If you want to know why just take a moment to recognize the use this nib it put to (hint: read the name again). Musical notation has some thin and very thick lines so writing them requires quite a bit of stroke contrast and the ink flow to go along with it. Two ink channels going to a chisel tip can keep ink flowing during those big bold bits.
The formerly single music nib which accepted the proposal to join this pen is the Waterman #5 above. It is hard to date but possibly from the 1940s. It’s a lovely nib with flexibility which makes it a great joy to use.
So now that we know the couple in this pen story we wonder how they function together since blind dates don’t always work out. The deeply channeled feed on this pen supplies a great deal of writing fluid to the nib which is fine with it. Lines go from thin to extra bold in an instant. The ink is liberally doled out so this is a pen you need to blot a lot when using. As you can see in the writing sample you really can have some fun utilizing it and together they make a great team. Indeed a pair for the ages.
I’ve become subterranean. I’m not a bat yet but I’ve moved all my pen repair tools, parts, and various oddities down to my basement. Combine that with a desk, shelves, lights, and a chair and I’ve created what I now call a pen cave. The reason for this was more than just getting all this out of my home office to a larger area but a step to be more professional since I plan to start offering my repair services for a fee. So from now on I’ll be generating posts from the dark pen cave and having Alfred bring me some snacks while I do so. OK, there’s no Alfred and no pole I can slide down and be garbed in a fancy outfit but it’s the same idea.
The subject of this post is a well-known and not uncommon pen from Germany: The Pelikan 100N. Why I’m addressing this model is that I’d like to point out is how happy I am when a pen is designed so well as to be a pleasure to work on. Germans often have the reputation as meticulous mavens of over-engineering and are the subject of oft told stories like the one about the far too numerous components of the lowly ashtray in vintage Mercedes. Still, often they make elegant and simple designs. The pen I’m discussing today is an example of such and possibly that’s one reason why it was produced for so long and became so popular.
I’m a sucker for classic design and the Pelikan 100N is a prime example. I love the celluloid barrel sleeve’s contrast to the ebonite parts along with the proportions of cap and body. Its squared off look seems just so right for something from the golden era of fountain pens. Overall I think anyone could see it’s an unassuming, refined design that quietly proclaims good taste.
It’s under the exterior where this pen shines to me the most. Teutonic manufacturers have been and continue to be the Rock of Gibraltar for piston mechanisms having popularized and improved that means of filling for many years. There’s good reason for sticking by it since it’s a reliable, efficient, and satisfying way to move writing liquid into your pen. The downsides are that there are methods with greater ink capacity, fewer moving parts, and lower cost. Whatever drawbacks you come up with no other filling method can capture the exquisite feel of watch-like precision you get from twisting the piston knob slowly and smoothly when the pen is submerged in an ink bottle.
How piston fillers work is simple enough that anyone can understand from the briefest of outlines: The barrel of a pen is a tube and if the end of that tube is moved upwards expanding the empty space inside you get negative pressure. If you create that void while the end of the tube (with nib and feed attached) is in ink then ink is drawn in. Nature abhors a vacuum and so does a fountain pen. Even the specific parts are very simple in this system since basically all you need is a seal which acts as the air-tight end of inner barrel, a long rod like screw inside an internally threaded shaft which the seal attaches to, a fixed end collar which keeps the shaft straight so it goes up down when turned by a knob attached to the screw. A Peli's Parts (click for larger image).
If you look at the picture of the disassembled Pelikan 101N above you see the aforementioned parts and a few others which make the pen a pen and not just a piston. What warms my heart about this vintage pre-war design is the excellent engineering. There is only the minimum number of parts needed to make this pen work well. No fancy or illogical bits thrown in much like how the pen’s appearance forswears the gaudy. All of the pieces come apart easily (as easily as they could on a pen over a half century old) and fit back together with no fuss. The piston seal snaps onto the end of the rod without needing any form of fastening using the elasticity of the material to hold it on like a bottle top. I can take this pen to pieces and have it back together in seconds which makes me feel a bit like a fictitious action hero who can field strip and reassemble his weapon blindfolded in minutes. The successor line to the 100N (400/400N/400NN) replaced this screw in piston with a friction fit one (which continues today on the lower end Pelikans) and while still a fine pen I’m not quite enamored of that change which makes repair more difficult.
Of course if the pen didn’t work well then all I’ve said would be much ado about nothing but it does. This should not be a surprise since the ink delivery and transfer mechanism here reflects the refinements of the 70 odd prior years of fountain pen making. The open nib and finned hard rubber feed with dual fissures are conservative and well proven to do the job. Pelikan nibs are known to be high quality units that have always been shaped and ground well so no problem there. Probably the large green ink window is the showiest bit of this pen but also extremely useful and welcome. All in all if not an exciting pen to use one that won’t let you down.
If I were asked what classic fountain pen someone should get first based on price, quality, and design I would be hard pressed to think of anything better than a Pelikan 100N. While not flashy it is one of the jewels in fountain pen history.
