Pens – Page 6 – Bleubug

April 19, 2009

Franky and Fans

Frankys in order: Bride of, Thinenstein, Son of. — Frankies in order: Bride of, Thinenstein, Son of.

If you’ve been collecting, fixing, and futzing with pens for as long as I have you wind up with a lot of pen parts. Often these bits are leftovers from a broken pen you may have bought to salvage parts from to fix another. You hope that someday you’ll need some of the leftover pieces but unless you do pen repair as a business (which I do not) they’ll just gather dust.

A while ago I was rummaging through my cabinet of pen curiosities and realized I had a lot of Sheaffer Snorkel parts. There were more than enough to make quite a few pens out of. The down side was that there were not enough parts of the same color to make a monotone pen except for black. Black, although suitable for all formal occasions, is quite a boring pen color so I didn’t bother.

Sometime after noticing my parts surplus I was talking to a friend and realized she never had owned a Snorkel. Since I think everyone should have one (or two) of this remarkable pen I had an idea: Take the colorful mish-mash of parts and form a single pen from them. This would match my friend’s eclectic nature (and my own whimsy) as well! So with that a pen made of parts from many other pens (generically known as a “frankenpen”) was born. After the woman in question, Leigh Reyes, received the monstrosity she christened it “Frankensnork.”

I thought Franky (for short) was going to be a one off since I couldn’t imagine many people would find such a conglomeration of parts attractive. Surprisingly, I was proven wrong when the pen was shown around to other pen fanciers and they expressed a desire for one of similarly bizarre construction. A few months later I had fulfilled such slightly askew wishes with three more pens. Two were Snorkels, Bride of Frankensnork & Son of Frankensnork, and one was a Sheaffer Thin Model I named Thinenstein. Those pens have since found their way into the hands of some good friends, both here and abroad, who I hope are happy with them.

Never knowing when to stop I’ve taken up the mad scientist mantle again to build another horror pen. Sadly, there were not enough parts to make a multi-hued Snorkel again but I did discover enough to create a Sheaffer Tuckaway. This pen model was quite short with an abbreviated clip and intended for vest pockets or ladies’ purses. It’s filled via the Touchdown method so in my bizarre naming scheme it has become Spawn of Thinenstein! Well, it was Baby of Thinenstein prior to that but I didn’t think it theatrical enough a name.

I’ve just assembled all the parts I will need and below is an image of them arranged somewhat in the order they are put together. When I’m done and before I ship it off to its waiting owner I’ll take a picture of the finished product.

Tucky — Spawn of Thinenstein bits. (click image for parts w/labels)

April 5, 2009

Fixing Fil

Even newer pens can quickly need some tender loving care. Recently some simple repair work came up on a pen that shouldn’t have needed it. It was purchased used but promised to be in working condition which, as you can guess, was not an accurate description. Still, I’m happy I did get to do this work since it’s an interesting pen with a bit of a story.

Several years ago Richard Binder, well known for his specialty nib work, and Filcao, a little known Italian pen manufacturer, collaborated on a design. Called “Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean” it is styled in the mold of a vintage writing instrument. CTGOTO (I love acronyms) has solid, square shouldered good looks and a moderately large size which makes it comfortable to use. The luxury of a sterling silver cap band is a contrast to the humble steel Schmidt nib. But it is not a simple nib since Mr. Binder has in this case tweaked it to be a cursive italic. Orange flecked blue acrylic used for the barrel and cap is the finishing touch to this attractive ensemble.

Worth noting here is something not seen too often on modern pens: a button filler. With the original Duofold Parker put this filling method on the map as a way around patents like Sheaffer’s for the lever filler. It is novel, quaint, and best of all works easily in the following manner: A button under the blind cap at the end of the barrel is pushed down to start the process. This button rests on one end of a spring steel pressure bar and the other side is anchored in the niche between the sac nipple and the inside wall of the barrel. This unit will flex with the downward pressure compressing the sac that it sits next to. When the button is release the sac inflates which draws the ink into it.

When this pen came to me I was surprised to find that the rubber sac had hardened and broke. Usually you wouldn’t think that could happen on a pen this new, but it did. My guess is that the sac may have been old stock and had aged even before it was used. Either way, it was an inky mess inside when disassembled. To fix it all that was needed was a scrubbing and a new sac. A silicone sac was used since I like the fact they don’t degrade like rubber ones over time. Below are a few pictures of the process.

filpart-sm — Filcao dissasembled for repair. (Click for larger image with parts labeled)

This is the pen taken apart for the repair. Not really very many parts for this filling system.

The pressure bar sits next to the sac like shown here. The button at the end forces it to flex.

After section with sac screws into the barrel you insert the pressure bar from the other end until I seats near the section.

You can see the end of the bar peeking out. Next the button and retaining washer is screwed onto the end.

Here is the barrel all done.

April 2, 2009

Snorktastic Nibs

I have a weakness for Sheaffer Snorkels and I’ve already talked a bit about one in an earlier post. They were from that writing era between fountain pens with expressive nibs and the evil empire of the ball point pen. The precise lines of nail like fine and medium point pens were the hallmark of this period. Even if most people were happy with this dull situation Sheaffer still offered a wide variety of Snorkel nibs with flair. Those special order nibs, as well as some made in Canada, England, and Australia which catered to those markets less uniform tastes, offer a real treat for the collector today.

Determining if you have found an oddball nib is by the numbers. Well, actually numbers and letters since Snorkel nibs were marked on the front or back with a code. I’m not going to discuss Sheaffer’s elaborate numbering system for their Snorkel fountain pen nibs since places like PenHero.com have great articles on the subject. What I’m going to do here is show my interesting nibs so you can see a few examples and in later posts some will get a more thorough review.

In this picture: Australian bold flex, FF3 fine flex, FS2 stub flex, Australian bold triumph, SR4 right oblique triumph, s4 stub. (click for larger image) — In this picture: Australian bold flex, FF3 fine flex, FS2 stub flex, Australian bold triumph, SR4 right oblique triumph, s4 stub. (click on for larger image)

If you want to find one of these great nibs keeping your eyes open is the first rule. Not all of them have retained their grade markings since wiping, polishing, and just normal wear can remove them over time. If those codes are gone look for tell-tale signs such as the flat edge of a stub point or the lack of an impressed grove between the silver and gold on a two tone flex nib. In general they are the proverbial needle in the haystack so obtaining one comes down to luck or enough loot for a purchase from a vintage pen seller.

Here are a few larger images where the nib grade codes can be clearly seen:

This flexible fine nib captures some of the essence of the “wet noodles” from the early part of the 20th century.

Able to put down a line as bold as a thick Sharpie this flexible stub is quite amazing. This single-tone nib was the least expensive one Sheaffer sold in solid gold but was still offered in all the usual variations.

“Right Oblique Stub Point Palladium-Silver Triumph Nib” is a long moniker. The obliques are hard to use since the pen really needs to be held at the right angle.

March 29, 2009

The Famous Starter Pen Conundrum

Chris Gryder is a talented artist and a friend of mine (plug for his work here). A few weeks ago he was looking at one of my fountain pens and asked what a reasonably priced pen to start out with was. The pen that first came to my mind was one loaned to me a little while ago by another talented artist friend, Pep Manalang (plug). This was a Pilot 78G which is not only very reasonably priced (it can be had for $12.00) but delivers a fantastic writing experience.

Most of the credit to why the pen is so attractive goes to the bold nib. It writes more like a stub and give some nice line variation. In addition it’s a smooth writing pen which can be a rarity at this price point. The construction is robust and it comes in a number of colors (although, except for the red, they are a bit subdued).

I hope Chris enjoys this pen. Even if he doesn’t become a fountain pen nut like myself he’ll be able to sign his name with some impact. An artist needs that, I think.

March 25, 2009

Old Maki-e’s Back In Town

Danitrio with its pen kimono. — Danitrio with its pen slip case.

Mostly my fountain pen collection has focused on vintage pens. After all, if they’ve lasted 60 years and still work then they must have something going for them. The complex filling systems and many tiny little parts that make old pens a nightmare for some is what I enjoy most. Few modern pens have ever crept into my consciousness over the years. This changed not too long ago when a collector friend of mine who had an impressive collection of modern (and almost modern) Japanese pens introduced them to me. At first I only gave a nodding recognition to this corner of the hobby but the more I saw and read about them the greater their appeal became.

What makes Japanese pens interesting is the confluence of exacting craftsmanship, creative manufacturing, and ancient artisanship. Manufacturers in that country for decades have used modern technology to advance this very anachronistic form of writing instrument. Take, for example, the Pilot Vanishing Point with its retractable nib/reservoir unit or the Pilot MYU that uses a single seamless piece of extruded stainless steel to form both the grip and nib of that pen. Even advances in ink technology, such as using graphite as a colorant base for a black ink, came from the fertile pen makers of Nippon.

It is not just technology and manufacturing prowess that fascinates me about Japanese pens but also the artistry they can apply to the simple cylindrical form. Motifs like Ukiyo-e have been applied to painted, inlaid, and sterling silver pens there for many years. We’re not talking the garish limited editions you see from western pen companies but something richer and more subtle. In the case of the pen discussed here we see two marvelous traditional methods of decoration: urushi and maki-e.

Since the early 20th century urushi varnish has been used in Japan as a coating over the base pen material (usually hard rubber) due to its ability to protect as well as its long wearing attributes. This varnish is the sap from the Toxicodendron vernicifluum (love those official names) and as that name indicates is a toxic and caustic substance. Careful handling is necessary to utilize it but when the varnish dries it forms a clear and extremely hard waterproof coating. It can be colored as well to form an opaque finish. A great deal of skill and experience is needed to apply even coats of urushi between the long periods required for drying making it a labor intensive process.

Maki-e is a decorative art that where metallic gold, silver, or platinum powders are sprinkled or brushed onto designs made with tacky urushi. Eventually the design is made section by section and coated with a final application of varnish. It’s a craft that takes many years of training before mastery. Quite a few variations to this technique exist including raised designs and incorporating granular powders for a textured exterior.

Hironobu Okazaki (second from right) and family. (courtesy Kevin Cheng)

My pen is a Danitrio Takumi and uses both gold and platinum dust to form a picture of Japan’s Mt. Fuji. It is made of black hard rubber with burgundy colored urushi on the cap and black urushi on the barrel. A young artist named Hironobu Okazaki created it and he is the third generation of maki-e artists in his family. His work pushes the boundaries of this time-honored art form with some novel designs and coloration (such as the two tone work here.) The pen is not only beautiful but writes very well with its smooth stub nib. Although large it’s surprising light and feels great in the hand. Both elegant and a surprisingly practical writing instrument this pen is a fine example of Japanese art in pen form.

March 8, 2009

Grace, Space, Pace(maker): A Surprise from North Bergen

Who was America’s biggest manufacturer of fountain pens in the 1940s and 1950s? Parker? Nope. Sheaffer? Uh-uh. Give up? From their offices in North Bergen, NJ it was common-as-dirt Wearever who crowned themselves that. Certainly that claim could well have been true as mass production allowed a seemingly endless supply of their low cost writing implements to fill up the shelves of many a dime-store. What else may surprise is that they made pens of rather high quality like the one we’re going to look at here.

The late fountain pen expert Frank Dubiel often said Wearever’s Pacemaker model was the equal of many a higher end offering from more respected brands. Looking like a handsome doppelganger to the contemporary striped Parker Duofold it’s easy to believe this pen does meet that criteria. At least at a glance the pen’s appearance belies its $2.75 price.

Taking the pen into had for inspection you can see two features which are attention grabbing. First off, it’s a button filler with a blind cap that unscrews to show the system’s namesake poking out in transparent red plastic. Depressing this button causes a pressure bar in the barrel to flex and squeeze the ink sac. Release the button and the sac inflates drawing in the ink. This system was made famous on early Parkers such as the Duofold (to get around the Sheaffer lever filling patent) but was mostly regulated to niche status as the complex filling system wars began in the 1930’s. Not the most efficient filling system but it certainly is simple and gets the job done.

Next item of note is the plain looking nib marked “14k, MADE IN U.S.A.” Most people think of Wearever’s having inexpensive steel nibs but this one is solid gold, as befits a premium offering. It’s a good sized nib with a fine-ish point and a nice blob of iridium at the tip so there’s nothing to criticize here. If Wearever couldn’t get in on the gimmick wars with a filling system or a unique design they did make one concession with what was under that nib: the clear “C-Flow” feed. Supposedly allowing you to see when ink flow started to dwindle and refilling was needed this gadget was a distant relative to the ink view window on other fountain pens. Of course if the feed became mostly clear you probably knew already the ink was running out due skipping or fading lines. So while dubious in use it is a quaint feature that makes this pen (and the Wearever Zenith which shared the feed and nib) a bit more endearing.

Pacemakers are sized on par with the mid-line offerings from the more expensive pen companies and feel solid in the hand. Concessions to low cost can be seen in the blind cap and section whose bright sheen screams “cheap plastic”. Additionally, the section seems to have been formed from two molded halves since there are seams running down both sides. On the other hand the bulk of the pen is in sturdy, attractive multi-colored laminated celluloid which probably has fooled more than one person into thinking they were looking at a Parker. Gold filled metal is used for the clip and band which on my example has no brassing despite evidence of a goodly amount of use. Overall, this was quite a good deal for a couple of bucks in 1946.

Since the proof is in the pudding I can state that the Pacemaker writes very nicely. I’ve had this pen for almost 10 years and paid little attention to it as it rested silently in a drawer. A short time ago I was looking for some pens to trade and I dipped the old Wearever into ink for a writing sample. When I put the nib to paper I was shocked to find it was semi-flexible! One always expects these mass market mid-century pens to have stiff fine or medium nibs (unless we’re dealing with Esterbrooks and their specialty points) but for whatever reason we get an expressive line with this workhorse. I’m not planning on trading it any time soon now.

A year ago the respected pen collector Don Fluckinger wrote an article titled The Top 10 Vintage Pens, As I See It on Richard Binder’s website. Number two on the list was the Wearever Pacemaker which he called a “hidden gem.” I think that’s an apt description for a pen that for very little money can give a great deal of writing enjoyment.

March 4, 2009

Restoring Black Hard Rubber Using The World’s Longest Acronym

There’s no way getting around the fact that a lot of vintage pens are made of hard rubber. Before the dawn of plastics it was one of the best materials for the job. Light and strong it’s made when rubber is mixed with sulfur and then cured by heat. Once it’s lathed into a cap and barrel it was often made more esthetically pleasing with heat embossed decoration. Eventually brighter colors, sometimes in patterns, were developed to spruce the “any color you want as long as it’s black” pens up. All those benefits made hard rubber popular for many years until it lost the battle with the early celluloid plastics.

There are negatives as well to hard rubber. One of the worst is that over time the material will discolor to brown or sickly olive green. This is caused by exposure to UV light which oxidizes it as well as exposure to moisture which bonds with free sulfur and creates sulfuric acid on the surface. Either way with time it’s enviable that the surface will sooner or later take on the new and unattractive cast.

It used to be you couldn’t do much for an old pen that wasn’t shiny black anymore but accept it. Buffing the surface exposed undamaged rubber but at the cost of loss of pattern or imprint detail. Black paint lost detail as well by building up a coating on the exterior. If you lucked out and got a mint BHR (black hard rubber) pen you kept it in the dark or used it and took your chances.

Happily a few years ago two methods arrived that promised to restore your drab discolored pens to black beauties. With the process called G-10 a dye is infused into the material and gives it new color. It’s not reversible after application and has to be performed by someone who offers this service. Proponents claim that this makes the newly treated rubber resistant to further damage by blocking UV light and closing the pores in the material against moisture. The other option is Pensbury Manor Black Hard Rubber Pen Potion No. 9 (known from here on out as PMBHRPPNo9) which is a self applied dye. It’s a treatment which is lightly absorbed into the pen’s surface to blacken and protect it in a similar manner to the first process. The coloring can be reversed by using an ammonia/water combination to remove it.

Why are we discussing this? Well, I have a Wahl eyedropper that exhibits a very slight amount of discoloration on one side of the barrel and cap. It was bothering me a bit and since this is not a rare pen I thought I’d finally give re-blackening a try. Since I like to do things myself as well as save money the PMBHRPPNo9 seemed to fit the bill. I ordered it and when it came I decided to first try it on an old heavily discolored pen cap I had in the parts pile. What follows are pictures and text showing this test and the results.

Below is what the PMBHRPPNo9 looks like brushed onto white paper. The washed out look of it doesn’t lead you to believe it will do much to darken the hard rubber.

I used a knock out block and a dowel to hold the cap in an upright position for application and drying (it’s recommended you let the treated parts cure for 8 hours). In the first picture you can see the PMBHRPPNo9, block, brush and untouched cap.

If you look at the close up of the cap you can get an idea of how much it’s turned brown. Before starting you need to clean the parts in an ammonia and water solution so it will be free of oils and other surface contaminants. If you don’t the dye may not bond properly.

Application is as simple as dipping the brush into the solution and applying it in long, even strokes.

After curing I did a little buffing with a cloth to shine up the new surface. In this picture you can see that the section I worked on did indeed get much blacker and shiner.

While not looking exactly “from the factory” fresh, the part of the cap PMBHRPPNo9 was applied to is much more appealing. Of course it’s probably not a good to do this to rare pens where their value might be decreased by messing with the surface. Another thing to consider is that some collectors think any cosmetic changes like this are unacceptable since the natural state of the pen is changed and it could be represented as being in better condition than in actuality. Overall, the process seems like it did not do any damage to the rubber substrate and had very positive visual and tactile result. Not bad if it fits your needs.

February 22, 2009

A Child’s Flighter of Fancy

Just now an old post by a friend made me think once again about my first fountain pen. I always envy those with vivid memories of the past; it’s something I’ve never had. Those people in my imagination have a mental scrap book with strong, saturated vignettes of their lives which they can flicker on some inner projection screen at will. In my case I have jerky, gauzy images that have to be willed to come to the forefront of my consciousness.

This is my grandfather’s house through a child’s eyes and a man’s sieve like recollections: Sheer curtains in the front room which channeled light into shafts that made suspended particles do a slow, delicate dance. Doilies, seemingly on every flat surface, yellowing as if that was a side effect of purposelessness. Velveteen armrests with the pile worn down to the backing like a taupe crew cut. Incandescent fixtures that somehow gave off less light than made sense. White enamel appliances that glowered at me with beady black knob eyes. A smell of oddly pleasant mustiness. A dark hall, its woodwork lightly coated with grease that had floated there from the kitchen. It was the physical manifestation of old to me when I’d scrape it off with my fingernails. And the big desk with an amazing sheen and smoothness that I loved to run my hand across over and over creating little banks of dust on either side of my finger’s path.

It was that big desk at the house on Cornwall Ave. that first made me think about fountain pens. On it was a glass inkwell and pen rest which made me wonder where the items were it was designed to support. Their absence created a void I wanted to fill and so on the next visit an inquiry was planned. I waited with the question as my grandfather slowly made his way to his favorite chair. He used a walker at the time and that journey was always an eternity to an impatient young boy. When he was finally settled I rushed up to him and simply asked the logical question “Grandpa, do you have any old fountain pens around?” This kind of pen was known to me since I had already asked the purpose of inkwells and had marveled how something could be so different from a ballpoint pen. I expected an affirmative answer from him, after all there was a huge pile of old junk around. Grandpa had always seemed to be the primary source of unfathomably odd ancient items accumulated in his work. Even in old age he continued to be a typewriter repairman, a job which seemed to be as palpably antique as the curio cabinet filled with dusty Dresden figurines in their crinoline finery. I was surprised when he told me, after a few seconds to take in the unexpectedness of the question, “Sorry, Tommy, I don’t have any of those now.” My certainty turned to confusion and resentment at that answer. The general discomfort children seem to harbor when faced with geriatric adults and their environs was within me and I felt my hopes for a pen to keep me occupied for the visit had just evaporated.

A week or two later my father came to me with a box. My Grandfather had kindly purchase me a blue Parker 45 fountain pen. It was what I had wanted but I wasn’t happy. In the interim I had visited a stationer and fell in love with a Parker 45 Flighter in stainless steel. Much like a magpie I was entranced by a shiny object. The subject of my displeasure was broached and action was taken to make the spoiled only child happy. Soon the blue pen was returned and I found myself in possession of my first fountain pen, all brushed stainless.

Eventually my Grandfather had a stroke and we bought a house in the suburbs where he could live with us. The big lacquered desk was moved to my room where I enjoyed sitting in it and pretending to be a businessman with my cards, files, and fountain pen, of course. That pen was eventually lost, although I don’t remember when or how, but the ink well and pen rest from my Grandfather’s still sits on a desk here fully populated. Years after that loss on a wedding anniversary my wife surprised me with another Parker 45 Flighter to replace the from my youth. Older and at least appearing wiser I don’t plan on this pen inadvertently leaving me again.

February 20, 2009

A Flexible Sheaffer Snorkel: Future Past

In the optimistic days of the 1950s a race developed to improve simple processes by throwing as much confusing gadgetry at them as possible. With flying cars and home based nuclear reactors around the corner consumers wanted a taste of that future now. Autos got “Hi-Way Hi-Fi” under dash record players, “Autronic Eye” headlight dimmers, and “Torsion-Aire” suspensions. Appliances self-cleaned, self-defrosted, and self-timed. It was only natural that fountain pen technology would embrace the space age as well.

Sheaffer’s Snorkel fountain pen is the premier example of fixing something that isn’t broken. The idea was that dunking the nib and section of a fountain pen into ink to fill it was messy (it was) and a terrible plague on humanity (which it wasn’t). The pen engineers at Sheaffer knew they could combat this terror and took their current stylishly svelte fountain pen called the TM (for “Thin Model”) added some length and a mess of internal parts until it became the famous Snorkel filler. That name was based not on recreational divers but the snorkel technology used by submarines to keep air flowing into diesel engines at shallow depths. In the case of the new pen, however, it didn’t keep liquid out but sucked some in. The procedure for filling it was a bit like using a Rube Goldberg contraption: You first twisted the blind cap at the back end to extend a long tube from under the nib. This tube went into the ink keeping the nib and section squeaky clean (and your fingers as well). The next step was to pull up the blind cap extending another larger tube backwards. Reversing this with a smart push down was the last step and caused high air pressure to collapse a rubber sac in the pen which was suddenly released when the tube traveled far enough to reach an air escape passage. With no more pressure in the barrel the sac expands and sucks up the ink, Q.E.D. It’s no surprise that with a filling system this blingy Snorkels became wildly popular and eventually were made at the Sheaffer plants in Canada, England, and Australia as well as domestically.

Despite the complexity Snorkels are well built pens that are usually problem free and enjoyable to use when restored. There was a myriad of colors and styles to select from and a large range of nib types. Overwhelmingly these pens show up with traditional open or conical Triumph nibs in fine and medium points even though more interesting alternatives were offered including flexibles and italics. That fact makes it all the more satisfying when you come across a unique Snorkel nib.

In order to hunt the rare and little seen nibs the following facts can be helpful: English and Australian built snorkels have a higher chance of having nibs with more flex. It is not true that a Triumph nib cannot be flexible, there were some flex versions made. Oblique italics and stub italic nibs came in all the nib styles and materials. Lastly, on some of the flexible nibs it looks like they were not finished on the normal production line due to some minor discrepancies. These nibs do not have a groove that usually marks the delineation point between the platinum plated front and the gold back possibly because that would be a weak point when flexed. Slightly sloppy masking at the edge of the platinum is also seen. Possibly handwork was needed to complete them due to the low number produced in comparison with the more popular nibs.

Sheaffer had a bewildering array of model names based on the style of nib, nib material, cap material, clip style, and guarantee so not every Snorkel is created equal. The example pen shown here is a Saratoga model with 14k Australian made flexible stub nib. Its shows a good amount of line variation in use due both to the flexibility and the shape of the tip. It always seems that the ink flow in pens from the era where flex was out of style is skimpy creating the “ink on,” “ink off” nightmare of skipping. In this pen I removed the thin hard rubber feed that runs the length of the snorkel tube and increased the depth of the channel in the center. Now the pen has a very good flow and writes quite wet.

So, hopefully this shows that Snorkels don’t have to be dull and stodgy. A good nib makes this a fun pen and the elaborate filling system will give you a different experience than found in one of those old timey fountain pens.

February 19, 2009

Ghost Rider: The Clip

If you want to seem worthwhile being associated with a precious metal never hurts. When you have a golden moment or see the silver lining that’s good. Fool’s gold and golden oldies I’m going to pretend don’t exist for the purpose of this example. So it’s no wonder that it can take only a tenuous link to get something slapped with a mostly incorrect moniker. A cherry bomb isn’t going to taste like it just fell from the tree and a moon pie isn’t going to shine over Miami. So is the case of German Silver, a metal that has nothing much to do with silver and only a little with Germany.

Initially developed in the Far East during the early 18^th century what is also called Nickel Silver is usually an alloy of copper, nickel, and zinc. By the time a few German factories developed large scale production techniques many metal items began to be cast in the alloy such as cutlery, musical instruments, jewelry, and watch cases. Silvery trade names abounded for it including Silverine, Silverode, Silveroid, and Silverite in order to give consumers a feeling of value. Odder names such as Brazilian Silver, Afghan Silver, Potosi Silver, and Venetian Silver provided the feeling of exotic locales where they apparently smelted metal as well as doing vaguely romantic foreign things. The commercial names never do really stop for this substance as shown by the ones that begin with the letter A: Albata, Argentan, Alpakka, Alpaka, Argentum, Argentium, etc.

Early in the 20^th century many fountain pens did not have integrated pocket clips and systems of metal pockets (such as Swan made) or friction fit clips became an accessory item. Even then no one wanted an ink filled pen loose in a shirt pocket! The clips came in many varied shapes and materials (often German Silver) to the point that a hobby could be made out of just collecting examples. Eventually writing instrument manufacturers got the idea that putting a permanent clip on the majority of their pens was a good idea and fewer and fewer third party clips were made.

I didn’t see this clip first at an online auction site; it had to be pointed out to me. Once I did see it I knew I had to have it. I’m not sure who the intended market was for this design (Pirates? Evil geniuses? Sorcerers?) but it certainly stands out. Its current home is a Wahl Tempoint eye-dropper filled pen that was bereft of a clip. It’s now the writing instrument of choice for those days when you feel like wearing black and scowling a great deal. Maybe a walking stick with a silver skull handle would be a nice accessory? Of course like the clip the handle would have to be made out of German Silver.