The Typographer's Lament: A Plea for Better Penmanship
A frustrated newspaper printer turns to verse to protest the illegible handwriting of contributors, whose scribbles make the typesetter’s life a living hell.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
Oh, why don't people form their a's, and finish on their b's? Why do they make such crooked c's and each confounded d's? Why do they form such shocking e's and f's with ague-fits? Their g's and h's are too much for any jointer's wits. What a human eye is without sight in an i without a dot; f's are such curious, crooked things we recognize them not. k ought to stand for kossedness but comes in well for kick, l's and m's are mischievous, while n's just raise Old Nick. o's are rarely closed at all, and p's are shaggy things. q's might as well be spider legs and r's mosquito wings! Some people make a passing z, who never cross a t. Others use the self-same strokes to form a u or v. w's get strangely mixed, x's seem on a spree. y is a skeleton on wires—Zounds, how we swear at Z! And yet, just think, what typos get from drivers of the quill—they call us such a careless lot and scribble on at will. Well, they will scribble, and must swear and vainly try to please, till they go back to school and learn to make their a, b, c's!
“q's might as well be spider legs and r's mosquito wings! Some people make a passing z, who never cross a t.”
This 1882 poem highlights the perennial tension between the 'content creators' of the past and the technical workers responsible for publication. Much like today’s designers and editors who struggle with poorly formatted digital inputs, the 'typo' (typesetter) of old Seattle found themselves at the mercy of chaotic human input, serving as a reminder that the frustration of 'fix-it' work is as old as the printing press itself.
From readers
No comments yet. If you know something about this story — a correction, a family memory, a source — it belongs here.