The difference, you ask? Well, my class was not the fortunate ones who were taught on the new electric typewriters. Ours were the old Underwood manuals, and I do remember those well.

My memory of this is not so fond! Typing was the only course I ever took during summer while in high school, and I had no choice in the matter. Why? Simple! Because my Mom, Theo Smith (the infamous Theo Smith that most of you remember either as your band director, maybe your teacher or principal at Roberdel Elementary, or most probably one of your 8th Grade teachers at Rockingham when you were in Junior High) YEAP! To my horror, she was to become my typing teacher. Even though I was going to be a rising Junior at RHS and had all kind of cool things pre-planned for the upcoming summer vacation, my immediate destiny for the next six weeks would become a routine of  rising early every morning, being taken back to school for four consecutive hours in order to receive credit for this new skill that Mama said "...will prove to be the most valuable skill that that you will learn and utilize for the rest of your adult life". My response..."YEA RIGHT, MOM! I'M REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO TAKING A GIRL'S COURSE IN SUMMER SCHOOL (there would be several guys in this class). IT WILL BE WORTHLESS. I'LL PROBABLY NEVER EVER TOUCH A TYPEWRITER AGAIN AFTER THIS SIX WEEKS IS OVER!"

Now all I had to look forward to in the foreseeable future was four consecutive hours or typing, a brief 30 minute lunch break, with an occasional potty break thrown in. I would also become the "Chosen One"! The one whose hands and knuckles would bear the brunt of the punishment of Mama's (excuse me, Mrs. Smith's) wielding ruler that she constantly carried in her right hand. It would come my duty and sole purpose to be that one student in class that possessed the unpardonable habit in typing of "LOOKING AT MY HANDS AND KEYBOARD WHILE TYPING". To those of you who have taken typing, you readily know that this is a "DEFINITE NO, NO", and in Mama's class it was a "CARDINAL SIN". Most teachers had the little white key covers to hide the names of the keys. NOT MAMA! They were not needed. Her instructions were cheaper and much simpler, "Do not look at the keys after you have found home position! PERIOD! And be reminded that if you chose to do so and are caught, your choice to have done other than instructed will result in an swift and immediate lesson as to how you are to correct such a grievous mistake." I should interject at this point that methods such as these were still accepted as well as supported by administration and parents alike during the day. Thus it was not considered a physical or corporal punishment, whatsoever. Thus, by the end of the six weeks, the backs of this old boy's hands and knuckles would prove to be the reddest and most swollen of any of those in class. I honestly do not remember others being whacked, but I know they were. My problem was, and still is to this day, that I cannot break that unforgiveable habit of looking at my hands and keyboard while typing.

One must also realize that this course was being taught by a woman that graduated Winthrop College with the fastest wpm's of any in the entire college. Some of you may have witnessed her typing. I lived with it! She typed everything, and the typewriter's location in our home was at my study desk...in my bedroom...thus there was no escaping the incessant rhythmical sound of "TICA-TICA-TICA-TICA-TICA-TICA-TICA (completed with the inside portion of her right index finger, profoundly but swiftly sliding the carriage return) forming the completed sound...CA-CHING". It was a constant, almost deafening sound. I had memorized its sound, due to it incessant repetitiveness. For those of you that knew Mom, you understand when I say that it was an "ALWAYS CONSTANT".  There was most definitely 7 TICA'S AND 1 "CA-CHING"...and all at the speed of sound (340.29 m/s). This was our teacher and model. FOR MY CLASSMATES AS WELL AS MYSELF, I PRAYED FOR GOD'S MERCY!

Our textbook was the old red, hard backed, vertical stand-up, "20th Century Typewriting". Our supplies were a ream (500 sheets) of typing paper, a 12-Sheet Pack of carbon paper, a typing eraser (which we were dared to use, because we were to have had typed it correctly to begin with, and back then there was no such thing as "White Out"), and finally  a well sharpened #2 pencil.

The old red textbook would stand on the desk to your right and was to be read and starred at constantly once "Home Position" was established. Your paper was then precisely rolled into position on the carriage (and it had better be even and square at the top). We would later be instructed how to make copies with the use of carbon paper, which was even more difficult to insert between two pieces of paper and then squared at the top.

As to carbon paper, that was an entirely different matter with Mom. We all possessed 12 sheets of it, but you have to understand that to her, they were a most precious commodity. Mom had an obsession with carbon paper, it's usage and disposal of. It emanated from the World War II era. During this time, carbon paper was one of those precious commodities that was extremely difficult to obtain. It was even a rationed item. Thus, we were taught to utilize each sheet of carbon paper until it literally fell apart. As long as carbon paper was used, she would never cease to treat it in this manner.

Finally, we each possessed a typing eraser, instructed how to use it, and then given  two reasons as to why not to use it: 1) The passage should have been typed correctly to begin with. 2) You could never erase anything on a piece of typing paper that Mom was unable to detect. (Today, I still have that typing eraser and 3 of the original sheets of carbon paper). Finally, there was the freshly sharpened #2 wooden pencil which lay on the desk and unused, for it again it was to be used for making notes for corrections and additions, which should have never been made or there to start with. None of us had a red pencil! She possessed all that was necessary!

After I entered college, I was to learn that our typing teacher had been able to sneak in almost two full years of typing into those 6 weeks. My initial major was Business Administration and one of the required courses was Typing 101. Following Freshman registration, we were asked if we knew anything about typing, and if we replied "Yes", we were immediately sat at a typewriter and asked to take a timed test. I was given two phrases to type as many times as I could in one minute. You'll never guess which ones they were, "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog." and "Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country." They informed me that I had typed 82 wpm with no errors and the professor wanted to know how I had become so proficient. I just smiled and told her that I had a good teacher in high school (TRUTH!).

I would be amiss not to share some of  Mom's background with typing. Had it not been for her being a skilled typing teacher, I would not be here. Mom taught Adult Commercial Education in Wilmington, North Carolina about the time World War II began. The subjects she taught at the time were shorthand and typing. Several of her students were men, my Dad being one. Dad always said he just made up his mind he was going to date the teacher...so, he did. The results were they married within a year prior to Dad's deployment to Tinian in the Marianas in the Pacific Theatre. About nine months following Dad's discharge from the Army Air Corps, the results! MOI!

As always, Mama was right. Her prediction of this undesired skill that I was unwillingly taught in high school would come to fruition. It had indeed become the most used one in my adult life. Honestly, I do not remember very few days of my life when I did not call upon this skill learned long ago taught in an old classroom at dear old Rockingham High some 53 odd years ago. If not used on a manual typewriter, then an electric one...if not an electric one, the new-fangled word processor...and, if not the new-fangled word processer, then I would use it on a computer keyboard or iPhone!

My mind still possesses the memory of that still perfect rhythm which once emanated from my teacher's old Underwood...that perfect rhythm (7 TICA's & 1 CA-CHING)...and YES, I'm still looking at the keyboard, and every time I do, the backs of my hands sting, and my knuckles hurt.