Posted on October 23, 2013 by Tim Eagan
Manson H. Whitlock died last summer at the age of 96. I don’t imagine there will be a national moment of silence or much attention paid to his passing at all beyond the few isolated news articles. I hope, though, that someone will commission a statue of him and offer it as a donation to my pet project. His looming presence would be a prized addition to the Museum of Lost Arts.
Mr. Whitlock repaired typewriters for a living, and despite the small resurgence in the popularity of these desktop curiosities, his noble profession will soon cease to exist. It will join a growing list of antiquated skill sets that have no place in our modern, computer-driven society. The Museum aims to keep these virtuosities from vanishing without the recognition they deserve.
Other displays at the Museum of Lost Arts (or MOLA) might include, for example, a tribute to practitioners of shorthand. This skill was wondrous enough when it was a common one, condensing language, as it did, into a form that could be written as quickly as even the gabbiest speaker could talk. Amazing, but I’ll bet there aren’t more than a handful of people who can still do it.
Driving a car with a manual transmission will soon suffer a similar fate. The coming of electric vehicles has all but guaranteed the demise of this once-handy aptitude. Cursive writing is also on the way out, following good penmanship, which has been extinct for years. Adjusting rabbit ears on a television never got the respect it deserves as a field of expertise, and now I fear that it never will — except in the Museum. Also on the short list:
Reading a broadsheet newspaper. Dexterity, large muscle motor skills, and a keen sense of spatial awareness all play a part in this challenging (and now passé) ritual. I see an interactive exhibit with large squares of newsprint available for kids and parents alike.
Talking face to face. You still see this method of communication in use today, but mostly it involves elders for whom those tiny keypads are just too demanding. Watch while you can, boys and girls; these old geezers’ use of odd facial tics, such as eyebrow-cocking and smiling, will soon be obsolete.
Sitting quietly with your own thoughts. This deceptively simple pastime began to disappear with the advent of television. Soon, all of us will be plugged in (literally, I predict) all the time, and the fate of the meditative state will be sealed. I imagine a diorama at the Museum with a featureless, horizon-less vista and no sensory input at all. Medical staff will have to be on site at all times to treat nervous breakdowns.
Modesty. We hope to have workshops for those who want to experience what it used to be like not to share every little detail of one’s life with the whole world.
We can’t bring Manson L. Whitlock back. Not without asking his permission, anyway, and that’s not possible without bringing him back. Besides, I’ve read too many Edgar Allan Poe stories where that kind of thing turns out to be a really bad idea. We can honor him and his craft, though. Even if this MOLA thing doesn’t fly, I’m hanging on to my old Remington Noiseless as a tribute to a bygone age when cars and keyboards were strictly manual.
Mr. Whitlock repaired typewriters for a living, and despite the small resurgence in the popularity of these desktop curiosities, his noble profession will soon cease to exist. It will join a growing list of antiquated skill sets that have no place in our modern, computer-driven society. The Museum aims to keep these virtuosities from vanishing without the recognition they deserve.
Other displays at the Museum of Lost Arts (or MOLA) might include, for example, a tribute to practitioners of shorthand. This skill was wondrous enough when it was a common one, condensing language, as it did, into a form that could be written as quickly as even the gabbiest speaker could talk. Amazing, but I’ll bet there aren’t more than a handful of people who can still do it.
Driving a car with a manual transmission will soon suffer a similar fate. The coming of electric vehicles has all but guaranteed the demise of this once-handy aptitude. Cursive writing is also on the way out, following good penmanship, which has been extinct for years. Adjusting rabbit ears on a television never got the respect it deserves as a field of expertise, and now I fear that it never will — except in the Museum. Also on the short list:
Reading a broadsheet newspaper. Dexterity, large muscle motor skills, and a keen sense of spatial awareness all play a part in this challenging (and now passé) ritual. I see an interactive exhibit with large squares of newsprint available for kids and parents alike.
Talking face to face. You still see this method of communication in use today, but mostly it involves elders for whom those tiny keypads are just too demanding. Watch while you can, boys and girls; these old geezers’ use of odd facial tics, such as eyebrow-cocking and smiling, will soon be obsolete.
Sitting quietly with your own thoughts. This deceptively simple pastime began to disappear with the advent of television. Soon, all of us will be plugged in (literally, I predict) all the time, and the fate of the meditative state will be sealed. I imagine a diorama at the Museum with a featureless, horizon-less vista and no sensory input at all. Medical staff will have to be on site at all times to treat nervous breakdowns.
Modesty. We hope to have workshops for those who want to experience what it used to be like not to share every little detail of one’s life with the whole world.
We can’t bring Manson L. Whitlock back. Not without asking his permission, anyway, and that’s not possible without bringing him back. Besides, I’ve read too many Edgar Allan Poe stories where that kind of thing turns out to be a really bad idea. We can honor him and his craft, though. Even if this MOLA thing doesn’t fly, I’m hanging on to my old Remington Noiseless as a tribute to a bygone age when cars and keyboards were strictly manual.