A journey, a find, a reunion, a loss.

[jar]

It was Baltimore in the spring, a wondrous time in a wondrous city. It was the late fifties or early sixties, and I was young and in good health and had been down to the harbor and was headed back to my apartment on North Charles. For some unknown reason I was way over on Calvert Street and so decided to cut across at Fayette and then up the hill past Mt. Vernon Place to home. The wind was out of the south bringing the smells from McCormick and Company (I remember they were doing cinnamon that day, funny how such things stick in our memories) and I was thinking about having diner at the bar in the Park Plaza or an evening of discussion and argument at the Peabody Book Shop and Beer Stube. Fayette Street was fairly level and a nice break in the climb and was also relatively sheltered from the wind that was beginning to chill as evening came on.

 

As I passed the Pen Hospital one pen in particular caught my eye. It was big and black with a white dot on the cap and gold lever that shined against the body and a clear section where you could see how much ink was left. For a moment I simply stopped and stared, then decided that was just what I had always been looking for.

 

I went in and Mr. Jenkins came in to see if a customer had really come in. I asked if I could look at the pen in the window and he graciously got it for me. The moment I held it in my hand I knew that it had been made for me. Had I been Harry and Mr. Jenkins been Mr. Ollivander he would have known that the pen chose me; perhaps he did.

 

He explained that the pen wasn't really for sale, that it had been brought in many years before for repair but I think he could tell from the way I looked at the pen and fondled it, that perhaps we were meant to be together. Finally he said he would pull the record, we would make one last attempt to contact the owner and if unsuccessful I could buy it for the cost of the repairs.

 

He went to the back and I could hear him going down some stairs, and a few minutes later returned with an old yellowed repair envelope. It seemed the owner had dropped the pen off over ten years earlier and although he had been contacted several times from the notes on the envelope, never come in to pick it up. The repairs were $4.50 and it had been a sack replaced and a nib adjustment.

 

But ...

 

it was MY name on the envelope.

 

It seems my grandfather had dropped it off for repair and simply (not at all surprising) never returned to pick it up. I immediately asked if I could make the call and when I got Gpop on the phone his response was. "Oh yes. By all means pick it up. I always meant for you to have it someday anyway."

 

He and Mr. Jenkins talked for awhile and Gpop insisted he'd come by and pay the repair bill but I insisted on paying for it then. He filled it for me, threw in a bottle of Blue-Black Skrip and I left a very happy person.

 

I used that pen daily for many, many years and never found anything I liked better. Then during a move from our apartment in California to the new house we had just bought someone broke into the apartment and stole a gold watch (also my grandfathers), an even older striking pocket watch that had belonged to my great grandfather and the pen. They did not take the stereo or the tv, only those three things and a small collection of silver dollars.

 

Since then I've had quite a few Sheaffer Oversized Balances but honestly, none have felt like that first one. I keep looking and trying to find one though and know that someday when I least expect it, The Pen will once again find me.

Edited March 9, 2009 by jar

[Michael W]

Wonderful story! Sorry you lost the pen of course

Edited March 8, 2009 by Michael W

[jonro]

That's a very compelling story and your loss is quite unfortunate. I hope the police manage to catch the thief.

[jar]

That's a very compelling story and your loss is quite unfortunate. I hope the police manage to catch the thief.

 

Well, it's been a little over thirty years since the stuff was stolen so I doubt they will find the stuff. I do watch "Cold Case" regularly in hopes they succeed.

 

[pen2paper]

read this story 4 times...

think a most fitting ending would be that a FPN member sumagai's a lot at a fleamarket, posts photos here, and some identifying mark ultimately concludes with a reunion!

[MizzouCowboy]

You have my deepest sympathies, although it was many moons ago, that type of loss lasts. Time does not heal all wounds.

 

I, too, now have possession of my granddad's pen, a Sheaffer PFM I in almost perfect condition. It still has most of the wax on it that tells what it is and how much it cost back in the day. I have used it many times in the short time that I've had it. That pen is responsible for the small but growing collection of fountain pens that I now have.

 

I hope to treasure that pen as much as you treasured your grandfather's pen. Thanks for a story that made me smile.

[DRP]

Let me join those who hope that somehow, someday your pen will find you!

[MYU]

Wow... what a story! Thanks for sharing it.

 

 

I do have a suggestion, though. Find a Sheaffer Balance that looks like it, then have a nib master work on it for you, to get it to write exactly the way you want. Perhaps it will be even better than the original. THAT would be gratifying, wouldn't it?

[jar]

Wow... what a story! Thanks for sharing it.

 

 

I do have a suggestion, though. Find a Sheaffer Balance that looks like it, then have a nib master work on it for you, to get it to write exactly the way you want. Perhaps it will be even better than the original. THAT would be gratifying, wouldn't it?

 

 

Well, I have several Balance pens but so far none really seem the same.

 

BUT ...

 

Ernesto over at Parker51.com happens to have one of the fat Oversized Balance pens in Black and after reading the story, offered to send it to me to see if it chooses me as well.

 

I fear he knew that I am the kind of guy that gets adopted by stray dogs, kittens and kids; that even frogs and toads follow me home and so knows that regardless of reality, once I hold the pen in my hand we will become one.

 

I'll keep you folk up to date on what happens but don't promise it will become as exciting as Jay and the Magic Inkwell.

[ethernautrix]

I enjoyed your story very much -- except the ending with the burglary.

 

The way you told the story really drew me in. Such a coincidence that the pen that caught your eye belonged to your grandfather who had left it for repair ten years earlier. That's... amazing.

[jar]

I enjoyed your story very much -- except the ending with the burglary.

 

The way you told the story really drew me in. Such a coincidence that the pen that caught your eye belonged to your grandfather who had left it for repair ten years earlier. That's... amazing.

Story, song and image. Things with the purpose of drawing the viewer in and transporting them to another place, another time, another reality.

 

I'm thrilled it worked and, as your avatar shows, there can be wonders out there if we are open to them.

 

 

 

[jar]

Well the Balance from Ernesto arrived yesterday and while it is NOT the pen I remember and when I hold it there is little magic, it is a wonderful Oversized Balance and will move into the room with its brother and sister Sheaffers. Visually the biggest difference is that the one from Ernesto is not a two toned nib. And the clear view section is somewhat more ambered than Gpops pen; I guess I've likely aged some since then as well though it is hard to tell from inside.

 

The search continues and as with the search for the Grail, the value is in the quest not the acquisition.

Edited March 15, 2009 by jar

[dannyboy]

You told the story with great expertise and revealed those suprise (and amazing) encounters at just the right moments. Alas, that those pieces of your past were stolen, but you've turned the loss into a memorable story that I think will outlast the objects themselves. Such stories last in our memories due to your incomparable abilities at rendering them. Thank you for taking so great a loss and making it a gift for all of us.

[J English Smith]

Great story! A very odd burgulary. I do hope that you find the perfect pen for you again!

[jar]

Here is the Balance Oversized next to another Balance.

 

http://www.fototime.com/CC34998959070E5/standard.jpg

 

and another Balance style and filling system.

 

http://www.fototime.com/6FF3928B6EE898F/standard.jpg

[OcalaFlGuy]

Back in the late's 60's, early 70's when most school kids those days were using BP's I took a liking to

Sheaffer school pens and had a few of them in different colors. One day my Dad gave me one of his

pens, some stubby looking Parker something or other. A black body and matte silver cap. Hrmph. I was

unimpressed. (Stupid kid) I used it off and on and somewhere along the way I lost it. (Stupider kid)

 

Almost 40 years later, coming here, I figured out that I had lost a Park 51 Demi. :bonk:

 

I set out to see if I could find one as close to it as possible and I did and for a good price on The Bay

actually. I even had Tom Pike give it his treatment and despite having a little wear to the Lustraloy

from deskwear, he said it was pristine on the inside. I'd even gotten really lucky and nailed one down

that had been made within a couple years of when I was born.

 

Last Christmas, I took it to my parents. I had it in the back of my mind that I might "loan" it back

to my Dad for him to use as long as he was able (he's 72 now). I handed it to him, and for a second

I thought there was a glimmer in his eyes. He uncapped it, wrote a couple words on a piece of paper

and unemotionally handed it back with all but a hoohum. Sigh. I guess he'd gotten ink on himself

from that old P51 Demi of his just one time too many, years ago.

 

Oh well, I still like it and will take a good bit better care of *this* little black 51 stubbo.

 

Bruce in Ocala, FL

 

 

[jar]

Wonderful story. I must say though that of all the pens that have inked me over the years, the 51s seem among the missing. Hard to beat a 51 Demi though.

[broadws]

It was Baltimore in the spring, a wondrous time in a wondrous city. It was the late fifties or early sixties, and I was young and in good health and had been down to the harbor and was headed back to my apartment on North Charles. For some unknown reason I was way over on Calvert Street and so decided to cut across at Fayette and then up the hill past Mt. Vernon Place to home. The wind was out of the south bringing the smells from McCormick and Company (I remember they were doing cinnamon that day, funny how such things stick in our memories) and I was thinking about having diner at the bar in the Park Plaza or an evening of discussion and argument at the Peabody Book Shop and Beer Stube. Fayette Street was fairly level and a nice break in the climb and was also relatively sheltered from the wind that was beginning to chill as evening came on.

 

As I passed the Pen Hospital one pen in particular caught my eye. It was big and black with a white dot on the cap and gold lever that shined against the body and a clear section where you could see how much ink was left. For a moment I simply stopped and stared, then decided that was just what I had always been looking for.

 

I went in and Mr. Jenkins came in to see if a customer had really come in. I asked if I could look at the pen in the window and he graciously got it for me. The moment I held it in my hand I knew that it had been made for me. Had I been Harry and Mr. Jenkins been Mr. Ollivander he would have known that the pen chose me; perhaps he did.

 

He explained that the pen wasn't really for sale, that it had been brought in many years before for repair but I think he could tell from the way I looked at the pen and fondled it, that perhaps we were meant to be together. Finally he said he would pull the record, we would make one last attempt to contact the owner and if unsuccessful I could buy it for the cost of the repairs.

 

He went to the back and I could hear him going down some stairs, and a few minutes later returned with an old yellowed repair envelope. It seemed the owner had dropped the pen off over ten years earlier and although he had been contacted several times from the notes on the envelope, never come in to pick it up. The repairs were $4.50 and it had been a sack replaced and a nib adjustment.

 

But ...

 

it was MY name on the envelope.

 

It seems my grandfather had dropped it off for repair and simply (not at all surprising) never returned to pick it up. I immediately asked if I could make the call and when I got Gpop on the phone his response was. "Oh yes. By all means pick it up. I always meant for you to have it someday anyway."

 

He and Mr. Jenkins talked for awhile and Gpop insisted he'd come by and pay the repair bill but I insisted on paying for it then. He filled it for me, threw in a bottle of Blue-Black Skrip and I left a very happy person.

 

I used that pen daily for many, many years and never found anything I liked better. Then during a move from our apartment in California to the new house we had just bought someone broke into the apartment and stole a gold watch (also my grandfathers), an even older striking pocket watch that had belonged to my great grandfather and the pen. They did not take the stereo or the tv, only those three things and a small collection of silver dollars.

 

Since then I've had quite a few Sheaffer Oversized Balances but honestly, none have felt like that first one. I keep looking and trying to find one though and know that someday when I least expect it, The Pen will once again find me.

 

 

 

My Jenkins Quest -

 

My Stolen Jenkins Safety

[arctek]

It was Baltimore in the spring, a wondrous time in a wondrous city. It was the late fifties or early sixties, and I was young and in good health and had been down to the harbor and was headed back to my apartment on North Charles. For some unknown reason I was way over on Calvert Street and so decided to cut across at Fayette and then up the hill past Mt. Vernon Place to home. The wind was out of the south bringing the smells from McCormick and Company (I remember they were doing cinnamon that day, funny how such things stick in our memories) and I was thinking about having diner at the bar in the Park Plaza or an evening of discussion and argument at the Peabody Book Shop and Beer Stube. Fayette Street was fairly level and a nice break in the climb and was also relatively sheltered from the wind that was beginning to chill as evening came on.

 

As I passed the Pen Hospital one pen in particular caught my eye. It was big and black with a white dot on the cap and gold lever that shined against the body and a clear section where you could see how much ink was left. For a moment I simply stopped and stared, then decided that was just what I had always been looking for.

 

I went in and Mr. Jenkins came in to see if a customer had really come in. I asked if I could look at the pen in the window and he graciously got it for me. The moment I held it in my hand I knew that it had been made for me. Had I been Harry and Mr. Jenkins been Mr. Ollivander he would have known that the pen chose me; perhaps he did.

 

He explained that the pen wasn't really for sale, that it had been brought in many years before for repair but I think he could tell from the way I looked at the pen and fondled it, that perhaps we were meant to be together. Finally he said he would pull the record, we would make one last attempt to contact the owner and if unsuccessful I could buy it for the cost of the repairs.

 

He went to the back and I could hear him going down some stairs, and a few minutes later returned with an old yellowed repair envelope. It seemed the owner had dropped the pen off over ten years earlier and although he had been contacted several times from the notes on the envelope, never come in to pick it up. The repairs were $4.50 and it had been a sack replaced and a nib adjustment.

 

But ...

 

it was MY name on the envelope.

 

It seems my grandfather had dropped it off for repair and simply (not at all surprising) never returned to pick it up. I immediately asked if I could make the call and when I got Gpop on the phone his response was. "Oh yes. By all means pick it up. I always meant for you to have it someday anyway."

 

He and Mr. Jenkins talked for awhile and Gpop insisted he'd come by and pay the repair bill but I insisted on paying for it then. He filled it for me, threw in a bottle of Blue-Black Skrip and I left a very happy person.

 

I used that pen daily for many, many years and never found anything I liked better. Then during a move from our apartment in California to the new house we had just bought someone broke into the apartment and stole a gold watch (also my grandfathers), an even older striking pocket watch that had belonged to my great grandfather and the pen. They did not take the stereo or the tv, only those three things and a small collection of silver dollars.

 

Since then I've had quite a few Sheaffer Oversized Balances but honestly, none have felt like that first one. I keep looking and trying to find one though and know that someday when I least expect it, The Pen will once again find me.

I really enjoyed your story. You managed to bring my memory out of retirement talking about the smells of spice that used to drift the streets of Balto. During that time I was a student at Md. Institute of Art and spent a lot of time wandering those same streets.

As Bob Hope used to say " thanks for the memories"

 

arctek

[jar]

I really enjoyed your story. You managed to bring my memory out of retirement talking about the smells of spice that used to drift the streets of Balto. During that time I was a student at Md. Institute of Art and spent a lot of time wandering those same streets.

As Bob Hope used to say " thanks for the memories"

 

arctek

 

There were so many things about the town during that era like the Bromo Tower where I uderstand they now have artist lofts.

 

Glad you enjoyed.