Sharon Kennedy: Of fountain pens and ink pots
Years ago we wrote with what was called a “fountain” pen. I remember feeling proud when I was finally old enough to fill the ink chamber without getting black ink all over my fingers or a sheet of paper or the kitchen table. I loved those pens. They were a reminder of the days when penmanship was taught in school and people learned how to create beautiful letters. Unfortunately, I never achieved such an amazing feat.
Prior to our new elementary school being built and plastic seats installed, we sat at wooden desks. There was a little hole at the top of each desk. I had no idea why it was there until one day I asked the teacher. I figured she was almost as old as the furniture and would probably have a believable explanation. She did. She said the hole was an inkwell that was used to hold the ink pot. Although I wasn’t acquainted with such a pot, we did have a small bottle of ink at home. When our pen ran out, we dipped the sharp end into the bottle and held the metal piece that forced the ink to fill the pen.
I didn’t know one thing about “gravity, suction or capillary action.” I only knew it was a messy job getting the ink into the pen. You can imagine my surprise and sheer delight when ink cartridges were invented and filling the reservoir became a snap. I don’t recall Mom purchasing nib tips of various shapes and sizes, but I do remember cartridges filled with blue ink as well as the traditional black. I had great fun deciding which color to select for a project. When such pens were pushed aside by cheaper and much easier-to-use ballpoint pens, the fountain one was put in a drawer and forgotten. Naturally, I felt a pang of regret as one usually does when parting with a true and trusted implement.
In the not-so-distant “old” days, the new writing instruments still needed refilling so we purchased a skinny piece of metal to replace the empty one. It only took a minute to unscrew the pen and complete the job. Sometimes the spring would pop out. In my opinion, that was the most frustrating part of the operation. Although “real” ink pens had become as obsolete as a black-and-white television, the ballpoint pen was unable to reproduce the beautiful scroll patterns of the former. The days of teaching exquisite penmanship that rivaled John Quincy Adams were gone.
Fast forward to today’s throw-away pens. We pick them up at banks and gas stations, put them in our purse or shirt pocket and toss them in the trash the second they run out of ink. It would be unthinkable and a total waste of time to consider writing with anything else. If we don’t take a free one, we purchase a pack of 10. When they no longer deliver, we throw them out.
I admit I have a selection of colorful pens. Red ink is called into action when I’m proofing a manuscript. Purple is used for the second edit and green for the last. When they’ve served their purpose, the ballpoints are headed for that great trash heap called a landfill.
Although they’re still available, will I ever again use a real fountain pen? No. Like so many other things I once loved, they belong to the past and that’s where they’ll stay.
— To contact Sharon Kennedy, send her an email at authorsharonkennedy.com. Kennedy's new book, "View from the SideRoad: A Collection of Upper Peninsula Stories," is available from her or Amazon.
This article originally appeared on The Sault News: Sharon Kennedy: Of fountain pens and ink pots
