Fathom’s “Old Reliable” letterpress, built in 1886, is covered with evidence of historic mishaps…weld-marks in multiple spots, half-broken remnants from unknown appendages long lost. The whole mechanism is driven by an electric motor from the 1920s that moves an exposed belt which in turn spins a giant, wicked gear against other greasy gears. Up close, it looks like a meat-grinder.

And then there’s the platen itself—the place where you put the blank cards for printing. I don’t mean to be overly dramatic, but if the press closes on your hands or fingers, well, let’s just say what you’re working on becomes a limited edition, multi-color design. Some online discussion boards discuss injuries inflicted by letterpresses. It is mildly disturbing when press operators can identify (almost eagerly) the make and model of the press by the particular wound pattern.

These thoughts seemed rather distant to me as I prepared the Old Reliable for her maiden voyage…filing down the rails to be sure they were flat, calibrating the platen to be parallel, adjusting the rollers so they strike the form at just the right height, oiling 40-some spots, putting in packing and tympan paper, applying the gauge pins, adjusting the grippers. But once I was standing in front of the press, ready to flip the switch on its first job, I must admit that my “point-and-click” mind was unnerved by this greasy, inky behemoth crouched before me. With jaws stronger than an alligator’s, it was as if the press was holding a sign that said “Feed me.”

It’s Real
What was I thinking when I promised the good folks at Gamut Theatre Group 900 two-sided letterpressed invitations for their annual Shakespeare’s Birthday celebration? Could I not do the math? That’s the first lesson about letterpress: it’s real. As a designer, I am used to quantity being just a number…something the printer has to deal with. But now, 900 represented not only time, but ink; stock; table-space; sore feet and shoulders; and actual, personal danger.

Oh, the fear subsided once I realized that I could keep up with the press and that I didn’t have to put my hands in *that* far. But then my brain snapped back to self-preserving consciousness: Perhaps it is *just* that sort of ‘oh-this-is-safe’ thinking that loses limbs. So as the job got underway, I was filled with equal measures of satisfaction, excitement, and trepidation.

I Ink, Therefore, I Am
The next thought that hits me: How long is this going to take? I mean, 1,800 impressions is a lot! I’d seen old photographs of lines of pressmen standing in front of Gordon-style clamshell presses just like this one, but I never thought about the fact that they had to stand there all day, hours on end: Feed the paper. Impression. Remove the paper. Feed the paper… Those were in the days before labor laws of course. Nobody would voluntarily…oh wait, here I am. Anyway, time, in these circumstances, starts to play tricks. Repetitive, thoughtless motion can do that.

I asked my daughter, who was sitting nearby doing her homework, to time me as I printed one side of 100 cards. At the end of that short run, while re-inking the press, I pondered how long I *thought* it took. 20 minutes. But according to Amelia, it only took half that time. In this tempus fugit world—when everything is needed yesterday but it’s already two days from now—there is something comforting about an activity that makes time slow down. Consider: 100 cards in 10 minutes means one card produced every six seconds. The press is indeed moving at a good clip, yet it seems to move at half that speed, with all my mental energies concentrated on the exact technique for placing and removing the stock, ink level, and number of cards remaining.

Could it be that the Old Reliable is truly an anachronism—not just a machine from a different age, but a bender of time itself? The experience was certainly zen, and the end-product entirely satisfying. The print quality for the Old Reliable matches or exceeds that of any letterpress I have seen, reproducing an exceptionally detailed etching sharply and with even coverage and excellent impression. I still have both hands…and I must say that I have a little more of my mind—or is it my soul—than I had at the start, too.

I hope that the final result—invitations for Gamut Theatre’s Shakespeare Birthday celebration—yields a strong response. If you do not get one in the mail, you can always just go anyway…it’s a blast, and this year Hamlet and his whole dysfunctional family will be there, along with Harrisburg’s cultural diaspora, sipping wine and catching up. The event is on April 3rd at 7p.m.; tickets are $100 each or $150 per couple. You can R.S.V.P. at 717-238-4111 or www.gamutplays.org.

And of course, if you need an invitation or elegant personal correspondence designed and printed, I think the Old Reliable is hungry for more.

—Jason Smith